I COULD HEAR MY OWN PULSE. I WAS CURSING, I WAS THROWING STUFF, I WAS CALLING MY COLLEGE FRIENDS TO SCREAM INTO THE PHONE, I WOULD CALL MY FATHER TO MAKE SURE HE'S ALIVE IF HE WEREN'T OUT OF THE COUNTRY WITH MY MOM FOR THEIR ANNIVERSARY.
Oh well...it's just a game. I'm going to get so much crap on Monday
::shakes his lowered head in disgust and anticipation of the 100 or so yanks fans consoling him as he walks into class on Monday::
Maybe the three other Sox fans will have a support group meeting Sunday night to discuss methods of anger management and self-defense.
Instead of cursing here, I'll hearken back a few weeks to one of my favorite anecdotal encounters that defines medical school for me:
I'm in the Micro department office picking up my course packet, I greet the secretary very graciously as I would any other day. From behind me I hear the distinct Brooklyn accent of my course director:
Course Director: ...how dare he wear that David Ortiz t-shirt into my department office...
Great...here we go again...be nice, he's a faculty member and ultimately will be placing your grade onto your transcript. Don't look too weak either, because then he'll know that you're kissing ass. Deep breath, and turn...
Me: Good morning Dr. X
Course Director: Good morning. Why are you wearing that around my office? What's your Name?
Me:
My name's Bostonian. I'm from Boston so like half my wardrobe consists of 'these things'. Really though, I'm wearing a Dominican Republic shirt. Who could hate David Ortiz...he's such a happy person and the most clutch hitter of all time!!!until this season...stupid torn meniscus...
Course Director: Well I have to agree with you there...
YES!!!!!!!! BOSTONIAN: 1, DR. X: 0
Course Director: I can understand where you're coming from. Actually my son is a Sox fan, he grew up one just to spite me. My first faculty position was in MA and he spent his formitive years watching the Sox. We watched Fiske wishing that home run fair in '86, and...
All I heard at that point was seagulls. --OK, so I was imitating Fiske waving his hit fair past Peske's Pole. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, I'm flailing arms like a moron in front of my Micro course director in the middle of the department office, several secretaries/faculty members stare in disgust and confusion. If I weren't 3 years old at that time it would be probably one of the single best moments of my entire life. Hell, even as it is, I've seen the highlight played at least 500 times, and I sit there every time holding my breath watching that hit bend fair by about 10 inches from the foul pole. Composing myself...
Me: I'm sorry for your loss. Do you still speak to your son?
Course Director: Occasionally. You must have been nervous after the Yanks swept you last week, eh?
Me: Not really, considering that the yanks just dropped 2 of 3 to the D-Rays.
Damn I'm good, BOSTONIAN: 2, DR. X: 0. It is taking every ounce of my self restraint not to throw down the flagrant fist pump of victory in the middle of this guy's office.
Course Director: Alright Mr. Bostonian, have a nice morning.
BOSTONIAN: 0, DR. X: 100...damn it
Me: You too Dr. X
Great...way to alienate yourself from the faculty...ASS
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