GP by GP – My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

GP by GP – My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

From:                 Alice Johnston (aljo@erbf.gov)

Subject:            The last 24 Hours?

Date:                  June 5th, 2003

 

I am writing this mail on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit!

Just so there is no misunderstanding during my explanation to this obscure and completely unethical process you are running for the women and… other… in labor here. I am aware that we are new in this complex and ignoring the complete lack of even the most basic tools for childbirth, we are unable to accept the procedures performed on the women during labor.

There tend to be asked less questions when the pay of employment is as high as you have promised us, but after three weeks we are fearing for our own health and the general wellbeing of anyone in this complex.

The last Twenty-four hours have been a strain on my nerves. I have talked with the three other midwifes I could find and we are leaving on the bus towards Vorkuta as soon as possible. There is no reason to try to contact us. We have agreed to honor the silence agreement in our contracts, but under these circumstances. If any of us is contacted by your organization or suddenly missing for no apparent reason, we will contact a coordinated variety of news agencies and authorities.

The reasons for my personal resignation starts yesterday morning at 6am where subject #6334 Anosova, Pasha had alarmed the staff of sudden abdominal pains. Being called to the operating room for what was supposed to be a birth, turned into another nightmarish experience that were getting to even your senior staff’s nerves. To keep a comical distance to the event, so not to vomit on the paper, I placed the luminescent puzzle in lead container SWU-0225 and sent it off to the basement.

I do not understand your staffs native language, but I can hear fear and concern in any voice and they were terrified. We have not had a normal birth in the three weeks I have worked here and maybe longer if I am guessing right from their rapid gossip as we left the screaming patient to the doctors.

Ushering us from the room in that manner has also been a reason for my decision and yet not the drop in itself although such rude behavior anywhere else would have made me complain to my superiors and the union.

Second issue at 9:42am I was called to block seven to retrieve a newborn child that “accidentally” fell out of a woman who hung herself in her gown. Everyone seemed surprised that she could manage to even stand in her condition and it was getting crazier since she had managed to raise her bed to get a point high enough to hang from. It took half an hour for a army of screwdrivers to arrive. Never seen so many beds being screwed to the ground and/or wall, the noise was unbearable.

Child was placed in incubation and although the level of tumors on his deformed body was enough to make me want to throw him at the wall, he survived for six hours before his internal organs had melted or rotted away. I have not seen the autopsy in the light of me wanting to eat again tomorrow.

I have seen many reasons for experimenting with augmented births to enhance our future generations, but this is creeping me out, even the daily gun shots from the various blocks are making me paranoid after three weeks. They never allow us to see who or what is being shot and I have run around to my fellow midwifes to be sure that they are not the ones being exterminated for resisting assistance.

We were called out of our delayed lunch at 1:55pm as someone had run rampant with a sharp object and several people had been found stabbed in the mouth or throat several times. Everyone was patted down and we must assume at even this point, the perpetrator is still at large. It has only been doctors and subjects that has been stabbed at the point of this letter, but we were escorted around on packs the rest of the day yesterday and this morning too.

There has been no pattern in the assaults and we fear for our lives in that manner. Even if we have a guard, we can still be stabbed before he stops the psychotic killer haunting the place.

Besides that little, microscopically unimportant bit of mundane news we still had 4:03pm. I will not describe the tension it made. I still shiver at this point. How… how could you? I never knew the extend of this complex, but what you had hidden in block 8 is too much. I know we are not allowed out there, but what Belinda described before she passed out for the second time was for my imagination, too livid.

How can you have a nine-hundred pound woman sit in her own waste, experiencing what I must imagine, mental and physical torment as she goes through a continues cycle of organ birth as her body fails to keep the amniotic sac intact during her “assembly line labor?”

I have not even seen the woman you bastards and I can’t control my tears, or the cold sweat anymore. We are terrified beyond belief here and you have not even been to see us even once since our arrival. I am unable to sleep and I have been awake for over 50 hours at this point. My mind is slowly melting like the hundreds of children your failed experiments are causing.

