"Some of these conditions could be severe from far southern Washington, with heavy thunderstorms moving up into the Olympia and eventually the Seattle area. Expect heavy thunderstorms throughout the week with highs and lows of about 60 and 40 respectively. Tuesday night, we're generally watching lighter showers move on through the area, quickly passing through and expected to clear out by Friday morning. Going into the weekend, expect cloudy but damp air with a humidity rating of about 70%. We should be back to the warm, summertime weather by the end of next week. Now…"

As soon as I hear the weatherwoman begin to speak about today's forecast, I leisurely push the volume button twice on my remote to turn up my old, tube television set. I'm beginning to get used to the wet, murky Seattle weather by now. Granted I've only been living here for a little over a month, but it doesn't take much to get used to a place that pretty much rains more than it stays dry. I know for a fact that I should probably dress for rain today, but on the off chance that I can in fact, show some skin… I'll listen to the weather forecast for the day anyway.

I reach down with my hands and pull my thick, wool blanket up to rest underneath my neck. Now I know for a fact that when I take this blanket off my body and decide to get my lazy ass up out of this bed for the day, I'm going to have red blotches all over my arms and probably my chin; but I guess I don't much care. I'm not allergic to very many things, but it's just my luck to actually be allergic to the warmest thing possible. I take my chances with the wool because the alternative is to wake up frostbitten not because I'm stupid, by the way. I know I'm allergic to wool and I know that I'll probably be scratching myself for the rest of the day. I know all of this.

Reluctantly, I stick one of my arms out into the bitterly cold air of my bedroom to grab my cell phone off the power-cord it's been on all night. I push the "ok" button on my phone to make it light up. I guess you could probably say that my cell phone is the nicest thing I've ever gotten for myself. I didn't buy it or anything like that, so needless to say that it's not one of those smartphones that you see the TV ads about. I picked it up from the dollar store a couple years back. I just decided that it was time for me to get a cell phone so I just grabbed it one day. The only things I really deem necessary to spend my money on are those little reloadable cards to refill the minutes on it. It's a crappy little Trac-Phone but it makes calls and it does what it needs to do, for the most part.

Of course, I don't have any missed calls or missed text messages when I check it. I almost never do. For one, it's not like I have very many people that give a damn about me enough to text me or call me; and for two, I've never been very good at making friends anyway. It sort of goes both ways though. When I was in college I had a roommate that I've never spoken so much as three words to, and that's the god-honest truth. I'm not really a social person and that's honestly the way I like it. I could probably use some friends in my life but it's not like making friends is actually a priority of mine.

The clock on my cell phone boasts a very early "5:25 a.m." reading. I toss my phone onto the very limited free space I have on my twin-sized bed next to me and take the only blanket off of my body. To say that I'm tired would be a major understatement. Hell, even the term "exhausted" would be pushing it. The thing is that I can't really sleep, though. I don't sleep much. I never have been much of a sleeper and I probably won't ever be. I think the last time I slept through the night was when I was fifteen. I've been walking around like a sleep-deprived zombie for the last twelve years, so it's pretty much a normalcy to me at this point. I've learned to function on less than two hours of sleep at a time and I shit-you-not when I say that I think it should be a sport in the Olympics to be able to do that. It's a real talent.

I roll over onto my side and put both of my feet down onto the cold linoleum floor of my bedroom. I use my arms and pull myself completely out of my bed. My box-spring broke during the move here and I still have yet to replace it, so I've been dealing on a mattress on the floor. I merely tiptoe for no reason at all over to the black garbage bag I keep my clothes in and kneel down to look inside it for something to throw on. I'm not quite sure what I should be looking to wear. It's my first day. Should I dress up real nice and stuff or should I just slum it in a pair of jeans? I just wish I knew what everybody else was going to wear. What if I'm the only girl?

I drag out my best pair of blue jeans and hold them up to examine them using the crappy amount of light I'm getting from my TV. They're not too wrinkled so I guess I don't have to worry about ironing wrinkles out of them. I toss the jeans over my shoulder onto my bed and keep looking. I grab the first pair of clean panties I stumble across and throw them with the jeans. I only own two bras, so as soon as I find one, I throw it with the jeans and the underwear. I find a pair of socks and toss them with the other clothing articles I dug out. I just need to find a damn shirt.

I reach deep inside the bag and pull out exactly what I was looking for; a dark green, long-sleeved, button-down shirt with a pocket on the left breast. I rock back off my knees and onto my feet. I stand up and go over to the light switch. I fling the light on and squeeze my eyelids shut tight as my eyes ache from the sudden light. I untie the draw strings on the pair of sweatpants I wore to bed last night and take them off. I can still get one more wear out of them before they become dirty, so rather than throw them into the dirty laundry garbage bag, I toss them onto my bed. I take off the underwear I have on and put them inside the dirty laundry bag.

