I went into the office this morning, showing my hands. Before I could even get words out, I was ushered to a waiting area, my file was pulled, whispered conversations were made, and well, I was just a tad on edge. Things worked out well, my employer paid for medication. They sent me to a pharmacist, not a doctor. But they did pay attention and that was better than I thought it would go.
When I got to work, I discovered the pot was definitely stirred and still sloshing. My supervisor was mad with me for not 'following the chain of command' and I felt a little guilty until I realized this problem has occurred before. Get rid of the harsh chemicals! When a solvent can take paint off a cement floor, people shouldn't be exposed to it. Now I have more of a 'fuck you' attitude.
I texted Will every break to keep him updated. When I got off work, I had NINE messages on my phone. I was inside dealing with sore fingers and raw emotions. Poor Will had no one to talk to, so the more he thought about it, the madder he got. Will was almost to the point of coming to my job and beating somebody up. Will looks like a bear and when he's mad he's a roaring grizzly. I really didn't intend for anyone to be mad, I just want my sore fingers to go away.
My team leader knew exactly what the problem was- even better, she told me how to get rid of it. So that's why I scrubbed my fingers with a green Scotch pad when I got home. Horrid yes, hurts like hell yes, but it removes the dead skin so I can heal. I drank some Bud Light Lime because I figure if I must painfully remove layers of dead, chemically burned skin, then I've earned a drink or three. Hopefully by the weekend all this will be gone, Will won't be planning to murder my supervisor, and maybe, just maybe, they will finally solve the problem so no one else suffers.