Brisket Thursday

Off to Nawth Alibam’s Shining City on the Hill yesterday in spite of the petrol shortage. FD SCP had to have her eye cut upon. Obscured lens. So I did the little-old-man drive thing, to the annoyance of the petrol grasshoppers, to the city.

I went through this myself earlier in year and it was a nasty, tedious business. This conversion to day surgery substantially increases the pain and discomfort of the victims and the cash flow of the cutters. Of course with the hospitals once more a place of discorporation, this also reduces the cutters’ liability as well.

So I got to sit about and be the responsible (????) adult responsible for all the ash and trash that the medicalist community wants to get rid of as fast as possible.

But the affair was not without a bit of humor. I got to experience a blatant example of “Secretarial Arrogance.” This is the phenomena whereby direct and usually unshared singleton reports take on the importance of their employer. It used to be most obvious in the personal secretaries of executives who adopted the command prerogatives of “their” executive. The term has been generalized to any subordinate who assumes the authority – real or imagined – of their superior.

In this case the example was the “assistant” of the cutter. This assistant emerged once the surgery was over with the mission of relieving the cutter of the nasty, odious task of dealing with the victim’s friends and family. The assistant did this in the most stilted and legal Teflon (R) fashion possible which unfortunately struck me as horribly humorous. Like watching some silent movie comic aping a pretentious oaf. And while the cutter in this instance is pretentious, he isn’t an oaf. 

I suspect the closest association is with a Kosher butcher. A Kosher butcher has to be a Rebbe, essentially. Which is rather an overkill for someone who dismembers discorporate animals. This is why a lot of cutter jobs can be done by robots. Daniel Olivaw, M. D. Accepting the pretentiousness of a Mesopotamian emperor is part of the price we pay for medical care. Not in this case would a butcher do, of course, since we rather don’t want discorporation or dismembering, but the education analogy is not inapt.

Anyway, the assistant had assumed some of the pretension and I was struggling not to roll on the floor in frame shaking mirth. So I redirected my laughter into incessant questions to see how far the arrogance could be stretched. Not very far as it turned out. So there is hope for the assistant. As a real human, that is.

Meanwhile the petrol shortage is still worrisome and has the benefit only of diverting us from the upcoming catastrophe on Tuesday.

 

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