I walked into Dr. Music's office about 2:15 p.m.
Me: I'm bored. Entertain me. I had a shit morning, but now I'm bored. I've read everything I wanted to on NYTimes, the Atlantic, Slate, and Huffington Post. I'm caught up on Facebook and Insta. I saw all the clever clips about Trump on Colbert and Trevor Noah. Help.
Dr. Music: Ok. What do you want to know.
I wave my hand over the ghost that is transcription. They have all moved down two flights of stairs and down two long hallways into a hellhole. I visited it on Monday. I had to send a case out to my contact at Cleveland Clinic. Gave him a heads up on e-mail, but getting the block and the slides and the history together for transcription to FedEx was much harder than usual. Where they were before the flood was now empty large wooden desks and a single industrial white noise blow dryer, down from three yesterday. It still stank like hell. The dishwater blue 50 year old carpet is now dry, but still needs to be removed and no one is giving us a timeline. When the head of transcription came into my office to give me a genetic report to release, she started rummaging through my candy dish. I told her stop, reached into my food drawer, and gave her an entire bag of her fave - Butterfingers. They need the fuel.
Me: So what are the plans for this?
Dr. Music: We are planning to let the flora and the fauna take over.
Me: Well, that will be an improvement over this. One day you are going to walk out of your office and fall into a black hole. Did you hear what happened to me today? About my scope?
Dr. Music: No.
Me: What? Do you mean to tell me that my problems aren't national news?
Dr. Music: Well, I haven't checked CNN yet.
Me: Well you should. I came in this morning and my scope didn't work. Remember when I had all those problems a few years ago with my bulbs crapping out on me every two months? I called you an Dr. Woods to help me all the time.
Dr. Music: Yes.
Me: So this morning, it happened again. Called Dr. Woods. We changed bulbs and worked on it for over a half hour. Finally called in the first responder for help. He showed up an hour later, meantime in my first of three bronchs I decided to hijack the scope from the cart. Tony helped me move it to my office. It took first responder two hours to fix it. I was working all the while handicapped. No 2X, no bird's eye view. I had to count the number of tissue on the junk surgicals to ensure I was looking at every piece. No problem for cytology, though. Turns out my lamp socket was shot.
Dr. Music: I've had this scope since I got here. Never had a bulb go out on me - they change it when they clean. I've always got an extra, but never needed it.
Me: They don't make things like they used too. But I need the moveable eyepiece. I move around too much, while I'm reading. Don't know how you guys can handle the stationary eyepiece. OK, I'll go find somebody else to bug. Thanks for your attention.
Dr. Music: It's been lovely.
Me: Thanks for lying.