GAAAAAHHHHH!!!

Dr. Grumpy: "Any side effects with the new pill?"

Mr. P: "Only one, it makes my urine smell like something terrible."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay and what about..."

Mr. P: "I brought some, in case you want to smell it."

Pulls Tupperware container out of bag.

That's a wrap, folks

With the school year down to it's final 2 weeks, I'm shutting down the blog until the shouting here is over. Too much band stuff, year-end competitions, parties, and other stuff to deal with, besides my day job.

See you in a few weeks!

Texting with Frank

Mrs. Grumpy asked me to deal with dinner. Not knowing what the food status was at home, I made the mistake of asking Frank for help.

Some days... Sigh.

Phone

Mrs. Whiney was not happy.

She'd shown up 45 minutes late for her new patient appointment with no other explanation than "I have other things to do too, you know!"

Now she was not accepting that I wasn't going to see her and she'd have to reschedule for the next available slot, 2 weeks from now (and I thought I was being nice by letting her do that).

She'd berated Pissy's staff, who'd gotten Mary.

She'd been chewing out Mary, who'd finally walked away from the window and called me out from a patient room.

She was absolutely stunned when I told her I agreed with Mary, and she wasn't going to be seen today.

In an attempt to get me to give in she menacingly said "I. Want. You. To. Know. That. I'm. Calling. Dr. Stevens. And. Telling. Him. You. Treat. His. Patients. Like. This."

I smiled and wished her a good day. She pulled out her phone, knocked on the window, and asked if we could give her Dr. Steven's phone number. We ignored her.

Now it was time for her to make a scene for the rest of the lobby. And she made the critical mistake of getting her phone involved.


Mrs. Whiney: "Siri! Call Dr. Stevens!”

Siri: “There is no Dr. Stevens in your contact list.”

Mrs. Whiney: “SIRI! CALL DR. STEVENS RIGHT NOW!”

Siri: “Now playing 'Right Here Right Now' by Jesus Jones." (music starts)


Some elderly guy in my lobby and the drug rep he's never met before next to him start holding each other to keep from cracking up.


Mrs. Whiney: “SIRI! STOP THIS SONG AND CALL DR. STEVENS!”

Siri: “There is a chiropractor 1/2 mile north of you. Would you like directions?"


Drug rep starts snorting loudly and runs out of office, mumbling something about allergies.


Mrs. Whiney: “SIRI! CALL DR. STEVENS!”

Siri: “I found 3 pharmacies within two miles. Would you like me to call one of them?"


Mrs. Whiney throws her phone on the ground, picks it up, shoves it in her purse and yells "IT"S NOT FUNNY!" She storms out.

A few seconds passed before everyone in the office and lobby completely lost it and became hysterical. Including the patient who'd wandered out of my office to see why I hadn't returned.

Thrift

Dr. Grumpy: "How's the new medication working out for you?"

Mr. Pill: "Terrible! I'm nauseous all the time, have headaches, and throw up a lot!"

Dr. Grumpy: "Then let's stop it and..."

Mr. Pill: "I don't want to do that! I just bought a 90 day supply!"

Surprise!

As the school year begins wrapping up, we're moving into the next phase of the Wingnut High School marching band schedule: preparing for next season's football halftime show.

Yeah, you read that right. The next high school football season starts in 3-4 months, and so the twins and their friends are already working on the show.

So yesterday a flyer was sent home with the twins, listing all the stuff. Band camp dates. Meetings over the summer to start working on props. The theme of the show. Where to find the music to practice. Marching formations. Color guard maneuvers. Incoming freshmen orientation. Yadda yadda yadda.

About halfway down the page Mrs. Grumpy and I were surprised to find a paragraph that said “Practice marching sessions for the new steps and formations will be June 19, 25, and 29, July 7, 14, and 22, and August 12, 18, and 22. These will be held at Craig Grumpy’s house from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. Bring your own water bottle. Lunch will be provided.”




CRAIG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Coffee

Dr. Grumpy: "Are you much of a drinker?"

Mr. Collins: "Nope. Not at all. Just coffee, but I admit I'm a caffeine junkie. I drink it all day."

Mrs. Collins: "What are you talking about? You put Baileys in your coffee all day! You even keep it in that little thermos you sneak to work!"

Mr. Collins: "That doesn't count!"

Seen in a chart

Remember medical students: taking a good family history now includes covering test conclusions, free text, and practice management, but fortunately not retardation or cancer.

Random pictures

Okay, time to hit the mailbag for stuff you guys have sent in.


First, taken in a subway, is this opportunity that could end unemployment:

 

Here's this headline, which is just begging for someone to snicker at it.

 

Then there's this refrigerator drawer in a reader's recent appliance purchase, which sounds somewhat obscene:

 

 Here's a coffee pot seen early one morning at a hospital nurses station:

That's an interesting name for your iPhone:

And, finally, this box label. Which seems awfully pretentious for a freakin' cantaloupe.

Early

Guy comes in, stands at counter.

Mary: "Can I help you, sir?"

Guy: "Uh, I think I'm early for my visit."

Mary: "Okay. What time is your appointment?"

Guy: "I don't have one."

Great moments with Amazon

From the "now they definitely won't fall out" department.

Thank you, T!

Monday Reruns

Okay, everybody, let's take the Way-Back Machine to the early 1990's, when 4th year medical student Dr. Grumpy is interviewing for residency.


After medical school, young docklings go off to residency in our chosen fields.

But before we get into residency (through a mysterious process called "the match") we go off on interviews. Just like any other job.

I did my share of these interviews, traveling to 7 neurology programs in the early 90's to peddle my wares. These aren't quite as stressful as medical school interviews (for those you're begging them to take you, while for residency they need you & you need them, so both sides are trying in impress each other).