I do kind of want to take a shower, but I'll just change my underwear instead. I'd rather take a shower later on tonight after work instead of this morning. I can only afford to shower once a day so I'll choose wisely. I doubt that I'll get to get my hands dirty today, but on the off chance that I actually do get to do some cutting, I'll save my shower for tonight. I step into the clean underwear I set out for myself and secure them on my waist. I snatch up the pair of jeans I put out and shove my legs into them. I button them around my waist and zip them up. I grab the rim of my t-shirt and take it off as well. I grab the bra I threw out and strap it around my chest. I align the cups with my boobs and put my arms through the straps. I yank on the green shirt and pull my hair through the head-hole. I sit down on my bed and start pulling the socks on my feet.

I get back up off my bed and tiredly stalk to my bathroom. I flip on the light and go over to the sink. Out of instinct, I glance up to the corner of my bathroom to the spot right above my toilet. It looks like it's stayed the same for the most part. I don't think it's grown anymore. Once I monitor the black spot, I twist the nozzle and turn on the faucet so I can brush my teeth. My very first paycheck will be going towards buying myself a new bed. I've already decided that I'm going to get myself a brand new bed with bedding that doesn't make me have allergic reactions. But if I have money left over, I swear I'll hire someone to scrape out the mold that's growing in my bathroom. I swear I will.

My apartment really does suck. But the thing is…I'm aware of this. It's one thing for your living arrangements to suck really badly and for you to not even know it. See, I know that my apartment isn't even worth the $150 I pay in rent every month. I KNOW this. But the alternative is going back to sleeping in my car and I'd rather just not do that. Plus, it's really not all that horrible. At least I have a roof over my head, you know? Some people don't even have that. Sure, there's mold growing in my bathroom. Sure I have about thirteen mousetraps set all through the place. And okay, I admit that I refuse to take a shower without flip-flops on my feet. But it's really not that awful. It could be worse. Like…I could be sleeping in my car.

After I finish brushing my teeth and washing my face up, I snatch my makeup bag off the back of the toilet. Normal people would probably look at me like I'm an idiot for putting makeup on just to go practice medicine all day, but seriously. I'm not really a normal person and I totally get that first impressions are everything. I'm not exactly the prettiest model in the magazine, so any amount of makeup really does help my case. I'm not ugly or anything though. Sighing, I pull my eyelid downwards so I can apply my eyeliner as flawlessly as possible. I yank my hair out of the ponytail I slept with it in last night and shudder when it topples down to the middle of my back. I run a quick comb through it just so my part is correct and put the comb down. When I'm done with my makeup and stuff, I step back and look at myself in the mirror.

I don't think they'll be able to tell. I turn off the light to my bathroom and go back to my bedroom. I really hope they won't be able to tell, because that's honestly the last thing I need from people. Have you any idea how truly annoying that is? Because once people find out that the reason you're so skinny is because you literally can't afford to eat much, they start to feel bad for you. And when they figure out that the reason you wore that pair of jeans twice in one week is that you only own three pairs of jeans, they start to treat you different. Then it's completely game over when the cat gets out of the bag about you living in your car. I've been through this before and I can singlehandedly tell you that pity parties aren't fun…especially when they pertain to your job. So with that being said, I don't think they'll be able to tell that I live in a shit-hole. I think I dressed well enough to cover that up.

I push the "off" button on my TV and stomp my feet into my shoes. I stuff my cell phone into the back pocket of my jeans and grab the only jacket I own. I slip my arms through the armholes of my jacket and zip it all the way up. I'm not sure if it's raining outside just yet but just in case it is, I pull my hood over my head as well. I walk into my kitchen and grab my car keys off the counter beside my refrigerator. I unlatch the latch-lock I put on my front door at night, unlock the main lock and open up the door. I step out into the main hallway of the apartment complex and as soon as I step out, I'm overwhelmed by the scent of some type of drug. It's probably pot that I'm smelling. It's not that the junkies I live here with aren't into heavier things than marijuana, because I'm sure that I've caught at least ten people within the last month shooting up behind the dumpsters. It's just that pot is the only thing they're bold enough to smoke in public. I don't think the cops really care that this is basically a crack-house at this point.

