Friday, September 22, 2000:
Latest comic:  Love and Rockets.
Last movie seen:  Duets, Amy made me.  Better than I thought.
Wondering:  Who keeps using up my rechargeable batteries. 
Where's ... The LIGER!? :  Where I should be ... sleeping with Amy.

CALLER ONE

In my office, also known as Dr. Peacock's storage room.

PHONE:  *BDBDBDBEEP*BDBDBEEP*

I know when my office phone rings that it's not for me.   It's usually the wrong number or the previous occupant.  People who really want to talk to me have me paged (or email me).

ME:  "Hello?"

CALLER:  "Hi, can I speak to Whatha Myxlpltk?"

ME:  "Who? This is Dr. Scott's office."

CALLER:  "Is this Human Resources?"

ME:  "No, you have the wrong number.  Try the operator.  Bye."

*click*

I check my patient list.  Eight are fine.  One is dying.  One died last week.  My inventory is life and death, subject to change hourly.  Maybe this is Human Resources. 

CALLER DEUX

PHONE:  *BDBDBDBEEP*BDBDBEEP*

ME:  "Hello?"

CALLER: "Hi, is this Dr. Peacock's office?"

ME:  "No, she isn't in this office anymore.  This is my office now, Dr. Scott."

CALLER:  "The operator said this is her office number."

ME:  "Well, she moved out over two years ago, but her storage boxes, her wedding pictures, and her framed picture of Michelangelo's David are still here, if that counts for anything.  Try the Admini-Starstation.  Thanks."

*click*

(Don't think for a minute that I made any of that up either.  I had to pack everything away just to find my desk when I first moved in.)

CALLER ME

10:36 P.M.  Home.

*RING*RING*

ME:  "Hi, is Giovanni there?"

GIOVANNI:  "Holy goddamn almighty, after nine months of talking to your answering machine you finally call me.  What the hell Scott, how have you been?"

ME:  (laughing)  "Hey Giovanni, sorry I've been kind of busy, man.  I thought it might be too late to call but --"

GIOVANNI:  "Man I haven't talked to you since graduation (from residency) --"

ME:  "I didn't go to the graduation.  But yeah, it's been over a year.  So are you working in your own office now?"

GIOVANNI:  "No, I joined this other doc's practice.  Just waiting for my million dollar lottery ticket to come in so I can quit this shit."

ME:  "Yeah, tell me about it."

GIOVANNI:  "Listen to this Scotty.  I saw this one patient twice 4 months ago.  He had a fever but all his tests checked out.  I tell him to follow up with me in a few days.  He never does.  Today, four months later, I get a call from his cousin -- he died in his sleep this morning.  His cousin's asking me what kind of tests he had."

ME:  "You think he's planning a lawsuit?"

(I already know he's planning a lawsuit.)

GIOVANNI:  "I don't know, but I reviewed his chart.  There's only two pages on this guy and everything was normal.  He was only nineteen too."

ME:  "Nineteen?"

GIOVANNI:  "Yeah, hahaha, now does that change your view of any liability against me?"

ME:  "Haha."

GIOVANNI:  "You're not answering Scotty.  I hate this always worrying about getting sued shit.   I didn't do anything wrong.  The legal system is all fucked up.  Do you worry about that stuff in the hospital?"

ME:  "How can you not?  The Empire covers us though."

GIOVANNI:  "I tell you, it's way less stressful in the office than it is in the hospital.  Over there any thing can and does happen by God knows what fuck-ups they hire off the street for the lowest price and you can get nailed for their mistakes.  People are dying all the time in the hospital, but not in the office."

The G-Slips, the G is for guilt or greed: Everytime someone's lawyer requests medical records on a (usually dead) patient I had, I get a copy of their request in my mailbox. They're usually from that one omnipresent obstructively ignorant family member or from family members across two time zones who haven't seen their dead relative in over a decade. 

The irony would be funny if I wasn't so hurt or insulted by it. The people that I'm trying to help turn around and become a threat to me.  It's almost never the patient herself though.  It's usually just one angry / in-denial family member, who never actually listened to the sick person in the bed.  Healthy people yell louder than sick ones. 