And this is the story of my least impressive interview:

I'd flown into the city the night before, and spent a relaxing night at a Motel 6.

The interview instructions said I was to begin by attending the Shitzenfuk Hospital Neurology conference at 7:30 a.m. This was several miles from the residency program's main hospital. And they actually told me to "ask around when you get there, and find a doctor willing to drive you back to our offices after the meeting".

So I took a cab from my motel to the hospital, and found the auditorium. Here I am, in a strange city, dragging my overnight bag around, with a bunch of docs who I don't know and who don't know me, and I'm walking around trying to bum a ride. Finally, after several looked at me like I was a sexual predator, one finally said. "Okay, I'm heading that way. I guess I can give you a ride."

Guess what? He turned out to be the freakin' chairman of the program I was interviewing at! He'd signed the letter telling me to bum a ride. You'd think he could have offered initially, since he knew I'd be there, but no.

So we walk out to his car. Mind you, I'm not a car snob. I don't expect doctors to be driving expensive things (my own car is a 2000 Nissan), but nothing could have prepared me for Dr. Chairman's mean set of wheels.

It was an early 70's Japanese something. Missing the right front fender. The trunk was half open, held down by a bungee cord threaded through a rust-hole.

I opened the passenger door. And a pile of empty soda cans, newspapers, fast food containers, orange peels, and heaven knows what else, fell out. Dr. Chairman said "sorry, let me clear that off" and began chucking the pile of garbage into the back seat (which was already covered with trash).

And off we went. It was December, and cold. My window was open. I tried rolling it up, but he said, "there's no window there, it broke years ago." The heat didn't work, either. So I was shivering away, with my overnight bag on my lap (no space for it anywhere else in the car). I hoped his driving skills were better than his car-care talents, because my seatbelt didn't work.

So we got to Neurology HQ. Where Ms. Bitchy at the desk (Dr. Chairman abandoned me as soon as we walked in) claimed I hadn't been invited for an interview, even when I showed her my letter. Eventually she realized she was looking at the previous week's schedule, and blamed me for having handed her the wrong schedule (which she'd actually pulled out of her desk).

Then it was time for my tour of the esteemed facilities. Ms. Bitchy directed me down a hall, and told me someone would meet me there.

Fortunately, one did. It was a nice guy named Pete, who (allegedly) was the chief resident. We talked for a minute in the middle of the building's lobby, which had white pillars everywhere, and halls leading in different directions.

After giving me a brief summary of the areas we'd be going to, Pete said, "It's a beautiful hospital. Follow me." He then turned around and walked straight into a pillar, breaking his glasses.

I helped Pete up, while some other guys in white coats ran over to try and stop the blood now pouring out of his nose.

As they led him away, Pete told me to wait in the lobby. A few minutes later Ms. Bitchy showed up, leading a girl in scrubs who'd apparently been on call the night before, and looked (understandably) less then enthusiastic about showing me around. It was a pretty quick tour.

Afterwards I had an interview with a doctor, who used most of our interview time to return patient calls. He also called Mastercard to argue about some charges, which he blamed on his ex-wife.

Then it was (per the schedule) lunch with the residents. None showed up. It was me and 3 attending physicians. Ms. Bitchy, the secretary-from-hell, had only ordered 3 lunches. She gave one to each of the doctors, and told me where I could find the hospital cafeteria.

I just went hungry, and spoke to the doctors. One of them told me he thought the newfangled MRA technology was a passing fad.

Then it was another interview. This time with Dr. Chairman of the crappy car. Who'd inexplicably left for the day. No one knew where he'd gone, or why.

Thus ended the interview. Ms. Bitchy told me she'd arrange a ride for me back to the airport, but given her remarkable organizational skills displayed thus far, I declined. She wouldn't let me use the phone on her desk, so I found a pay phone and called a cab.

I ranked them last. I have no idea where they ranked me. And no, I didn't go there.

Memories...

In the early 80's my family went on a generic “American Family Goes on a Bus Tour of Europe” trip. My sister and I (both teens) shared a hotel room.

My mom, for some reason I don’t remember (perhaps I never knew) had packed a bunch of off-brand blueberry Pop-Tarts. They weren’t even the real thing, some cheap store generic. Maybe she thought they didn’t have food in Europe. So this box of suckish store-brand pop-tarts was tossed in a suitcase, flown across the Atlantic on a 747, dragged over land in a tour bus, and taken across the channel in a hovercraft (yeah, there was no Chunnel, youngsters). For the record I think it was stale long before we even left. Possibly before she bought it. Why it made the trip I still don't know.

Anyway, late one night in Paris, while watching the crappy hotel room TV and trying to guess what they were saying, my sister and I had a big fight over something. I don’t remember what. It escalated from shouting to throwing things... and the nearest things at hand were the pop-tarts.

As we hurled them back & forth the silver packages tore and opened, sending chunks of pop-tarts  flying everywhere. If a piece was big enough to throw, it was thrown. I think we also threw some rock-hard raisin buns leftover from breakfast, hotel stationary, pens, and anything else lying around.

When it was over there were stale crumbs, frosting, and streaks of nasty artificial blueberry filling EVERYWHERE. Walls, blankets, sheets, curtains, TV, mirror, me, sister, door, carpet.

We checked out in the morning to move on to whatever the next country was. I have no idea what the place's cleaning crew thought of the bizarre mess.

My sister and I were terrified Dad would chew us out about extra charges for damages, but it never happened.

Time

Got this inquiry in a research email:

Not sure what sort of range they're really looking for, but curious where they came up with the higher end. If you're seeing 100,000 patients with ANYTHING in a 31 day month, it means you're spending 27 seconds with each of them. Provided, of course, that you don't stop to eat, sleep, or hit the bathroom.

"Hello, I'm your doctor. Have a nice day."