The Down Side

[ladysprite]

When I left my last job, I thought I left all of its problems behind. No more fourteen-hour days, no more nepotism, no more policies dictated by midlife crisis, no more of.... those clients.

I've been at my new clinic for nearly a month now, and I haven't seen one of them yet. You know the sort I'm talking about - the ones that make you tear your hair out in frustration as soon as they appear in the lobby with their stupid little carrying boxes carrying annoying little yappy things, full of ludicrous questions that have no answers in this world. I honestly figured that I was just lucky, and that my old office had lost my forwarding address, but I wasn't about to question such a gift.

Anyway. New job, new sane boss, new clients, all well and good, right? Right. Until today, of course. I got into work, traded my winter coat for a lab coat, and wandered upstairs to the front desk, just in time to see one of Those Clients. Her hat was pulled down far enough over her face that I'm sure noone else saw anything, and she was sitting up straight enough to hide any height issues, but I could tell. I peeked next to her, and sure enough, she had a cardboard box instead of an open-sided carrier. It's a dead giveaway.

One of the nurses showed her into a room, and I was careful to whisk the chart out of her hands before she could ask any questions. Closing the door behind me, I looked the hobbit in the eye and put my fists on my hips. "How the hell did you find me here?"

She apologized for bothering me, of course. They always do, they're pathologically polite. Sorry to be a trouble, ma'am. It's just as you're the only one who helps us, ma'am. Daffodill's got a broken horn, ma'am, and I didn't know where else to go. Ma'ams and sorries and big goddamn eyes full of sparkles and hope until you'd gnaw your own arm off if they asked you to, just to make them feel better. And the jackalope sat on the exam table, the tip of one antler dangling forlornly, making me feel like the meanest monster on this side of Jack's beanstalk.

I tried to say no. I tried to explain that textbooks don't cover these sorts of situations, and that jackalopes and phoenixes and sentient jellies and teacup griffins are out of my league. I'm starting a new life and a new practice here, and I won't handle those things anymore. My protests lasted until the first fat round tear rolled to the tip of her fat round nose, at which point I gave in before I started blubbering myself.

So I fixed the darn jackalope. It's amazing what surgical glue can do, and improvisational medicine has always been one of my strong points. Of course, this means she's going to go and tell all her friends, and they'll start showing up in flocks, and eventually I'll have to deal with another boss asking me why all my clients wear scarves in summer and check 'Other' on the species part of the new client questionaire.

This time, though, I'm drawing the line when the dryads come in. Horticulture is not medicine, not even when the plants talk back.

Happy rabbit hole day, y'all.....

Comments

[braider.livejournal.com]

Y'know, I would, too.

...hee. I wonder if people would be interested in a collection called Down the Rabbit Hole?