It's getting to the point where I can't trust someone unless they're in a bed with a critical illness tethered to an I.V. pole.  And people wonder why doctors seem "colder" now than ever before.  I'm society's Frankensteinian creation.

 

GIOVANNI:  "So how are all the big-wigs at The Empire, Scotty?  They still treat you like a fucking resident?"

ME:  "No, things are pretty good here.  I like it."

GIOVANNI:  "You've got to come out here on the frontier with me someday.  Be your own boss.  Manage your own destiny.  You can't be an intern forever."

ME:  "Yeah, maybe.  I kind of like not having to worry about insurance, and overhead, and business stuff though.  Not to mention runny noses and workers comp cases."

GIOVANNI:  "Those are the easy ones.  So, how's Amy?  Any kids yet?"

ME:  "We're great.  No kids for another year, we're thinking.  So, how's your dating situation?"

GIOVANNI:  "It is awesome.  I've gone out with a couple drug reps.  They have some nice drug reps here Scotty.  I swear they practically throw themselves at you.  Well, maybe not YOU, harharr!"

ME:  "Right, I thought you preferred medstudents.  Anything serious?"

GIOVANNI:  "Are you kidding me?  No offense to Amy, but you should have lived it up for a few years after residency, man.  You are missing out on the best part."

ME:  "Hmm.  Sounds like it."

GIOVANNI:  "Well, you know what I'm gonna do someday Scotty?  When I build up my practice and make my millions and get my porsche and trophy babe ... ooh, did I say babe, how politically incorrect of me ... sorry, I meant babesss?"

ME:  "No, what?"

GIOVANNI:  "I'm going to make an appointment with The Administrator himself, I'm going to march right into his office ..."

ME:  "I don't think they'll let you in ..."

GIOVANNI:  "... I'll thank him for leaving me high-and-dry after jumping through their hoops for three years and then ..."

ME:  "Then what?"

GIOVANNI:  "Then I'll pull down my pants and tell him to kiss my million dollar ass!  Harharharrr!!"

ME:  "Hahaha!"

GIOVANNI:  "How's that sound, Scotty?"

ME:  "Page me when you do."

GIOVANNI:  "Hey, we have to get together some time.  Well, I know it's late, so I'll let you go -- "

ME:  "No, I'm fine, it's not that late ...."

GIOVANNI:  " ... gotta go, my buddy just got here, going out tonight.  Take it easy Scotty, say hi to Amy for me."

ME:  "Yeah, talk to you later, Giovanni."

*click*

I sit there for a while, my face still hurting from laughing so hard.  Wondering what it would be like, to be single.  Dating.  The excitement of the new.  Bars.  Small talk.  Fronts.  Nervousness.  Games.  Ecstasy / Jealousy.  Boredom / Distrust.  Next.  

All to find that one person.

The one who liked you for you before you became what you are.  

Someone who would know to look for you in video arcades when you weren't at the library.

Someone who does the "bug dance" at the gym when you're trying to press your last set. 

Someone who would drive 60 miles to your apartment after her 12-hour midnight shift just to sleep next to you for an hour before you awoke. 

And then wouldn't complain when you drove her back in your junky station wagon, with no heater, in the freezing Michigan winters:

"We'll p-p-probably laugh about this s-s-some day," she would say shivering, with her nose red, and her breath crystallizing in mid-air.

"I d-d-doubt it."

I get a chill just thinking about having to go through all that again.  I crawl into bed, cradled behind Amy's warmth. 

"You're cold," she mumbles drowsily.

"Warm me up then," I press closer.

"Who was that?" she asks.

"Giovanni."

I snuggle up to her, and she begins to return the favor. 

"What's he up to?"

"He's going out."

Into the cold. 

I'm warm now. 

Hold my calls.

Dr. DEEPSCOPE (anonymous imperial insider):

"Did you know The Empire hired someone for the sole purpose of monitoring what websites are visited by whom?  You want to know where the most porn hits came from?

Administration."

 

 

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