I wrap my hand around the railing and walk down the small flight of steps that lead out into the parking lot. I go over to my beat down, gold Grand Am and unlock the door. I really do try to take care of my car. It's an old, 1990 Grand Am so it's pretty rundown. But it's mine and it's literally the only thing I have, so I really do try hard to take care of it. I start my car and back out of the parking space I was in and start driving in the direction of work. I can't really tell if I'm excited to start or nervous or both. As I approach a red traffic light, my hands tap along in time to the song that's playing. I look both ways before I turn right at the red light and sing along in my head to the song that I can hear that's playing from one of my CDs. To roads to walk down…one road to choose… Thinking over the things that you said, I'm thinking over…the things that you said. I turn and speed past the space needle. I still get a little bit lost sometimes coming through here to get to the hospital, but I made a mental note to go past the space needle and make a sharp left.

I make my sharp left turn and continue through town until I finally see the sign that indicates that I didn't get lost this time. Seattle Grace-Mercy West Hospital, I made it without getting lost. I wander through the workers' parking lot and find an empty space right next to a big red pickup truck. I park my car and step out after locking it up. There's nobody else in this parking lot with me which actually scares the shit out of me. Either I'm really late or I'm early. I'm leaning towards late though, because if I were early, there wouldn't be a lot of cars in this parking lot. Shit. Late on your first day? So much for first impressions. I stuff my car keys in my jacket pocket and hurry over to the entrance.

As soon as I get under the pavilion-like structure that covers the main doors, I take my hood down. I walk around towards the back to the workers' entrance and open up the heavy metal door. We had orientation last week where they showed us where to go and where to clock in and stuff to start our shifts. I know I'm supposed to go to the surgical wing to the time clock so I can punch in and then I have to go to the locker rooms. I think I remember where everything is. I go to an elevator and push the button to get it to open. I glance down into my pocket at my cell phone to check the time. It's 6:37 in the morning. No, I'm really not that late…so why wasn't there anybody else in the lot?

The surgical wing is on the third floor I believe, so I push the third floor button and stand in the back of the elevator and wait. If I'm being honest, I really hate elevators. I just think they feel weird. The way they shift under your feet and clank and make you feel all weird? Yeah, I hate that. I'm not one of those people that have an irrational phobia of getting stuck in them or anything like that. I just don't like the way they make you feel like gravity is working against you. That's seriously just weird. The elevator door screeches when it opens up again and I walk out of it. I'm supposed to clock in for my shift and go straight back to the locker rooms and wait for further instructions. I remember during orientation when they showed us how to clock in, so I head over to the time clock so I can punch in. I must admit that I'm confused on how to do it, because when they showed us how to clock in they said that we have to slide our ID badges and I don't have one yet… and I don't even see anyone I can ask for help. Great.

I stand over by the clock and just wait around. I'm starting to wish I never came here. My nerves are starting to get the best of me which isn't good for me. I don't think I've ever felt so out of place in my life. I turn my head so I can actually look at the time clock and see that the time reads "6:40." I don't want to risk being any later than I already appear to be, so I just nix the whole punching in idea and trot back to the locker rooms that they showed us to during orientation. I grab the handle and yank the door open. It's loud in here…and the noise is the first thing I notice.

As soon as I turn the corner, I'm met with a couple shirtless boys and girls that aren't wearing any pants. I silently find the locker I claimed during orientation and open it up. It was empty the last time I saw it but now it has two pairs of light powder blue scrubs and an ID badge waiting for me. I pick up the scrub top and look at it. I marked my size down as a small but the more I look at it, I think I might have needed a medium. I put the top down on the bench in front of me and take off my jacket.

A smaller, dark-skinned girl with a mound of curly black hair on her head stakes her claim on the locker right next to mine. She takes off the windbreaker jacket she had on and shoves it inside her locker. She was smarter than me, because she wore a jacket with a tank top underneath of it and a pair of jogging pants. She must've known that we were going to be immediately changing. Keeping my back turned away from her, I grab the bottom of the green shirt I put on this morning and fold it up nicely. Behind me, the girl sucks her teeth and as instinct, I turn my head to see what she sucked her teeth at. She holds up her scrub top and looks genuinely disappointed in it. She appears to just suck it up though, and she puts her scrub top over her head. It's like a dress on her. It's baggy and really long.

I start by putting my top on too. It goes on with ease over my head and my arms fit nicely through the head-hole. But I'm a little bit chestier than I'm willing to admit. I'm not really as petite as I look from a distance. I have pretty rounded curves and while my stomach is perfectly flat, I have these gigantic c-cup boobs that are weirdly, naturally perky and they sit at an awkwardly high position on my chest…and my scrub top won't fit over them. Fantastic. I use one of my arms to squish my boobs down and my free hand to yank my shirt down.

