As my regular readers know, I moonlight as a consultant for various
medical market research companies. It's a thankless job, but somebody
has to pay for the tomatoes.
So last night I had a dinner meeting with neurologists and sundry other specialists to review data on an up-and-coming product.
These
are never fun, because neurologists by nature are a remarkably
pathological group of personalities. Back when I worked at Humungous
Neurology, Inc. the partners would argue if it was dark or light
outside. I think they invite the other specialties to these as a buffer.
But I digress.
So
I was seated next to Dr. Harangue, who I'd had the good fortune of not
having seen in at least 5 years. In his own mind he's a giant in his
field. To those outside his mind he's an obnoxious boil. He may have
once been a good doc, but as they say in Hollywood "you're only as good
as your last picture". And his was made before Casablanca.
Neurologists
will argue over anything. The meal started with a dispute across from
me over who's bread plate was who's (right or left? GET YOUR BREAD OFF
MY PLATE!) followed by a fight over which fork is used for salad.
Somebody actually dragged the maitre d' to the room to settle the issue
(no, it wasn't me. I sit still and keep my mouth shut as much as
possible).
I'm not much into the swanky places they have these meetings at. I ordered a steak. I had no idea how complex this was.
Waiter: "How would you like that cooked?"
Dr. Grumpy: "Medium."
Waiter: 'That involves a light red center. Is that okay?"
Dr. Grumpy: "As opposed to..."
Waiter: "Well, rare is a pink center."
Dr. Grumpy: "Medium is fine."
Waiter: "I can do medium rare, too. That's a pink/red combo".
Dr. Grumpy: "What's wrong with medium?"
Waiter: "I'll just do medium-rare-plus for you. That's a pinkish-red."
Whatever. I'm trying to order a steak, not pick out draperies.Then
the talk began. Every time a doc involved in the study was mentioned,
Dr. Harangue felt the need to interrupt and say "I know that doctor
personally. We've been close friends for over 25 years." By the end of
the meeting I was hoping they'd mention a study done by Hippocrates or
Woodrow Wilson to see if he knew them, too.
After 15 minutes of
talking, the speaker stepped out from behind the podium to show us all
that his zipper was down, with his tucked-in shirt hanging out of it. A
tactful internist promptly yelled "Christ! Your fly is open!" to drop a
subtle hint.
Then they brought dinner. The cardiologist next to
me had ordered prime rib (no comment), and the waiter accidentally set
my steak in front of him, and his prime rib in front of me. I pointed
this out, and he quickly switched plates.
The cardiologist had a freakin'
FIT! "I don't want that now! It was in front of him!
He could have H1N1, or worse! Doesn't the heath department check you places anymore?!!!" It was, literally, in front of me for less than 5 seconds.
So
I quietly started my steak, while they went to get Dr. Germaphobe a new
prime rib (actually, I think they just brought him back the old one).
The
next speaker showed us a seemingly endless series of graphs. After 20
minutes of this, she asked if anyone had any comments. Dr. Phlame at the
end of the table immediately raised his hand. "Yes, I want to know why
you chose red and blue as the main colors for the graphs. I think mauve
and maybe yellow would be much more aesthetically pleasing. Also, I
think some ruffles or curvy lines around the slide border would be
nice."
This
was immediately followed by Dr. Harangue chipping in "Dr. Phlame, do
you live under a freaking rock? This company has been using those colors
for years. But back to the data, did any of you people think to compare
these results to a 1954 study by Longdead, et al?" The speaker (and
everyone else there) had absolutely no clue what he was talking about,
and Dr. Harangue chewed us out, as if it had just been published last
week. When I looked it up, the study investigated a drug (that's no longer in use) for an unrelated condition.
Throughout
this excitement the waiters kept refilling our glasses (ENDLESS DIET
COKE HEAVEN!), so dysfunctional personalities were not improving with
repeated doses of Burgundy and other wines.
In one discussion, to argue a point about a competing drug, an internist actually reached into his pocket and pulled out a product insert.
I swear! He had it with him, all scrunched up. After reading from it
like it was a bible he sat down and began arguing with a pulmonary doc
about when daylight savings time starts.
We
made it through another 15 minutes of polite discussion before Dr.
Germaphobe cardiologist began tapping my shoulder. "Hey, Ibee!"
I turned around "What's up?"
"Are you gonna finish your roll?"
Stunned,
I looked at the bread roll I'd absently left on my plate. It was
buttered, and I'd taken a few bites out of it. "Uh, no, I'm full".
"Thanks!"
And he grabbed it. So the guy who'd refused to eat an untouched steak
was now chomping on my partially eaten dinner roll. Amazing what a
bottomless glass of white wine will do.
As we sat through another
set of slides, Dr. Harangue's cell phone rang. He answered it, speaking
loudly enough to be heard in the next county (i.e., his usual volume). "What? Yeah. No, I've got another half hour of this shit. The drug company people won't shut up."
The
dinner ended 20 minutes later. To make sure all points were covered,
the moderator specifically asked "Dr. Harangue, are there any other
comments?"
No answer. It was the only time he'd been quiet all
night. He was in a burgundy stupor, slumped face down next to his creme
brulee. He was still there when I collected my paycheck and left.
