That's Dr. Rob To You

So I am embarking on my career now. Quite an adventurous undertaking. Despite all the fame and glory this blog has brought me and my entourage, this is not my real profession. Perhaps if it was I would be able to post more often. I would also be accompanied by a fellow blogger who wouldn't do things like post a blog about how he was unable to blog adequately and left a big white space to symbolize this where I expected a picture to load up, for which I subsequently wasted several moments staring dumbly at. Damn you JOE!

So yes, my career. I am now a Lab Technician at a local Veterinary Hospital. One day I hope to be a certified veterinarian, but as of right now I'm a male nurse, a murse, if you will.

Sidenote: The term of murse should not be confused with the other version of murse referring to a male purse mentioned some time prior to this post. Sorry for the confusion for anyone using this blog to learn English.

It has been quite an adventure so far, with many stories worth telling. I'll start at the beginning. The very first thing I was given were two sets of scrubs. Not Seasons One and Two of the popular NBC comedy, I'm talking about the clothes. Very sterile polyester type apparel. I was extremely excited to get these scrubs, more so than I should have been. I had every intention of wearing these scrubs everywhere. Grocery store, hanging with friends, Bar Mitzvahs, everything. I was going to buy a pager also. Every now and then I would grab at it frantically, look scared, and run to the door. This was the plan in my head, the actuality is a little different.

My scrubs, for starters, were shit brown. I say shit brown because I now know from experience that shit blends in perfectly. I try to be as hetero as possible in these situations, but I'll just go ahead and say it....I have nothing that goes with shit brown scrubs. High school art class color wheels did not prepare me for this. There was also another attribute of scrubs that are never mentioned in that popular NBC show...they don't exactly stay in place. Scrubs are low-riders, ladies and gentlemen. From the 110 pound high school intern to the 340 pound Head Nurse...coverage is not guaranteed. Crack inevitably shows. What I am trying to say is simply this: the facility I am working at...must look like the skankiest veterinary clinic on the eastern seaboard. And I am the new meat.

Now, being a murse is a big responsibility. It takes initiation and training. And anyone who has ever started a new job, from McDonald's burger flipper to President of New Guinea, has had to watch the training videos. Sexual harassment is apparently frowned upon, the customer comes first, lunches are only a half hour, and the best way to get a dog blood sample is through the jugular vein. Basic knowledge.

The clinic I work at isn't especially diverse in their patients. We deal primarily with dogs and cats. Before I start this next bit, I'm going to say that I am a Dog Person. Dogs are cheerful and full of energy and I can't stop petting them. Cats are vile creatures. Having said that, I will also say this: Dogs are fuckin stupid.

This is what is going through a Dog's mind during a visit to the pet:
Ooooh car ride! Car ride! Car ride! Window down! Window down! Wanna jump out. Aww window back up.
In a building. Smells funny. New dog. Smell their butt but they can't smell mine. Hey! Why did you smell my butt! That's right you better back down.
Ooh, nice lady with treat taking me to shiny food. Up up up on a table. Long way to the floor. New person, he has a coat. Smells familiar.
OH NO!
It's the Vet! Maybe if I whimper he'll stop.

This is what is going through a Cat's mind:
.........They think I don't know about the vet today.
I know.
And there will be blood.
And my hand takes hold in judgement. I will take vengeance upon mine enemies. And I will repay those who haze me. O Lord, raise me to Thy right hand. And count me among Thy saints.

Dogs are simple creatures, and I love them that way. Cats are clever devious little critters who would ditch you in a second if it found someone with better tasting kibble. Fraternities shouldn't even bother with hazing. They should just give all of their pledges cats instead. The weak will be weeded out, trust me. Everybody at this clinic has scars from cats. So far, my hands are like a newborn babe's. I am terrified.

I am going to wrap up this blog with some funny stories about the pet owners, our clients:

This past week, I had the pleasure of meeting with a nice client by the name of Vallathol Narayana Swaminathan. He had a cat named Joe.

I'm not sure if you've ever seen a large man. The kind of man who fills the room with both girth and presence. His beard would have clothed a small Peruvian family. His hands could have palmed Pluto (Is that thing a planet again? I have no idea). People in line in the waiting room immediately moved aside when he came in. And it was a good thing they did. His "Poopsicans" had a very bad cough.

A woman came into the office saying she couldn't get her cat house trained, and that it kept relieving itself all over the house. We asked her, "Have you cleaned the litter box?" Her reply was, "The what?" Apparently cats don't like newspapers.

But the funniest story had to be when Mrs. Wilder came in with one of her dogs. Mrs. Wilder is a little elderly, and has been a long time client. She actually has five dogs at home, all patients of the clinic. She is well liked, and she adores the staff. But she is extremely fond of one of the other nurses, who has been working with her for nearly 15 years. Today, Mrs. Wilder said she was planning on getting another dog. "And," she said to her favorite nurse. "I'm going to name her Chloe after you." There was a dramatic pause, and then the nurse replied, "My name is Megan."


Byah!!

Rob