A number of things baffle me: the popularity of Nirvana, why people like the Doors, why Cyndi Lauper didn't make it as big as Madonna, why people eat Pei Wei, why people in traffic swerve suddenly to the right and accelerate when it's obvious that there're slower cars right in front of them....I could go on. I spend most of my day as baffled as a bathroom geyser.*
Dickishness baffles me.
Today, one of the attending physicians showed up in the unit right before I went to work.
Now, this dude is one of the more socially ept surgeons we've got. He's a popular guy: well spoken and attractive (and believe Auntie Jo when she tells you that "well-spoken" is not a backhanded compliment a la Joe Biden; it's rare in neurosurgeons) and generally well-liked. He and I had a brief conversation back before I had surgery: he'd asked what was going on, and I'd told him, and further told him (in response to the same joke I'd heard 5,000 times by then) that I was really afraid of how I'd sound after the procedure.
I was--and still am, though to a lesser degree--self-conscious about the way I sound. This week I've had a bit of a swollen throat, thanks to allergies, so I sound much more nasal and stuffy than usual, and my nasal airway is pretty closed off.
So when Dude-Bro showed up on the floor and asked if I had a cold, I didn't think much of it. The woman who was working with me (the lovely and protective Kari) said, darkly, "She doesn't have a cold; she had surgery." Doctor Dude-Bro then said, "I know....so, you got a cold, or what?"
This was me just then:
Then, as I was driving home, I had a chance to think about it. Really think about it: that Dr. Dude-Bro, in addition to throwing me under the bus a scant two hours later, went out of his way to be prickish right then, and for no reason.
This was me just after that realization hit:
I'm just gonna go eat nachos now, and maybe watch Enchanted.
*I don't know what that means, either, but it's Dorothy Sayers so it's got to be good.