In
light of recent statistical revelations, the call for the publication
of a surgeon's individual 'death rates', and Friday being the day you
are most likely to snuff it while under the surgeon’s knife, here
is a leaked transcript of a brief conversation between a man awaiting
surgery and his surgeon's secretary.
Secretary:
Good morning, Mr Glenfiddich's secretary, how can I help you?
Mr
Flounder: Yes, good morning, my name is Mr Flounder, could you tell
me about Mr Glenfiddich's procedure/mortality outcomes and what is
his kill rate on a Friday afternoon?
Secretary:
I'm sorry, I don't have those figures to hand and Mr Glenfiddich is
always pissed at the golf-club on a Friday, does this help?
Mr
Flounder: Erm, no, not really. I've seen somewhere that during 2012
Mr Glenfiddich performed seventeen surgical procedures for complex
atrio-ventricular septal defects and one patient sadly died after
contracting an unrelated post-op infection. Quite rightly I am
worried that he won't be able to open me up without ending my life.
How do you sleep at night knowing that you work for a mass-murderer?
Secretary:
Sorry, could I take your name again?
Mr
Flounder: Flounder. F.L.O.U.N.D.E.R. I'm booked in for next week?
Secretary:
Ah, yes, I've found your appointment, 2.45, next Tuesday. You are
going to receive cryotherapy for an outbreak of the human papilloma
virus.
Mr
Flounder: I'm having a fucking what?
Secretary:
Mr Glenfiddich is going to freeze the wart off your ring-finger?
Mr
Flounder: Yes, and quite frankly I'm bloody terrified, good day to
you. *hangs up abruptly*
No comments:
Post a Comment