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Disagreements with doctors were such a frequent part of my job that they all blend together. I don't think there were any members of the medical staff that I hadn't had to involve the big doctor boss. Some more than once.
I had been looking forward to the snails, but that doctor, after happily retiring to his home country, in the beautiful mansion his green american dollars built for him, surrounded by the 15 foot glass and razor-wire topped wall, looked out at the blasted landscape on the other side that his "boys" were patrolling with full-auto AKs, and suddenly understood why he left the third world.
No snails.
He's in Scranton, working in a crazy prison.
Which is preferable to all that other stuff I just mentioned.
I am also regretting not having gone into some serious debt to buy the teahouse I frequent. The ladies who ended up with it are going to kill it inside of six months.
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