To say I've had a bad day is to say the sea is moist, or the sky a bit up there, or the Pope possibly a very, very observant Episcopalian.
Any day that begins with the words, "What did I tell you yesterday? DON'T TOUCH MY PATIENTS!" and ends with the words, "Well, we think you might have glaucoma" is not a day to be cured with some sort of bullshit, meet-cute crap video for an annoying earworm of a song that never should've made it off of American Idol.
However, it does give me something to hate.
Ladies and germs, I give you: Toque-wearing, whining, meet-cute maestro, Daniel Whatsisfuck:
4 comments:
Well, at least you only have to deal with the sweet, supportive, encouraging training nurse from hell for what, another 6 weeks?
(btw, word verification was 'ocular.' Appropriate, yes?)
If you will remember, I didn't "might have glaucoma" I had "holy shit you're really young for this but you so totally have glaucoma". Laser trabeculoplasty is yer friend. My pressures have been spot-on perfect in the two years since. I couldn't be happier with it.
As for the asshat pantload who doesn't think you should touch any patients, channel the Size Tens, dearie. Channel the Size Tens.
MWAAAAAA!!!!!
Glaucoma, seriously?
Oh, ((Jo)).
R.
damn. hang tough.
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