Postkort fra 2041: Fourteen Minutes Per Person
Trine.
They have optimised my route again. Third time this spring.
The scheduler decided fourteen minutes is enough per person. Fourteen. It counted the walking, the door codes, the medicine drawer. It did not count Hr. Villadsen, who is 91 and needs to tell me about the ferry to Rønne before he will let me touch his feet. That is nine minutes. Every time. I have told the system. The system logged it as "conversation overrun."
So now I run behind, and the belt on my back buzzes when I lift wrong, and the report says I am non-compliant. Fine. Let it say that.
The fog sat on the harbour all morning. I drank my coffee cold on Frankrigsgade because there was no minute to drink it warm.
I am not tired of the work. I am tired of being measured by something that has never smelled a sickroom.
Do not tell me to complain to the union. I have. Twice.
Eat something proper before your night shift. Not bread.
Mor
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