Georgetterox

RIING ! She was watching Spongebob, jumped up from her seat, and runs to her room to pick up the phone. RIING ! The phone keeps ringing, and she rushes looking for her HP, which for the sake of God she forgets where she put on. RIING ! She swirls her desk, rolls her mattress, unloads all of the packs of the cakes in her bag, but she still cannot find her HP. RIING ! Finally after a second she grouses, she finds her HP inside the coat that she has thrown into her laundry basket. “Yes, hello?..Yes, this is Moel..Huh, what?! Allright, allright..Yes, Sir, we’ll be there!”

At the other wing of the house, my another gal, Ruhn, 24, has slept away by smiling of her dream, before suddenly she hears the hammers on her way. She shakes her head, wishes that it’s just a one second trouble, but that so-unblessed-hammering still don’t disappear. She opened up her eyes, and at the moment the dream is over. The hammering isn’t a dream, it’s real. And it bothers much. “Ruhn, wake up!” shouts Moel outside. “We gotta get to the hospital now!”

Otherwise, inside the bathroom, my gal Lass, 24, is enjoying her shampooing. Her head is full of foam when Ruhn knocks her door, “Lass! We’re leaving now! Another new corpse to work!”

“Oh sh*t!” grouses Lass instead. She rinses her hair, then by just girding the towel on her naked body, she gets outta the room and snatches away her HP.

And I am sorting my fashion outfits for laundry. Doily, get into the red pails. Jeans, into the blue one. Wools, no wash-machine, please. Underwear, hm..which pail does it go to?

And I really don’t hear the phone rings from Lass. The thing I know is a second later my sista yells out, “Vicky, autopsy!”

I throw my underwear into the pails upset. It fails again, my plan to do laundry tonight.

Belle, 24, my friend, is drooling when he watches the dishes of dinner on his table. He’s confused to pick up which one he’s gonna eat first: chicken soto, fried rice, or pempek? And he’s gonna insert his first sop into his mouth when I calls up, “Belle, autopsy!” That’s it, and I hang up the phone. We’ve gotta be in the hospital in 15 minutes, while my house is on the end of the world.

Me and Belle arrive on the corpse chamber a few moments after the three of our fellas came, surrounding a black body which laid rigidly on the table. Die of burn. His face is unrecognizable. It’s clear that he’s been baked into sandbank. The person who brings him in, it happened in a noodle place at Naripan. This man was in the kitchen, pouring the oil, when the damn fire explodes and snatches him. He was shocked, nervous, and couldn’t move to rescue himself. Somebody whispered that he’s got epilepsy.

And we’ve gotta autopsy him.  Oh God, as like as there’s no other more important work to do. Ruhn’s eyes are blinking coz she’s still sleepy. Lass is still wet-haired. Belle is still grousing around coz I’ve disturbed his extravaganza dinner. And I still can’t believe that I must leave my laundry coz a dead patient called me. I haven’t even changed my clothes, I just wear my mini skirt and beach sandal when I autopsy him. At least my dream to look like Dana Scully has come true.. J

God says, human’s supposed to remember Him more when he’s in misery.

God says, He’s showed me that He exists when my lost aunty finally apologized.

He showed me that He could reverse what’s impossible becoming possible, that was when my sweetheart keeps thinking of me even though now he’s with someone else.

He showed me a lot of times from any deaths, when I tried to do suicide, when I was poisoned of shrimps, when I was clashed by a motorbike, and He still let me alive.

I say, I never left my patients dead on the resuscitation tables, I still compressed their heart even until they got fibrillation tachycardia.

I say, I’ve shown my dedication by coming to the OKs on time and act as nippy as I can.

I say, I worked all of my tasks the best and didn’t complain a thing.

I say, I always protected my patients ever since they were still awaken before they were anesthetized, until they awoke up back on the recovery room, kept smiling to them even though when I was extraordinary exhausted.

So, how come could I fail the exam?

Yes, maybe I couldn’t explain what the end systolic ventricular filling is. But I know that a patient who couldn’t defect for a week and keep vomiting for the last five days must examine his urination.

