Two doctors stand beside their boss, a well-respected surgeon at Clivemore Hospital, New Jersey and await instructions. What the younger doctors don't know is that Dr. Stetson smoked marijuana this morning before his emergency beeper went off. Shit happens. And Dr. Stetson has to deal with this shit, head on.
"What did I just say?" the surgeon asks, faux-confidently.
And the female doctor repeats him: "Carefully, and patiently." The measly little man standing between her and Dr. Stetson claims to be a doctor, but unknowingly makes the job-paranoid Yale-graduate queasy whenever he opens his mouth. Concerned about her job, she wishes so much that she had the chance to impress Dr. Stetson without the sleaze breathing down her neck.
They continue to work, and the surgeon starts talking again. "I had my first gunshot surgery when I was 15. My dad was a doctor and he let me. Mum's the word. Everything went swimmingly. That's when I knew what I wanted to be. Wait, what am I saying?" The doctors stare at him, puzzled. "Really, what did I just say?" Dr. Stetson realizes that he never before has shared that piece of information with his co-workers, let alone these newbies he thinks of as interns.
At exactly the same instant, the two doctors answer like honors students, "Everything went swimmingly?"
The male doctor brushes the woman's shoulder with his boney fingers and coos, "We heard the same thing."
The strikingly attractive woman shakes him off and closes her eyes for a moment of sheer repulsion.
Stetson continues: "No, I mean, the whole thing, tell me, what did I just say?"
"Are you ok Doctor Stetson," the female doctor poses, anxiously.
"Do you want your job?" He firmly answers.
"...Y-yes Doctor. I do so much and I have a lot to offer. Last week, I saved f-f-five lives."
"She did, no, no it was six, remember?" The bony-fingered creep chimes in.
"That was a cat," she judgmentally corrects him, and returns to her frantic state, almost too quickly. "I, I, I can send you my resume, or show it to you now even...if you're forgetting what else I've don-"
Stetson absentmindedly removes the bullet from the patient and drops it in his pocket as he stops her, lifting his hand up in her face. "Then don't mention any of this. We're good?" After another pause, he adds, "Wait, what did I just say?"
Dr. Stetson digs in his pocket and finds the bullet, forgetting when and why he put it in there. "I already took it out?" Dr. Stetson thinks to himself. He holds it up in her face, dumbfounded by his memory and unaware that the intimidated doctor, about to piss in her pants, interpreters this action as a threat.
"Ohhhh. Don't mention about when you were fiftee-Nothing. You said nothing, Dr. Stetson." She beams, and happens to catch eyes with the sleaze's lustful eyes, now no more than an inch away. He takes advantage of her smile and sends one back, not as much flirtatiously, but lovingly. To the female doctor, his tragically crooked teeth alter his intent into being one of mere sexual desire. She turns away slowly, and tries to focus on what's important: her job.
"Good work today. How did you get so good when you started SO late in your life." She winks at her boss.
"What?" And Dr. Stetson is sincerely confused. For a split second though, the man who was always such a goody two-shoes and had the habit of drowning in worry, is actually quite relieved by his ignorance concerning the unimportant drama of the moment. "All that's important is this injured man's life," he thinks, then soon forgets what he stopped to think about. Quickly, he becomes silently angry at his earlier self again for smoking, but realizes it's too late to dwell on his poor actions. The woman speaks one last time before leaving the room, bravely admitting, "I'm in awe of you," while slapping away her stalker's hand before making its way around her shoulders.
Dr. Stetson whispers to himself, "I said nothing? Why on Earth would I say nothing? What does that even mean?" His hand wanders again to his pocket to see if any other mysteries reside in the thick pocket of his hospital gown. Sure enough, a grape tomato is nestled at the bottom. "I don't even remember what I ate for breakfast," he laughs, then shrugs and eats the fruity vegetable after clumsily dipping it in rubbing alcohol and wiping it off. "Awesome," he mumbles from behind his surgical mask. "I think I'll do the same thing tomorrow."
THE END.
