Oh man, the douchenozzle I encountered on yet another medical trip surely wanted to have his way! He rode all the way on his high horse from Toledo to the seats occupied by a nice lady who boarded a few stops earlier in Indiana, and tired me who got on at Chicago.
Like Charlie with his golden ticket, this bunghole headed to Buffalo huffed and puffed because someone else was sitting in seat number 10. No, he did not move to another vacant seat, because that made too much sense. Instead, he made demands that the nice social worker next to me get up from HIS seat.
After the nice lady moved out of sight and mind from this moron, that ennui-consumed piece of work sat down next to me and made demands I plug in his charger. No please, no thank-you, he did not even ask.
I told the bumbling tool he did not have to sit there. After all, if he moved to another seat it would be the exact same thing, just somewhere else on the train. He would even get to his destination. Nope — the dope started calling me names like a schoolyard bully.
But wait — there’s more! The beligerant gentleman made sure to mansplain to me that there is one outlet per passenger. Naaaaw.
I took the high road and found another seat, the fool chose to die on that hill. Good for him — I bet he wants a prize.
Here you go, Fool on the Hill: I award you Moron of the Week! Now go sit down and do your homework. If you are good, you won’t get detention.
This Moron of the Week is so cringey I don’t know where to begin. Imagine having a medical provider who acts like a fictional MoronicArts character, only not funny.
Take the case of nurse practitioner “Dorian Gray.” No that’s not his real name but it may as well be it. Dorian conned his way into the hearts and lives of the patients and staff at my former primary care office. He went out of his way to make me think he is compassionate and empathetic. Yesterday, something went wrong, very wrong. Dorian’s mask came off, as if he had stabbed his painting only to become a withered old man. The truth came out.
Dorian went very quickly from idealize to discard. I had called the office of Dorian Gray this past Thursday because I had been ill for five days with laryngitis. I was told by Dorian’s staff to wait by the phone, as if I had nothing better to do. Two hours and fifteen minutes passed with no call so I went out, figuring I did not need to be seen. I never got a call that day however Dorian’s office called me at 8:00 AM sharp the next day saying he wanted a telemedicine appointment. Fair enough.
Apparently my appointment should have been scheduled for 1:45, not 1:00 because that is the time Dorian finally signed on. I called Dorian’s opium den, I mean office, while I was waiting because I thought either Mr. Glitch had invaded his computer, or he was smokin’ something. Not having been given an explanation, when asked how I felt I told Dorian Gray, NP I could be better as I have better things to do when wait 45 minutes.
Instead of apologizing — heavens forbid — Dorian hung up. Thinking connection error — who wouldn’t — I called the office. Dorian answered and instead of apologizing like a person with empathy and compassion, he berated me, talking down to me like a butthurt fragile male breaking up with his girlfriend. Maybe he got his degree off a cereal box or while doing time. Maybe both? I could not care less.
For mentally abusing his patients and acting like a covert narcissist, I award this sad state of a nurse practitioner Moron of the Week.
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