I was mistaken to say that sodium bicarbonate could replace adrenaline, but I’ve corrected it with the task that I’ve typed neatly until three a.m.

I was supposed to know why in shock the diastolic and the systolic pressures only differ about 20 mmHgs, but with history working in Internal Medicine without enough time for study until I just can palpate in dark, isn’t there a lot that I could do?

I don’t wanna be examined by a doctor who fails his exam, so I’m supposed to study again first until I pass.

But I’ve been exhausted for the last three weeks and I can’t study longer, so what am I supposed to do?

Both of my sleeper ex-s could get B+++, but I couldn’t come up to them. There’s something wrong with me, and I’m afraid to imagine their disappointment expression if they find this out.

What’s my fault, God?

Am I too diligent at work until I have no time for study? Is it because I refused teaching my Dad how to attach e-mail coz I have to chase the project of clinical science session?

Or is it because in the night-shift I was squeezing with my ex in the ward room? We weren’t even having sex, even I didn’t lay my head on his shoulder or even lay my hand on his thigh?

God, are You still there?

All the fans screamed, I yelled the name of God as the referee red-carded Zinedine Zidane . He found dumb, he wanna abuse the referee but he could not say a word, and finally slowly he walked to the dressing room without waving his hands to the fans who had been faithfully supporting the France to the final. In disgrace, Zidane terminated his glorious career on the football national team of France.

Everybody knows precisely, Zidane is truly excitement. This captain who vigorously led his French buddies, started in worried from the elimination until they could lift their heads up high in the final. Zidane was the shareholder to score the goals, made France could beat Brazil at the quarter final and punched Portugal at the semifinal. And Zidane also who scored a goal versus Italy at the final, and obstinately played in die-hard until both of the teams must play for extra 30 minutes after the second half-time ended.

But Zidane is also an ordinary man. He’s 35, and he’s been overage to pursue a small circular object on the field. Zidane wanna take a rest and eat homemade-croissant of his wife Veronique  at home, so it’s fair if Zidane wished to totally win in the end of his career. No wonder if Zidane who was in full concentration, got frightened when Marco Materazzi bumped him from back, both of them were in order to setting eye on the ball. The normal reaction of an human was just emotion, and Zidane reacted normal by getting pissed off.

But he wasn’t supposed to act clumsily like a Cililitan bandit by head-butting Materazzi and floored that Italian by screaming in pain. And about the referee who actualy missed the affair but then found out because the fourth official whispered to him, then he sent off Zidane coz of his stupid assault, who could sue it?

A few weeks ago, everybody laughed when they asked me which teams that I wannted to step into the final. I replied, I’d like to see France and Italy. France, coz I like Zidane and I’ve baptized him as my brother since I was just 16. Italy, coz I love Filippo Inzaghi coz he’s got a sexy mandible, and what the hell that he’s aged. Brazil was probably the survived champion, but people could get bored zoc the Jules Rimet cup has been too often in Brazil. Germany was maybe the host and mentally strong, but I never bless Jewish descent even Nazi to be a champion. When France was gaping at the eliminations, I prefered to be faithful in my choise. And God paid off the faith by liberating France and also my another idol, Italy, to the final.

The penalty shoot-outs of France vs Italy were also God’s answer that we can’t count the football by maths. Italy was probably more ball-possesive, but France who was loaded by aging horses must be more experienced. If France failed, it wasn’t because Zidane’s fault by being sent off from the field. It wasn’t the mistake of David Trezeguet , who coz of his nervosity, he kicked the ball too high and hitted the ruler. Also not because the keeper Fabien Barthez has been degenerative , and kept wrong-prediction when he wanna blocked the ball.

I said, God is always fair. Please not just always Germany, France, or Brazil who win the World Cup. This time, let’s give a chance to the Italy, who’s been 24 years never being the champion. So football can be more variative. Who knows, maybe four years later, it’s the turn of Korea to win, or Togo, or Iran.

Definitely it won’t be Indonesia. Coz, it’s pity for bonek and bobotoh who wanna watch PSSI at the World Cup. The transportation costs much! They often don’t pay if they wanna take a train, how would they catch a plane abroad?