 

 

It has been three hours now… I think I am able to write the last couple of notes for you here. I can’t breathe properly and I am feeling dizzy, although it might be the bus ride back. I apologize for the spelling if you can’t read it, but he drives like his blood alcohol level is under five point two for the first time in a decade and he forgot his bottle.

Marybeth confirms that 6.31pm was flush hour. The trolleys were taken out again we helped merging block two, three, five and seven so block seven were empty and ready for cleaning. I did not keep track of the time beyond that and has to rely on my colleagues.

Note for future improvements in your death fortress, even though your cleaver little black curtain is placed to ward off prying eyes, it does in no way mute the screaming people your having gagged and dragged. We know that these women are sedated and probably didn’t volunteered to get their wombs pumped full of the Greek alphabet, so you might have to reconsider you business strategy if you want to keep toying with life.

But in your mind you might have to crack a few neutrons to make an omelet, so I won’t degrade your noble work, by questioning the ethics of genocide by prolonged and systematic torture.

Back to our little funhouse. Marybeth informs me that it was 8.11pm we came to find the lone wanderer. We have been informed by the staff in what they might call English, that they had a young woman at the place that was impossible to restrain. They said she was a contortionist and it was one of the reasons they kept finding her roaming the dark corridors each evening. We brought her back to her room and locked her door. She was giving off a small humming or dry laughs all the way back and kept staring at us with those dead eyes from the small window in the door, until we were out of the corridor. Marybeth and Julie found her an hour later in the basement, poking around the supply room. Marybeth says that Julie took her back to the room. None of us four, has not seen Julie since. We have left a note for her in her locker, but even we doubt that it will be English eyes reading that letter if it is ever read again.

At 11:37pm I was called from the staff room, according to Belinda. A woman had either been cut open or cut her own stomach up to get rid of the overgrown child inside her contorted stomach. We had been discussing for days how many children she would deliver, but we could not confirm anything with ultrasound equipment since the cord from the machine in the hospital in Vorkuta, couldn’t reach that far. But with a facility in a price range like this, you might have considered a 214 mile extension cord, but who am I to judge.

The humongous child is an abomination if you would even call it that. The charts says that it was a case of prenatal elephantiasis, yet it was the first child that had not either come out “some assembly required” or melted within the first hour.

What I learned this morning was that it was still breathing apart from the minor wounds it had been experiencing during its abrupt birth. For some blatantly obvious reasons, the mother did not survive the procedure long enough to get a bullet in her head as her usage had ended… somehow I feel sorry for the executioner. He had finally gotten off the crutches after shooting a toe off two days after I started.

I guess he was your preferred or main executioner, since he was trigger happy enough to shoot while the gun was holstered and pointing down at his feet. Likewise he is the only one here who looks truly like “paid work” in his face. He terrifies me. No questions. No moral obligations or afterthought. Paid work… that is all…

Once more I have drifted off into the wonderful place that I call, “anywhere else but here!” yet I have to return to point out that shortly after midnight we were locked inside the staff room together with some of the night nurses and two doctors. Apparently the killer was on the loose again. There was sounds of shots and yells all night and we were reluctantly let out this morning at 7am with the notice that we needed a guard if we as much as needed to take a shit.

Now guess who stood at the bus stop and waved goodbye to us as we got on the bus to Vorkuta. Have a wonderful time sending the lone wanderer back to her room by yourself. She is freezing, but there is no blood on her hands or feet…

 

Alice Johnston

Midwife, ERB Frontier

aljo@erbf.gov

 

 

________________________________________________________________________________

Kevin Douglas, (douger@gpost.com)             August 20th, 2003

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …

v

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Janice Bloombauer, (jbb@news.now)           September 8th, 2003

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …

v

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James Smith, (js73@uss.gov)                             December 2nd, 2003

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …

v

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Vladimir Anosov, (vlano@ksp.ru)                    January 19th, 2004

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …

v

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Fong Yun, (xuei82@ttfn.cn)  January 25th, 2004

Woman missing: 35 year old, American, Last seen August 19th 2003, After prolonged treatment of radio…

v

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Billy Hayes, (Hunterdkhunterhunterdkdkhunterdkdkdk@lol.com)   March 1st, 2004

Old laptop for sale, slightly used. Need a bit of cleaning. Glows in the dark…

v

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Ferly the My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

Ferly the My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

So, Miss Johnston, can you…

You can call me Alice.

