I will inject you with kindness
This was originally a response to Oh Noa’s question at the end of her last post, but it became kind of long and awesome, so I decided to blog it instead.
I work at an urgent care, so as with any public service job, I am subjected to twat-mongrels on a regular basis. I am mostly stuck doing receptionist work, which sucks because RECEPTIONISTS GET TREATED LIKE SHIT and are often regarded as being on the bottom of the totem pole that is health care.
I’ve grown used to it through my acceptance that a lot of humans are scum, but some really manage to burrow under my skin. Like scabies.
There’s one particular instance that comes to mind when I think back to all the shit-bags I’ve had to deal with over the years. We were in the throes of flu and snow-bird season, so the waiting room was packed and the air was thick with discomfort and respiratory secretions. I was on the eighth hour or so of my twelve-hour shift. I hadn’t eaten. I needed to pee. I was in dire need to blow my nose, for I too was afflicted with the virus that was running around, ruining people’s’ day. No one else in the clinic was capable of covering my desk so I could take a break, which was unfortunate because I was giving them support when they were getting too backed up, thus tripling my job duties. Needless to say, I WAS WORN THE FUCK OUT. Thankfully, I’m awesome at my job and can rock it despite all of those things.
All was fine and well when suddenly a large, red-faced man hulked his way through the door and assholed his way up to my desk, cutting in front of at least three people who had been patiently waiting their turn to be helped.
“I need to get on the schedule NOW” he barked.
Calmly, I asked, “Are you having an emergency?”
He scoffed, “NO, I am a very busy man and I don’t have time to wait for you people to see me.”
After muscling down the bitter resentment that had crept up to the back of my throat, I replied, “I’m sorry sir, I’m going to have to ask you to get in the back of the line. There are a few people ahead of you.”
He leaned over the counter, his face two inches from mine, forcibly penetrating my personal bubble in a way that only a horrid pig-fucker like him would know how to. “I don’t give a shit if there are people ahead of me, I need to get back there NOW”.
I recoiled as I felt myself slowly becoming unglued (and also because he reeked as though he had taken a bath in stale Dorito crumbs, cheap cologne and old semen). My hands began to tremble in waves of rage that I was being forced to swallow in order to avoid doing something awful that would land me in jail or (gulp) FIRED.
I took a deep breath to compose myself while I tried to figure out a way to reason with the unreasonable. I was willful at this point to do almost anything to get this stinky dick-wad out of my face.
“Okay, sir, I tell you what, why don’t you get a head start on one of those clip-boards and we’ll get you set to see the doctor.”
“I’M NOT FILLING OUT ANY OF YOUR DAMN PAPERWORK, MISSY!”
Of course you fucking won’t. What the fuck was I thinking.
“BLAH BLAH! BARK BARK BARK! I’M A FUCKING DICK AND YOU’RE A LOW LIFE IDIOT! MISSY MISSY! GARBLE GARBLE BARK BARK, YOU’RE JUST A DUMB RECEPTIONIST! I SMELL LIKE STALE SPERM AND I AM IMPORTANT! BARK BARK BARK…”
And he went on and on and on. Fast forward about thirty-five minutes of arguing and being the recipient to insults. I was click-clacking away on my computer, still vibrating with anger over the events that had taken place, trying to breathe my way to calmness while begging the Powers That Be to either destroy all of the assholes or present to me a better way to deal with them that wouldn’t crush my soul in the process.
The Gods must have been listening that day, and they were smiling, because the Gods have a delightful sense of humor.
My coworker suddenly bounced up to me and squatted next to my chair, her eyes glittering with excitement. “Guess what guess what guess what?!?!” her voice both hissed and twinkled like a malicious little fairy.
My energy and will to speak had been completely drained from my body at this point. Without answering, I turned to face her with a look that said,”this better be good because I want to die right now”.
She leaned in, “You know that mean guy that’s back there??”
No. I have no idea who you’re talking about. “Yeah, what about him?”
“The doctor ordered an injection for him!”
This peaked my interest as I had a slight suspicion as to where she was headed with this. “Go on..”
“It’s for torodol, AND he hates needles!”
(Torodol burns like a mother fucker)
I was smiling now, “Is that so? Well shucks, are you real busy back there? Do you need a hand with anything?”
She gave me an already-loaded syringe. “I sure am busy! He’s all yours!”~reason #429 of why I love most of my coworkers.
I was suddenly renewed.
With a spring in my step, I skipped merrily to his room, stopping first at the doctor’s desk. He was grinning ear to ear while giving me the, “Go for it” wink of approval.
I opened the door and smiled hard at Mr. VileMan*. “Well heeEEELLLLLLLOOOOoooo there!! You remember me, I’m sure! We’re a little backed up so I’m going to help out and give you the injection that the doctor ordered.”
His mouth dropped open ever so slightly as the color drained from his face. I asked him if he was allergic to anything and he barely moved his head side to side, never taking his eyes off me and my hand that was closed around the syringe. “Well alrighty then! I’ll need you to stand up and drop your pants, then bend over the table.”
He stammered, a line of sweat forming on his upper lip, “Y-you need me to do what?”
I smiled in a way that was so sweet that I probably gave him diabetes. “This is going in your butt-cheek, so I’ll need you to stand up and lower your pants. Then bend over the table. Please.” I then took out a pair of gloves from my pocket and maintained eye contact, still smiling, as I pulled them over my hands. He flinched as I made the last one snap against my wrist and began pleading, “Loo-ook, I’m s-s-sorry about wh-what ha-ha-happened out there and I…”
CUT OFF, MOTHER FUCKER, “I don’t have a clue to what you’re talking about! Okay, ready? One! T- *needle thrust*”
Assholes don’t get the luxury of a full three seconds to brace themselves. Ever.
Similar situations like this one have happened a countless number of times, but none have been quite as satisfying as this one.
The moral of this story? There really isn’t one, since there was no actual consequence, and I’m sure he was still an asshole when he left afterward.
Though I will end with this: don’t act like a self-important douche-nugget. That is all.
*Not his real name.