Congratz, Azzurri, you don’t let me down. I hope this will amuse Gianluca Pessotto who’s in sorrow because his suicide effort was totally failed.

Too bad that Inzaghi didn’t play at the final.

Italy never forgets the day at 18th of June, 2002. It was World Cup 2002, the match was Italy vs Korea, and the match was really unfair. Korea was just being profited by becoming the host, made practically the tribune of the stadium was full oppressed by the local slit-eyed supporters who didn’t wanna give seats enough for the tifosi. Damn, coz Guus Hiddink of Holland coached the Korea squad, in fact Korea didn’t play that really bad, had Korea still could keep the quarter-final match till the score made 1-1. The fatal accident came when the referee gave Francesco Totti a red card just due to a trivial collision, made that Italian golden boy who became one of World Cup top scorers, must be volunteer to be eliminated from the field. Italy got mad, played uncontrolled, and Korea just abused the Azzurri’s anger by goaling Italy’s net which had been loss because Italy’s liberos had been upset. Italy, the favorite team of World Cup that year, must receive to be rolled at the quarter final in the score at 1-3, by Korea, the host who that year (and now also!) was still underdog, far below their class.

The match had still been a special issue for several years later. How come the super Italy could lose on the foot of the underdog Korea? This must be because of the disciriminating referee, who agreed to be black-magiced by the Korea’s voodoos who love using hios. Or maybe, according to the experts, actually Korea was not that special, it was just because the coach was Guus Hiddink, that was why they played perfectly.

Even somebody joked, this was because before the match, the Korean boys had drunk ginseng first. Compare to the Italian boys who just drank Extra Joss (because that day Alessandro Del Piero still became the commercial star of Extra Joss!). The result, I was terribly dissapoint, got idea to make thesis about “Comparative Analysis About the Correlation Between Extra Joss and the Essence of Ginseng in Goal Production at Football”. But the proposal of the research was cancelled, because my teacher must suppose to disapprove it.

My teacher: “What’s your preface that had made you presenting this absolutely-weird title, Miss Laurentina?”

I said settledly: “Because in fact Alessandro del Piero who drank Extra Joss could be beaten by Ahn Jung Hwan (sorry, Jung, if I miss spelled!) who drank the essence of ginseng, made Korea could stop Italy at the quarter final of World Cup 2002 with the score at 3-1, Doc.”

But all of those unimportant-but-important questions, were answered four years later. At 26th of June, 2006, at the semi-quarter final of World Cup at Germany, the Azzurri team faced back Guus Hiddink. The difference was, now Hiddink didn’t coach the Korean boys, but he coached Australia. And in fact, the underdog Socceroos Aussie, under Guus, just became strong fighting the Italy, and successfully made Italy emotional. At the bloody game, again Italy must play with only 10 players because one more person was eliminated by the referee.

SEEMS THAT EACH TIME ITALY PLAYS FIGHTING GUUS HIDDINK’S TEAM, THE REFEREE ALWAYS SENT AN ITALIAN OFF.

The tifosi had been stress because almost the 90^th minute, the score was still draw. But the referee gave three minutes of additional time, which in fact just became the minutes of hell for Aussie, because Grosso of Italy dived at the penalty box and the referee prefered to believe him. Certainly the referee gave the penalty kick exactly at the 93^rd minute, which just was pulverized by Francesco Totti. Italy won. Guus Hiddink’s boys bended. Totti’s broken heart, because he had been eliminated after fighting Guus Hiddink’s boys four years ago, had been revenged.

In fact, Italy’s failure that year, not because their supporter’s yells were loss noise of the Korean’s yells. And in fact, without Guus Hiddink, Korea isn’t that really special. We prove now, Korea fail to be one of sixteen magnificent.

Also not because Korea drank ginseng, while Italy just drank Extra Joss. (Look at the evidence now, Portugal also drank Extra Joss via Cristiano Ronaldo, and now Portugal just successfully accelerated to the semifinal.)

Now Totti’s broken heart is relieved. The Italy is brave enough to look at Guus Hiddink’s eyes. Go on, Azzurri! Go on, Italy! Bravo!