So. This evening I'm doing my weekly stint on the after-hours psychiatric service, where pretty much anybody can walk in, 'phone in, and we'll do our best to sort 'em out.
Last hour of the shift, and a female caller insists she be put through "straight to the doctor". This, she explains, is because she herself is a doctor (of what, I remain ignorant) and, moreover, she is recording our conversation. A great start.
Her next-door neighbour has been screaming for the past two hours, and she wants us to do something about it; section the lady in question, perhaps. I sympathise, but point out that, as we have no social worker and no transport, visiting the noisy neighbour in the last 45 minutes of the shift is pretty much impossible. I suggest she calls the police, who will (unlike ourselves) have at least some power to force entry and assess the situation.
This is not good enough. She decides to bend my ear about how, if "you people" are going to keep screaming people in the community, "you" are, presumably, going to come round and soundproof the homes of hard-working normals like herself. Because I'm a psychiatrist and, obviously, psychiatrists are utterly responsible for our Government's Care in the Community policies of the last 20-odd years, and specifically responsible for the woman next door.
I resist the urge to ask if she's a GP. If she were, I could've harangued her for the fact that "you people" are too busy murdering hundreds of old ladies to attend to "your" patients. Because, obviously, all GPs can be lumped together and treated as a single homogeneous entity. Just like all psychiatrists can.
I settle for icy-but-noncommittal passive-aggressive politeness, and slamming the 'phone down so hard it hurts.
Stupid fucking fucking cunty fucker. Hope you have recorded your own cheap sarcasm, fuckbake. Play it back, then go fuck yourself. With a pufferfish. A poisonous one. |
