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Tuesday, June 15, 2004
I think I may have to reconsider my future career goal of being an extremely successful and affluent paediatric oncologist in Paris. I was in a hospital today, and my God. Sick people are so... common. Could they be more depressing? And I was in the "healthy" part, where people just go to get blood taken out. Like, people sitting around in tracksuits thumbing through dog-eared New Ideas from last year. Some lunatic woman was raving about how stilettos were the work of the devil, as they made people "break their ankle" and people should stick to "runners" like the hideous ones she was wearing. Ick.

Then I had to go up to cardio and get an ECG. While I was waiting, some lunatic (I think it was a different woman, but I'm not sure. I didn't really look at her and they all start to look the same anyway) started muttering and sighing and humming. I was all "this isn't the psych ward, lady". Well, I wasn't really. I mean, I thought that, but seeing as I'm such an understanding empathetic guy I contained myself and just rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth. Crazy people have put me on edge lately, as one of my mum's patients has gotten hold of our home details and keeps stalking her to cough up more Xanax. I told mum she should give her a box of the cunting pills already, give her another bottle of "medicine" (read: Absolut) and tell her that she should take them together all at once, and it would solve our problems.

Anyway, in the cardio place, this complete psycho stops her incoherent babble to actually speak to me. Ha! She was all "are you having an operation too?". As if! I was going to snort and say something snotty, but there was something pathetic about the way she said "too" that made me reconsider. I mean, my bile is better saved for people who truly offend me, like those annoying Salvation Army people who stand on ever corner in the city, or that bunch of Abbos who stand around outside Brunswick St station and accost me everyday for my back-pocket shrapnel so they can buy their pots of beer and coat hangers for their abortions. So I merely grunted to the poor bint that I get paid to do tests... and swept away into the room to do the stupid ECG. The actual test is piss-easy, maybe I could be a technician? All you do is slap pads onto peoples' bare chests. I bet you'd get some really buff dudes in there (but I guess the majority would be crazy old women like the chick in the reception area). And anyway, even if they were buff, they'd obviously have some sort of retarded heart, so fucking them vigorously would be out of the question. God, why is choosing a career so damn hard?

Anyway, my screening tests went all well today. I was a bit embarrassed, as a friend of mine got an ECG too, and he was all "dude, didn't it hurt when the pads were ripped off your chest hair, ha ha!" and I had to be all "...I don't have any chest hair." Hmph. I wish bare chests would come back into vogue already.

Pretty busy day though! I had to get bloods done, an ECG, and even a urine drug screen! It wasn't as bad as the ones my cousins have to do. They are like, Olympians, and the urine-verification-dude has to actually watch the stream of piss come out from the urethra. I bet you get some real watersports sickos getting into that line of work. And now on Thursday I have to go in for some weird ass glucose test to see if I have diabetes! At least they give me breakfast then. Stupid work.