"It's so hard to get the sizes of these things right." My locker neighbor makes small talk with me. She's busy trying to adjust her entirely-too-big scrub top so that it doesn't hang off her shoulders. She holds her hands out to me. "Need some help?"

"…Actually, maybe we should trade." I stop trying to force the shirt over my chest and just look at her. She's actually quite pretty. Her dark brown skin is smooth and ideally flawless and her black, plastic-rimmed glasses make her look so sophisticated and smart. Her wildly curly hair really suits her thin, delicate face. She's so pretty that it makes me not even want to look at her, if you know what I mean. "You look like you need a smaller size and I clearly need a bigger one. Is yours bigger than a small?"

"Yeah, mine's a medium." She takes off her top just as quickly as she put it on and hands it to me. I forcefully pull the small top back over my head and hand it to her. "…Steph, by the way." After she puts her new shirt on, she offers her hand out to me. I pull my hair through the head-hole of my new top and shake her hand. "Steph Edwards… err, Stephanie, I mean." She chuckles at her own ineptitude and tosses a loose, twisty curl out of her face. "I forgot how 'unprofessional' it is to introduce myself as Steph." She states, putting air-quotes around the word unprofessional.

"Um…" I don't know why, but my mind goes blank for a minute. I can't remember my own name. "…J…Jo….sephine. Josephine." Get it together. Stop stuttering so much. "Jo… Jo Wilson." I put my tongue in my cheek and inhale a high-pitched breath. "Jo… it's short for Josephine, but nobody ever calls me Josephine unless I'm in some kind of trouble or something. So call me Jo." I take my jeans off and fold them neatly into a pile so I can stuff them in my locker. Stephanie follows my lead and takes her own pants off as well. "…Who's your resident?" I pick up my scrub pants and examine them to see if I'll need to trade these off with Stephanie as well.

"Yang." She slips her legs through her pants and secures them on her waist. She ties the drawstrings on them and adjusts them quite nicely. "Yours?"

"Kepner." I tie a bow in the drawstrings to my pants and sit down to put my shoes back on. "That's too bad. It would've been nice to know at least one person in my group." I fling my hair over my shoulder and shove my left foot into my shoe. "Guess I'll see you around lunch time or something."

"Yeah, totally." She shuts her locker and goes on about her business. I finish tying my shoe and do the same.


Alex's Point of View.

"Who's presenting?" I glance down at my watch then back up to the group that I'm responsible for. They all look at me like I just spoke a foreign language to them. I think I was pretty clear though. "Did they not teach you this in school?" They still look at me like they have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm not sure that I'm cut out for this whole teaching thing. I suck my teeth at the idiots and shove the chart into the arms of a short, thin girl with shoulder-length blonde hair. "You…" I mumble. I'm not sure what her name is and I really just don't care. "When we present, we—"

"Maya Anderson, 31 years old…currently recovering from a hernia repair. Showing signs of post op infection." Before I can finish yelling at my group, Kepner comes into the room with her group. I guess I'm grateful that she spared my idiots from getting yelled at, but she's kind of stealing my teaching moment. Apes doesn't annoy me as much as she used to annoy me. Ever since she got with Jackson she's toned it down a whole lot. Jackson and Ape do a very good job of balancing each other out for that matter. So because she's not totally annoying me anymore, I just let her continue. "Can anybody tell me what the signs of post op infection for hernia repair are?"

Her idiots look just as clueless as mine, if not more. I glare at my own group. "How about you guys? Any of you know the signs of a post op infection for a hernia repair?"

"I'll give you guys the benefit of the doubt and say that you're all probably just nervous for your first day." April is much nicer to her idiots than I am to mine. "Redness, swelling, drainage from the incision sight… those are all indicators of a post op infection." She pushes a couple buttons on the electronic chart she has in her hand and smiles at the patient. I must admit that I've always been kind of jealous of Ape's bedside manners. She just has that soft edge that I can only dream of sometimes. "Please excuse us. I don't know if Dr. Karev told you, but this is a teaching hospital and today we just got our brand new interns… we're supposed to be training them."

"Of course." The patient pleasantly smiles and nods her head.

"Now can anybody tell me how we monitor and treat a post op infection from a hernia repair?" April turns to both her idiots and mine. You know what? I'm cool with her teaching my idiots. Less work for me. "Go 'head." April nods her head at a girl in the back that raised her hand. I have so many names to learn. I don't really feel like learning everyone's names because chances are, they're not all gonna make it anyway. A good bit of them will screw up and be out of here sooner or later. I guarantee by the time this is all done and over there will only be about six of them left here.

