Though my sympathetic predecessors warned me to heed their portentous omens, I firmly waved aside the foolish notion that one particular Shrill could destroy every lil bit of satisfaction I have at work. After all what could one sharp screech possibly do to shatter my inner peace?
Even the supremely unflappable Kool Ken is not immune to her .
Ken : Beware the Shrill of Santubong!
Paul : Is she that bad?
Ken : Cover your ears with wax! They say her voice is poison itself!
Paul : Only makes me curious to hear.
I was wrong of course. The vastly Greek naysayers were right.
One banshee can be more than enough. You see, the Shrill of Santubong is a restless spirit that incessantly haunts the halls of the hospital every month, wailing her woes at an ear-splitting screech. Plugging your ears with wax doesn't help either since the very walls seem to reverberate with her shockingly strident shrieks.
Doubt this would help block out the cacophony!
Worst of all, she's actually hired to do the bimonthly screaming. What is she screaming about? None of us can actually decipher her words since sometimes she reaches a keening pitch only canines can hear.
Guess all of us have certain workmates who seem to be sent from hell to torment us. Fortunately mine only comes semi-regularly. Till now I've tried to keep my cool, wanting to maintain my supposedly cool zen image.
But hell, the Shrill inspired me to write. Every once in a while I'm prone to a bit of poetry. Though of course I've never been very fond of mushy romantic prose. What I like is a bit of lousy limerick.
There once was an old hag named Jill;
With a voice so loud and so shrill;
She shrieked out her orders;
Scared beaus to the borders;
And left her unwed on a hill.
Certainly inspired by the events of the week. Professor Henry Higgins once spoke of Wagnerian mothers with voices that shatter glass. Well I've finally met a particularly nasty specimen at work.
Wonder whether an exorcism would work.