Ok, Alice. Can you tell me about your day today? It’s important that you be as honest as possible.

Sure, I’ll do my best…

I hate having to get up in the morning, but I did it anyway. I don’t like having to put on makeup and do my hair, but I did it anyway. I drove in angry traffic full off idiots trying to “get there faster” by driving like assholes, so I could arrive at my office where I hate everyone and everyone hates me. I sat at my desk all day doing my tedious job that makes my brain feel numb, then I ate lunch at my desk. A lunch that would have been better suited to a rabbit, because I’m fat and I want everyone to think I’m trying to do something about it. Anyways, I washed it down with the same coffee that’s been in the pot since this morning because no one made any fresh. They just drank all the coffee and thought “screw stupid fat Alice, she deserves the burnt crap in the bottom of the pot”. You know, I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one to make the coffee every day for the whole office!

So you didn’t make any coffee today?

What?

Sorry, please continue.

Ok, so I finished out the work day and made my way to my car through an office of people who hate me and think I’m fat. Then I got in my car, I repressed the urge to scream, and I drove home in shitting angry traffic full off idiots trying to “get home faster” by driving like assholes, so I can I arrive at an apartment with no one to greet me. I put my “lean cuisine” in the microwave and took off my clothes in the kitchen while I watch my dinner cook. Then sat naked on the kitchen floor with my secret snack drawer open and shoved cakes, candies and cookies in my face until I heard the ding of the microwave. Then I clean up the wrappers from my little binge and went to the bedroom to put on some pajamas. I sat on the bed and watch TV. Mostly just bad sitcoms and reality shows until the evening news came on. The news makes me feel hopeless and angry so I don’t watch it. I turned the TV off and went and got my cold dinner from the microwave and ate it standing over the kitchen sink, before I went to to stare at myself in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes. I cried, I brush my teeth, I washed my face and I went to bed.

I really should get a cat.

Alice?

Yes?

Just one more question, and please be honest.

Ok.

Did you make the coffee yesterday?

Coffee?

Yes, the coffee in the break room. Did you make it? I noticed you said you didn’t make it.

Coffee?

Miss Johnston, Alice, please stop giggling and answer the question. Did you make the coffee today?

Yes, yes I made it.

Can you tell me what you put in it?

In it?

Yes, Alice, what did you put in the coffee? Alice, please stop laughing.

Theme: My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

Theme: My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

My name is Alice Johnston and I’m the headline top model of the Copenhagen Fashion Week. This is a day in my life.

06:12: Today starts early with a nourishing vitamin water (only 0.3% fat) and broccoli vapors. Then I practice my facial expressions in the mirror: angry, moody, wronged, grumpy, unimpressed, apathetic and my favourite: Kristen Stewart.

08:30: Snack consisting of two pieces of gum (I sin as I’ve brought the sugary kind from home) and more water. It’s important to get energized for the long trip down the catwalk.

08:43: Just before going on the catwalk, security evicts one of the girls by mistake. The designer is angry. Can’t these people tell the difference between homeless and hipster? Geez.

10:25: Talk with the lady who hired me for the show this afternoon. Unfortunately, she’s unable to pay me cash, but she can promise with at least two glances from Donatella Versace. She is, of course, in Paris, but it is still better than last year, when I was paid in discarded knitted shirts by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings from Sussex – all of size small – all too big for me.

13:15: I recuperate with a slice of pineapple from a tray with fruits presented by one of the designers. Kinda irresponsible considering how many calories are in it. I still manage to get into a pair of latex leggings, size 8-years-old.

13:27: Another designer leaves the show in anger. His model had forgotten to smile to the camera. She had forgotten her line: “Cheese.”

