When you’re doing the work of two, but only getting paid for one.

The Shift From Hell Begins

The shift started with promise. I walked in, coffee in hand, determined to have a smooth day. But the minute I saw Jasmine stroll into the breakroom with her “I’m barely here” energy, my gut told me it was going to be one of those days.

Within an hour, she was gone. No explanation, no “be right back.” Just disappeared like the wind. I was left holding down Hall 5—20 residents, all needing baths, snacks, or someone to fix their TV channels.

The call lights? Oh, they were my constant companions. The residents? Hilarious, but demanding. “Sweetie, can you turn my bed to face the window?” one asked while I was juggling two briefs and trying to calm down another resident who swore I stole their wig.

Where was Jasmine? Probably living her best life in her car.

Oh, now you’re back? Must’ve been a rough day in your car.

The Moment She Came Back

Eight hours later, Jasmine waltzed back in, her eyes redder than a stoplight. “Whew, it’s been a long day,” she said, yawning like she had just pulled a double shift. A long day? Girl, I’ve been in the trenches while you’ve been out cloud-watching.

But the kicker? Jasmine had the nerve to ask me to help with her residents. “Can you just get Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Smith? I’m running out of time.”

I stared at her like she had three heads. “Help you? If you give me half your check, I can help you.”

The Tables Turn

Jasmine stormed off, muttering something about me not being a team player. But let me tell you, I had zero guilt. This wasn’t the first time Jasmine had pulled this stunt. She always left the hard work to me, and I was done being her cleanup crew.

An hour before the next shift came in, Jasmine was scrambling like a contestant on a game show. Residents were mad, the hall was a mess, and I was sitting pretty with my feet up, sipping water like I just ran a marathon.

Sometimes, honesty is the best (and funniest) policy.

When the Nurse Got Involved

Just when I thought the drama was over, the nurse approached me. “Karen, Jasmine said you refused to help her with her residents.”

I looked at her dead in the eye and said, “And I ain’t.”

She blinked, stunned by my honesty. “That’s not being a team player,” she huffed. “I’ll have to write you up.”

“Do you need a pen?” I shot back, cool as ice.

The nurse walked away, shaking her head, while Jasmine glared at me from down the hall. But you know what? My residents were clean, happy, and ready for bed. I’d done my part.

Looking Back

Could I have helped Jasmine? Sure. Maybe the residents wouldn’t have suffered if I’d picked up her slack. But sometimes, enough is enough. People like Jasmine never learn unless they’re forced to face the consequences. And honestly? I wouldn’t be me—A Black Girl Named Karen—if I hadn’t handled it the way I did.

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