Earlier on my way to work, I passed a store called Pharmacy & Liquor. Okay, where have I been all these years? Have these always existed? Pharmacy & Liquor: Now with more booze and smaller print on the prescription warning labels! That reminds me of Arrested Development: "Lucille mistook the drowsy-eyed alcohol warning for a winky-eyed alcohol suggestion." Wouldn't that just be great to send our difficult patients there? "Alright Mr. Williams, with your valium I'm also going to prescribe one bottle of whiskey, to be consumed in no more than five days. Got it?" I remember reading in Modern Drunkard Magazine how to successfully drink on the job. Clear liquids are preferable, helpful if you have one of those coffee commuter cups. Drink slowly out of a straw and always pre-mix your drinks at home. As they put it so delicately: "The only people who mix liquids in the workplace are chemists and drunks. And they know you ain’t no chemist." Lulz. And don't get too sloshed on the job as to avoid getting fired. Oh god do I wish I could do that, sipping white rum all day out of my usual diet coke, trying to get everyone to do the wave or put on some "awesome jams" or even start telling everyone how much I love them.
This is probably a booze themed post because it's Friday, ending my hardest week to date, not to mention my longest give the two hour commute each way because my car is still in the shop. My Useless Dinosaur Boss was out today, and left early yesterday, and will be out again on Monday. She's visiting one of her children or grandchildren or great-grandchildren or something in some random awful state, because she's just "too stressed" and "needs to take a break." Nice that she gets paid for all the breaks she takes on the job, which includes the entire month I've been working there in which she's managed to do nothing at all but complain about how swamped she is. Here's a hint: the less work you do, the more there's going to be when you finally decide to return to it. Oh, did I ever learn that lesson in college. We all hope she'll decide to stay in South Dakota or Montana or Arkansas or wherever she ran off to.
So another thing I can add to my list of things I've learned so far working at a doctor's office: Don't get between a doctor and his lunch. So everyday a large group of us orders food from one of the local places, and we're quite regular customers of I'd say like, 5 places near the office. This one particular place we ordered from today we get something from like every other day, if not everyday. Anyway, we were all eating in the break room, talking about Real Housewives of Orange County and The Girls Next Door and other such trashy reality tv that we all just gobble up, when Dr. Smith walks in, that boyish grin on his face that is reserved only for his panini and diet coke, when he starts rummaging through the bag. Then his head snaps up and he cries "WHERE'S MY SANDWICH?!?!?!" So we call the place and they're basically like, "Oh, shit, yeah we totally did forget his sandwich. Look, it's on your order and everything! *chuckle*" A good 45 minutes later he calls them up and just goes "Hi. Dr Smith. WHERE IS MY SANDWICH????" No introduction. No explanation. Just a list of demands that they must follow or else. I guess that's what 7 years of medical school does to you. Man do I wish that I could be like that. I'd probably call up and say something along the lines of "Oh, hi, um... Yeah, I can hold............................. Okay yeah hi, um, so like, I called a while ago, yeah. And um, well remember how you forgot someone's sandwich? Yeah that was me. Can I um, get it, please? I mean if you're busy then take your time. But yeah, whenever you get the chance....." Not Dr Smith. That delivery girl was at our door in less than five minutes, panting as if she'd run up all 5 flights of stairs, sandwich in one hand and his refund clutched in the other. Man, that guy has balls. And apparently has his sandwich now, too.