14:44: After a full hour with the make-up artist, giving me the Africa-meets-backwater look, I am getting dressed in the so-called “Third World dress”, consisting of over a million strands of hair from Indian children, gold-woven silk and a very long train depicting Aung San Suu Kyi. No high heels, so that’s a relief.

14:59: Just before going on stage the manager comes back-stage and complains that the toilets are constantly occupied and staff has to cross the street. Also that the sound of vomiting is disturbing to some of the audience.

16:53: Finally I get a break and sit down with the Financial Times that I hide in a Vogue-magazine to avoid snide remarks. Yesterday I told one of the other girls that I do my own taxes, and she was so shocked she accidentally ate a slice of white bread.

17:57: I come across yet another angry comment about the Fashion Week’s sick beauty ideals from some lardy lump, weighing at least 105 pounds. I don’t understand all the commotion: If you’re happy with your fat, flabby, stout and dwarf-like body, why do you even care?

Funny Day Out

Funny Day Out

I’ve not been having much fun lately. Loads of stuff has been going on, and not much of it has made me smile. So I decided I needed to get out and do something different. I came up with this cunning plan to use my cripple bus pass for more than just going to the pub.

I gave it some thought and decided that Dover wasn’t that far away, on a bus route and was somewhere that I hadn’t been before (I’ve been to the castle, I’ve visited a mate. But I’ve never seen the town). I had a plan!

It’s not that far away. But the bus takes a FUCKIN’ AGE to get there. And of course, I got off at the wrong stop. Oh yes, I was in Dover. But it turns out that there is quite a lot of Dover that is fuckin’ miles away from the town centre. Thank you kind bus driver!!!

A nice passer by pointed me towards the town centre and off I set, determined not to let a git spoil my day out.

My walk took me past Dover prison.

The only reason that I knew there was a prison in Dover before that moment, was cos a friend used to work there. Now I know where it is. Yay!

As a walked (limped) past, a line of knotted sheets came over the wall and a midget slid down it. He paused for a moment at the bottom, looked at me, smirked and mumbled something. I may be wrong, but I am pretty sure that it was something involving the words ‘fucking’, ‘ginger’ and ‘cripple’. Not only was I a bit shocked, but I also thought it was a little condescending.

The walk was longer than I’d thought it would be. So I needed a couple of breaks. One was on a bench outside a church. The doors of the church were open, and I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation going on inside.

“As I told you last week,” said a voice that seriously sounded like a vicar. “To become members of our congregation you had to abstain from sex for one week. So how did you do?”

An elderly sounding man’s voice replied “No problems at all vicar. We are old enough to know restraint”.

A middle aged woman then said “well, we did have our wobbly moments. But we managed to restrain ourselves. We lasted the week”.

Then a young man said, “Sorry father, we failed. Everything was going fine until my wife dropped the paint. Then she bent over to clean it up and I just… um… couldn’t resist my urges. It got a bit messy. Sorry.”

“Dropped the…” gasped the vicar. “Messy? That is just… Get out and never come back!”

“That”, said the young man “is exactly what the manager of B&Q said.”

As I was getting closer to town I passed an AA van and a car, just as the AA guy closed the car’s bonnet. He turned to the young lady who was standing there and looking worried. “There you go, all sorted”, he said.

“What was it?” she asked. “How can I stop it happening again?”

“Crap in the carburetor”, he said as he bent down to gather his tools.

“How often should I do that?” she asked.

Dover town centre is… Well, it’s a town centre, and not a particularly sparkling example of one. It’s not bad as town centre’s go. But by then I was knackered. I had been entertained by some of the locals, but fuck trying to find some of the sights. I just wanted to sit down. So I found a pub that didn’t look too ‘themey’, or full of arseholes and propped myself up at the bar.

About 2/3 of my way through my first pint, a guy walked into the pub with a dog and asked for a beer. The guy behind the bar said “Hang on a sec”, and hung a piece of fairly cheap looking meat from one of the taps. “We’re running a challenge at the moment”, he said. “If your dog can jump up and grab the meat, he can have the meat and you will get your pint free. But if he misses, you have to pay for your pint and buy me one”.

