It's the Little Things

Yes, Mr. Pinkershin, yes….I admit it, I really dropped the ball on this one. If you’ve got blame to unload, my shoulders are more than willing to carry the burden in this case. However, because I know you have vision and daring, I’m going to throw something at you here, something which a less advanced intelligence might not comprehend as being a possible solution to our little problem. Ready? Okay. Fact: You told me to hire a contractor to make and install a neon sign to hang over your new clinic, a sign which was to read, simply, MOUNT HOLYGREEN URGENT CARE. Fact: The sign which was installed this morning over the entrance to the facility instead reads MOUNT HOLYGREEN URGENT CAFE. Fact: This creates a bit of a predicament. I understand perfectly that if a citizen of Milwaukee is shot, stabbed, or in dire need of appendix removal, the sign may cause him or her to lose precious seconds as they come to believe that we are not equipped to deal with their dilemma. Furthermore, it goes without saying that we cannot have young couples intending to kill time before Juno starts coming in here looking for a tall almond chai and a bagel and instead finding a waiting room full of people with bleeding feet or arrows in their eyes. But instead of firing me on the spot for having a hand in creating this awkward moment, what if there were another option---perhaps a more profitable one? Have you ever thought that medicine, while certainly an honorable calling, is somehow not as satisfying as offering a sea of hungry unpublished novelists a place to eat raspberry scones baked fresh on the premises daily? Don’t you think it’s time teenagers in the tenth grade had another place to come eat bananas and feta wraps while accessing free wireless internet? Which would you honestly rather look at all day: x-rays or lists of coffee specials printed each and every morning on my own home computer (I have Word 2007 and a truly impressive clip art database, FYI)? Is it just possible that this “titanic embarrassment” is actually Miss Opportunity in disguise? Could this situation indeed be directly analagous to the one which Mr. Martin Scorsese found himself in so many years ago when, upon completing a brilliant script called Taxi River, a gripping depiction of a single mother's determination to row across the Everglades, he found himself flummoxed when a confused printer added an errant D to the title page, thus giving the Oscar-winning director an even better idea to present to investors?

I notice that you now seem to have pounded me on the head with a large skillet or frying pan. Can I throw one more idea your way, which is to break my fall with a coat or cushion of some sort to minimize the ensuing damage to my cranium? Is there any chance before you veto this notion that I can offer you a couple of articles clipped from recent issues of Modern Medicine suggesting that this type of action can greatly alleviate the pain of such a rapid, unexpected descent to a tile surface? I’m sorry….is that a “no” or are you gesturing that you’ll get back to me as soon as you get off the phone? With you it's tough to tell sometimes.