The Good Doctor

This is a picture of me when I got home from work yesterday. Yes, I do think I look like a doctor. Yes, I do try to act like a doctor. Yes, I do believe I've earned an MD because I can put on a pair of scrubs and a lab coat. I also have the ability to pucker my lips, violently remove my glasses when a patient takes a turn for the worse, and my writing is borderline indecipherable.

When I go walking through the halls, patients are always asking me about their health (read: for directions). The problem is compounded by the fact that when refering to myself I usually speak in the third person omniscient and include the words "doctor" and "good", but not always in that order.

Unsuspecting Patient: "Excuse me, could you tell me where the emergency room is?"

Me: "Well, ahem. Indeed, the Good Doctor Rice knows where all things are my boy. But why don't you just tell me what's bothering you?"

There's something wrong with me. It got worse later as I was strutting about in my doctors outfit, arching my eyebrows at patients in an ill-advised George Clooney impersonation and randomly calling out "STAT!" As in, "I need a peanut butter cookie STAT!" or "I need some water in my hair STAT!". As I turned a corner, chin a few notches higher than other peoples, I walked right between a Canadian reporter and his camera crew. He had to stop talking and they had to reshoot.

He was praising the contribution of Canadian soldiers in Afghanistan, which is well and good I suppose, but since when did Canada have a military? This is news to Dr. Rice.