“Ok”, said the guy. He talked to his dog for a moment, explaining it to him. Then the dog jumped up (with some encouragement and gesticulating from the guy) and grabbed the meat. The dog chowed down (with quite a lot of tail waggling, which made me smile) and the guy enjoyed his free pint.

When he’d finished his drink, he asked for another pint. The barman said “Hang on”. He then took two prime pieces of beef sirloin and hung them on hooks above the bar. “This time, if your dog can get those he can eat them. But not only do you get your drink for free, everyone in the pub has to buy you a drink. However, if your dog misses… You have to buy everyone a drink. You up for it?”

The guy thought about it for a few moments, looking from his dog to the hanging meat and back. He then surveyed the pub. It was quite busy by now (it was getting close to lunch time), and all the punters were watching him and waiting for his decision, myself included.

“No”, said the man. “I can’t go for it. The stakes are too high”.

Shortly after that a bloke walked in with his wife and kids, sat them down at a table then came up to the bar to order them all food. He perused the menu for a moment then asked the barman what the venison burgers were. “It’s deer”, he was told. I exchanged a wry and rueful grin with the barman as the man ordered them for the whole family.

When the meal arrived, he turned to his kids and said “Try this, and guess what it is… I’ll give you a clue, it’s what mummy calls me”.

His daughter, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven, sat there for a moment looking dead thoughtful. Then a look of panic came over her face and she screamed at her two younger brothers. “DON’T EAT IT! IT’S A FUCKING ARSEHOLE!!!”

I had finished chuckling and went out the front for a fag. This was when my next moment of joy occurred. A guy, also having a fag a short distance away, was talking to his mate in rather hushed tones. I’m a nosey bastard, so I earwigged. “I went to see the doc yesterday”, he said. “And the doc told me that I had to stop masturbating”.

“Why?” his mate inquired with concern.

“That’s exactly what I asked”, the guy replied. “And you know what he said? ‘Because I am trying to examine you.’”

Just before I left the pub, some fella walked in carrying three ducks. He plonked them on the bar and then hurried off to the toilets. I know, right?!! Now, I was hugely impressed with the barman’s congeniality before. But at this point he surpassed himself. He only engaged the ducks in conversation!

“Hi”, he said to the first duck. “Don’t think I’ve seen you in here before. What’s yer name? Had a good day?”

“Quack” said the duck. “Sorry, habit. I’m Huey, and I’ve had a fantastic day. It rained earlier, so I’ve been in and out of puddles”.

“What about you?” He asked the second duck. “Good day? Sorry, what’s your name?”

“I’m Dewey,” said Dewey. “And yeah. Great day. I was in and out of puddles just like Huey.”

The barman smiled at the third duck. “So I’m guessing that you are Louis.”

“No”, scowled the third duck. “I’m Puddles. Ask me what sort of day I’ve had!”

My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life: A day in the life of Alice

My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life: A day in the life of Alice

This theme was a riddle to me until it hit me, music is the answer. Let’s if you can find the musical reference in the following short story.

The sun rises in the east, yet everything else around me has changed. Just yesterday I was living in the same old place that I was in for 24 years.  I grew up on that little street with all the same houses linked together by garages and drives full of junk.

For 24 years I ran in and out that door on number 75, getting the mail, putting out the bins, living a mundane life in a mundane part of the world. Like a paradise bird stuck in a pine wood, out of place like a bow tie on a bull.

I had friends and family but no one knew me, I was a mystery to most even to my best friend Sally.

So when the chance offered itself and I got a way out, a life in grandeur and riches I took it. I stepped into my new husbands limousine and drove in the sunset in the West. Leaving behind me the place I grew up in.

Where I played in the park, carved the initials of me and the boy next door deep in the bark. A silly pipe dream of happiness with the boy next door, but when the time came for 24 years he never asked me to leave. He never took the time to find out who I really am.

I had been waiting 24 years for someone to ask me, find out who I really was.

All he did was ask everyone but me.
Now he’ll never get used to not living next door to Alice…
Now all he will just shout to the heavens is ‘Who the f* is Alice?’