I had been out of work for the past few months; I was laid off from my previous job at a state-funded hospital due to budget cuts. After some well-deserved time off and a job search, I landed a research assistant position at a large hospital in downtown Chicago, and have been on cloud nine since I got the offer two weeks ago.
So I was on the phone to my mom right after I accepted the offer, telling her about the new job, and about the two studies I’m working on. One is a study involving patients who have AIDS. She listens to my whole babbling spiel about how I’ll be scheduling patients, handling paperwork for the studies, being sure various forms are filled out properly, contacting the other centers involved in the studies, and so on. She pauses and asks, “You’re not in any danger, are you?”
I try to be sure my eye rolling isn’t audible, and explain that no, the closest I’m getting to anyone’s bodily fluids is maybe occasionally transporting closed blood samples to the lab. I’m not trained to do blood draws or anything of the sort, and didn’t mention anything during that whole conversation about taking samples.
This week rolls around and the latest in terrorist “alert” rumors comes out. What’s on the list? Yup. Hospitals in Chicago. Even better, the hospital I’ll be working in is literally located next door to two other large hospitals, making for a really nice target area I’d assume. I’m surprised she hasn’t called yet.
To cheer myself up, I bought for my new desk the Worst-Case Scenario Daily Survival Calendar. The intent was that anything that would usually happen at a workplace would seem mild compared to this, but if it includes anthrax or bombings, maybe it’d be a handy reference too. 
I told my husband this morning that last year was his turn to watch out for anthrax, now it’s my turn. He’s a postal worker, you see.
Maybe I should point worriers to some of CRorex’s Pit threads about his dangerous coworkers; I’m betting that some of that puts my new calendar to shame.