in which I get in trouble for being a little too honest
*phone rings*
“Respiratory Care Services, this is KB, How may I help you?”
“Is this Respiratory?”
“Yes. That is what I meant when I answered the phone and said, ‘respiratory.’”
“Well, you need to come see Mrs. Jabba in room 510. She says she can’t breathe.”
“The reason that Mrs. Jabba cannot breathe is that she has eighty pounds of unwashed, disgusting flab compressing her ribcage from above.”
“She says she needs a treatment.”
“When I offered her a treatment ten minutes ago, she was too busy shoveling gravy-laden chicken fingers and potatoes into her mouth. Well, mostly her mouth. Quite a bit got into the cleavage and the fat rolls, too. It looked like someone had ax-murdered a thanksgiving turkey in there.”
“…please just come give the treatment.”
“Is she wheezy, or just breathing hard because of the previously mentioned eighty pounds of flab compressing her ribs? I think that you and I both know that this isn’t going to work.”
“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s pointless to do the treatment. Please come do it anyway.”
“Fine.”
Phone calls like this happen every day. I used to just acquiesce and give the treatments without question, but lately I can’t help but spread the misery around a little bit more. I can’t wait for this vacation that’s coming up. I need it more than ever.
in which I get in trouble for being a little too honest
*phone rings*
“Respiratory Care Services, this is KB, How may I help you?”
“Is this Respiratory?”
“Yes. That is what I meant when I answered the phone and said, ‘respiratory.’”
“Well, you need to come see Mrs. Jabba in room 510. She says she can’t breathe.”
“The reason that Mrs. Jabba cannot breathe is that she has eighty pounds of unwashed, disgusting flab compressing her ribcage from above.”
“She says she needs a treatment.”
“When I offered her a treatment ten minutes ago, she was too busy shoveling gravy-laden chicken fingers and potatoes into her mouth. Well, mostly her mouth. Quite a bit got into the cleavage and the fat rolls, too. It looked like someone had ax-murdered a thanksgiving turkey in there.”
“…please just come give the treatment.”
“Is she wheezy, or just breathing hard because of the previously mentioned eighty pounds of flab compressing her ribs? I think that you and I both know that this isn’t going to work.”
“Alright, alright, I get it. It’s pointless to do the treatment. Please come do it anyway.”
“Fine.”
Phone calls like this happen every day. I used to just acquiesce and give the treatments without question, but lately I can’t help but spread the misery around a little bit more. I can’t wait for this vacation that’s coming up. I need it more than ever.