Author's note: this was originally an essay for Honors English, but I figured since it was a story I might as well see how the people like it. Enjoy, and review!
I limped into the clinic space, abhorring every pore of the room. As soon as she was aware that I was extant, Lisa, in all of her Prada glory, clacked over to me and handed me "Linda Johnson's" folder. I reluctantly gathered my patient from the commodious yet turbulent room and led her to exam room 1, where the torture would begin. Oh, how I would love to waive my clinic duties away … but then I wouldn't get to play with the sick people anymore.
As I escaped the vociferous chaos of the clinic, my patient beamed at me and began to introduce herself. "Hold a second," I interrupted her. After about three minutes, when she realized that I wasn't going to continue, she took up the duty. "I said hold on!" I repeated. This time she got the gist of my silence, and gave me a squalid look. "I hope you know how rude you are being," she began to harass me. I let her trail on this time, and without her noticing, I began to inspect the voluminous lump that was encircling her wrist.
"Before you bequeath any more insults on my invulnerable and unbearably handsome head," I said nonchalantly, "would you mind telling me about your wrist? Apparently you're in a hospital, which would lead me to believe that there's something wrong with it." I discerned a second too late that what I had just done had doomed me to an eternity of stories about 'mother's cursed Chihuahua that bit me, but she also has a Great Dane, it's sweet, you know I really like pie…'
What, oh omniscient God, have I done that is so reprehensible?
By now she has moved on to her martinet of a boss at work, which reminded me of a certain Lisa Cuddy, who had earlier implicated me with this plague of a woman. I came to the conclusion that the only way to buffet my wrath upon Cuddy was to inter this woman in Cuddy's amazing talent, therefore encouraging her to trade doctors, and then pretend that she is a horrible renegade, just to spite Cuddy.
It was a foolproof plan, which was a bonus, considering the patient.
As her corrosive voice ate away at my remaining brain cells, I amended my earlier behavior by sarcastically telling her the tale of the wonderful Dr. Cuddy, and how intelligent she his and how pretty her hair looks in the rain. Knowing that my frank rudeness – it charms everyone – would still be in the woman's mind, I scribbled a note and told her to see the front desk. "They'll help you find a good doctor … now if you'll excuse me," I said. I knew she was trying to obviate my presence, so I exited the room quickly.
It was difficult to remain in a somber state when I saw Cuddy glaring at me on my way out, knowing what fate held in store for her, but I was in the drama club when I was younger, so I think I'm covered. It's hard being a good doctor and having fun at the same time, but I think I manage to pull it off pretty well.
Somewhere in the distant halls of the hospital, I heard a crash and a scream, followed by the sound of something wet hitting the floor. I knew that my presence would be unhelpful, as it always is in times of chaos and confusion. I walked as quickly as possible towards the sound, eager to see who would die next.