"Check the incision periodically…once every three hours. A dose of antibiotics intravenously and constant bandage changes." The girl that answered Ape's question came from her own group. She's kind of tall. She towers at a nice height above the rest of the idiots she's standing beside and she looks like she's scared out of her wits. But she's right with the treatment plan, so I don't know why she's so scared. She looks like she's too good to be here. She looks like she should be a nurse as opposed to a surgical intern. I've had my fair share of models, so I know one when I see one. I can guess how she made it through med school. I won't judge her; I'm just saying that it's pretty obvious that she takes her clothes off quite often. I have pretty good radar for girls like that.

"You." I point at her and her eyes grow about two sizes bigger. "Maybe you could teach my interns a thing or two." I snatch the chart back off the short chick I gave it to and fold it closed since April already rounded on her. I snap my fingers at them to get them to follow me and they do. I shove the chart in the holder that's hanging on the back of the door and walk past the nurses' station. "Go down to the pit and see if anybody down there needs your help. Don't kill anyone." I mumble to my group and they all scatter like cockroaches in kitchen lights.

I grab an electronic chart from the charging station that sits right beside the nurses' station and check to see if I can round on any patients on my own. I'm really not cut out to teach anybody anything. I couldn't even teach myself anything when I was an intern, how the hell does anybody expect me to teach them? I lean against the charging station and just take a minute. This is going to be a long, long, long day.


Jo's Point of View.

"Have you seen the plastics flunky? The one that pals around with Dr. Sloan all the time? Talk about EYE. CANDY." As soon as I walk over to the table that Stephanie is sitting at in the cafeteria area, she starts to talk to me. I'm not sure if I'd call Stephanie a friend just yet. She's just the only person I've made actual contact with today. Well, she, Dr. Kepner and Dr. Karev are the only ones I've made contact with. But Stephanie is the only one that I'm not scared out of my mind to talk back to. "I didn't quite catch his name… but he's incredibly good-looking."

I sit down and stir my straw in my plastic cup full of soda. I'm hungry but I really can't afford to buy anything to eat here at the moment. I'll eat when I go home later. "Dr. Avery, yeah." I take a sip of my drink and kick my feet up on a free chair across from me. My feet are so tired and I've only been on them for six hours. I have six more hours to go. "I'm not sure, but I think him and my resident are a thing. They were kissing today… not unless that's just a casual thing that people do here…"

"Of course he has a girlfriend or whatever. Of course. You don't get to be that good-looking and single. It doesn't work that way." She's busy eating her French fries two at a time. "So anyway, Dr. Yang is a GOD. I saw her do a mitral valve replacement in a half hour today. That's unheard of!"

"…You got to sniff the inside of an OR today?" I slide my cup away from me and just look at her with the purest amount of jealousy.

"Hell no!" She starts to laugh at me as if I said the silliest thing she's ever heard of. "She didn't actually let us go in… but she let us watch from the gallery. She's amazing. I think I'm in love with my resident."

"So which one is it? Her or Dr. Avery?"

"Both." She winks and I start to laugh right along with her. "You can't sit here and tell me that he is not the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, though. He's beautiful…"

"Ehh… he's okay." I shrug my shoulders.

"What are you, gay?" She playfully taps me in my shoulder.

"No! I just… I don't really think he's THAT good-looking. He's attractive, but not THAT attractive. I've seen cute guys around here, sure. But I'm not really here for cute boys. Especially cute guys that I have no chance with."

"Who do you have your eyes on?"

"…Dr. Kepner took us on a tour of the hospital and I saw this cute guy in OB. He was pretty…" I press my lips into a hard line and try to keep from busting out in laughter. "He was pretty damn sexy." I shrug. "And this other doctor that I saw today was cute, but he was kind of… douchey, I think. But all the hot guys are douches, so…"

"Do either of your cute guys have names?"

"…I don't know the guy from OB. I caught a glimpse of him. And the other guy is…" I lick my lips and pick up my Styrofoam cup again. "I dunno, I guess Dr. Karev isn't that bad looking. He's cute." I take a long, drowned out sip of my soda and wait for Steph's reaction.

"….Yeah, you know that guy's married, right?" She shoots me down. I look at her with a puzzled look on my face. "Dr. Karev is so married… did you really think he wasn't? There's a blonde girl that works up in Derm. I heard through the grapevine that she's his wife… or soon-to-be wife. He's either married or engaged, one of the two."

"…Blonde girl that works up in Dermatology… never seen her." I shrug. "He seemed like an asshole to me anyway. Either he's an ass or he woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."

She offers me her half-eaten bag of potato chips that I gladly accept. "Well like you said… all cute guys are douchey."