June 15, 2005

He Assaulted Me with Science

Guest post by the captain of the Art team and soon-to-be mistress of canned.meatfreezer.com

So it seems that the mad scientist that I’ve been working for at a certain large hospital here in the area has gone mad. Not as in rub-your-hands-together and laugh at the absurdity of it all mad, but take-a-gun-and-try-to-shoot-your-wife-while-not-really-trying-to-shoot-her mad. Here’s the story. I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s a hoot.

I work in a lab at a hospital that does research on a disease that afflicts lots of people and is potentially deadly. The scientist who I work for has been working on curing this disease for his whole adult life. Seeing as how his 68th birthday is coming up, we can safely assume that Dr. Smith has dedicated at least 45 years to his research on said disease. Dr. Smith, being a fairly well-known doctor, has a shitload of money that people give him so that he can do his research. However.

About two weeks ago, we started finding out that much of his funding is being cut because George Bush wants to send people to Mars, etc. (Let it be known that I hope the people that he sends to Mars have said disease so I can call Mr. Bush and tell him I hope he’s happy. Just like I’ll do when it turns out that the most educated people we can find to send to Mars are Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan. Ahem, moving on). So Dr. Smith’s funding is being cut, and this forces some kind of self-examination for Dr. Smith, a “what am I doing?” kind of examination, the kind where all truths that you once knew are no longer true. And Dr. Smith, being a science person, is rather unskilled in the world of being a normal human being (that’s right, Butt Team, I’m talking to YOU). So he deals in two ways. A) He starts making jokes about going to Burger King to apply for a job, and B) he stops coming in to work. And then the harassing phone calls start. At 3:30 on a Friday. Say what you will about Dr. Smith, but the man has brilliant comic timing.

We left a bit early that day, seeing as how we were being cussed out over the phone, with the hopes that on Monday, everything would be back to normal. I’m sure that by now, you’ve probably guessed that it wasn’t normal at all on Monday. I think the day started with his wife calling in. She was apparently calling to say that Dr. Smith wouldn’t be in for a while. We asked her if he was alright, and after a slight hesitation she said no. Come to find out later that something had happened with a gun and some police. He was cleaning the gun and it went off, something like that. All a big misunderstanding. Which leads one to assume that things will be cleared up in a few days. In the meantime, no doctor in the office means no work for me to do. No grants to write, no figures to draw, no administrative duties to be done. So I’m basically coming to work to a) snack, b) read gawker.com, c) IM, which has taken over my days, thanks to Vegetarian, d) lunch, and e) pretend like I’m a phenomenal enough writer to be a McSweeney’s contributor (which pretty much means read McSweeney’s and come up with lists that are mildly funny and entirely too short).

And then. Friday. I’m riding to work on the T, compiling a letter in my head to the thousands of people who ride the T every morning who haven’t taken the etiquette course in public transport (that’s a whole other post), reading the Metro, and there, on page 4 is a story about how the guy I work for is being held for assault with a deadly weapon with intent to murder because he TRIED TO SHOOT HIS WIFE.

I guess the point of this post is this:

Dear Emily,
Thanks so much for placing me at this temp job. It’s a fuckin’ riot.
Best regards,

Also, Alex, if you could set up a blog for me, I would do a lot less thumb-twiddling. It’s like a you-scratch-my-back kind of setup. You keep me entertained at work, and I’ll keep you entertained at work. And not in the look-how-funny-it-is-to-try-to-shoot-you way that some people around here prefer (hint, hint, Dr. S.).

Posted by liz at 07:10 AM | Comments (1)