Standing in a lunch room. After having bought lunch for fifty. Yes, 5-0.
See, some days I hear stories about lives that have been changed by our drug. Uplifting stories about a mother who is relating to her kids again. A young guy who may not get fired this time. A teenager who is back in class, back on track. Stories that have your heart bursting with pride about the impact you have had on a family even though they don’t even know you exist.
And then, the other days. See, as I have pointed out before, often there is some disdain and loathing about what I do for a living. Treated like absolute crap. And still other days, much the same, but more subtle.
Back to lunch for 50. And there I stand, in a sea of office workers whose belief in free-lunch-entitlement often boggles the mind. Standing and waiting for a “healthcare professional” to come and listen to what I have to say about something extremely relevant to the wellness of their patients.
Lemme just tell you how professional this doctor is.
“Doctor, can I have 3 minutes to review this new indication with you?”
“You’ll have to set up a lunch.”
For fifty. Which I do. Because I have to.
Lunch day rolls around. Baked Potatoes, Soup and Salad. For FIFTY.
Standing, waiting, waiting, standing. One hour. Then two.
Nurse asks, “Um, did you get your signature?”
Yeah. Because I just bought fucking lunch for fucking fifty for a fucking signature.
“No, I just need to check in with your doctor still…is she around?”
“Sure, she’s at the end of the hall, you can go find her”.
I leave my luncheon lovelies, proceed down said hall, in search of the fair healer. Round a corner, and there she is in all her mealtime glory.
Eating lunch. With another rep. She had called him to bring her specific food from another restaurant, and stand and eat with her at her station.
She stepped away from him, and approached me.
“You have something you need me to sign?”
“Actually I was hoping to take you up on those 3 minutes now to…”
“I’m leaving for the gym”.
She left 20 minutes later. After lunch.
I wandered back to my group of ravenous “friends”, and the room was now more raucous than ever. As I wandered back in, now in the foulest of moods, one nurse looked up at me to say, “I was just telling my friend how serious you are…why you so serious?”
“I’m not serious, that’s my twin…he’s talking to the doctor right now. I’m the fun one”…deadpan.
You could have heard a pin drop.
“See girl, I told you he was funny in there somewhere!”
“You get your signature?”
I stopped smiling.
“Eat your fucking potato.”
“Thanks, I got it.”