There are a few individuals, however, who qualify for a summary exemption from this rule. I have no hesitation opening email with (somewhat) juvenile humor (to most) that makes me laugh out loud in the otherwise quiet of this room ~ all from a few friends who never fail to deliver.
A Urologist from Florida (why that is important I don’t know) recently sent this picture which reflexively propelled a slug of Diet Coke out of my nose:
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| GIRL SCOUTS - Maybe Next Time You'll Buy The F****** Cookies |
This picture – or any mention of Girl Scout cookies for that matter – never fails to make me smile and often laugh; it takes me back to the waning days of my Residency, and to memories of Lemon Cream Girl Scout Cookies.
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I enjoy a cookie as much as the next guy, but for the life of me, I don’t understand the sway Girl Scout cookies hold over most people.
Every year, countless Mother’s herd pre-pubescent daughters to grocery stores with folding tables and boxes of addictive cookies in tow. The first take home lesson for a Girl Scout newbie is the art of “lying in wait” for any food-starved, grocery shopping unfortunate who makes the fatal mistake of inadvertently crossing her path. Every year, I vow to keep all four eyes open to avoid these all-too-cute, juvenile ponzi-schemers, but as sure as an unopened roll of Thin-Mints lies frozen in my freezer, I always fail.
What happened to the old days when these uniformed, fresh faced purveyors of saturated fat were forced marched door to door hawking their heart-clogging wares? Perhaps, the change of tactics was borne out of an abundance of caution; there are, after all, crazy people about? If even a glimmer of realism exists in the picture my buddy sent, we would all be wise to rethink the notion of who should actually be afraid of whom?
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My Girl Scout story occurred during the season of "The Cookies" which comprised those last few months of my Residency.
I finished my first case of the day, had seen the patient settled into the CVICU, and then headed to the OR office to take a short break before another patient arrived. As is the case in most offices this time of year, there happened to be several boxes of the damned (not-even-very-good) cookies strewn about one of the tables. This was Clarice’s evil way of foisting her intention on all of us to, “eat them before I do!”
Being a lowly, underpaid Resident, who was I to argue with free food?
I began by eating a single Lemon Cream cookie. While it tasted pretty good – certainly better than most – I only intended to eat the one. I also have a vague recollection of an unexpected delay to my next case, so – of this I am almost certain – I probably did go on to eat at least one more Lemon Cream. Beyond this my memory is a blur.
Anyone who has come through the (formerly) rigorous, long hours of clinical training both in Med School and Residency would agree the crazy lifestyle inculcates a manner of eating which surely would disgust most of our parents. The mere sight of a Drug-Rep (at feeding time) still has a pavlovian effect of begetting, in me, the appetite of a vulture on carrion. During those long days and nights of training, once food was secured (preferably free), all interns and residents learned to shovel it down ~ all the while trying to remember to breathe between bites.
So, in fairness to me, considering many years of this frenzied, mindless feeding, I would concede only to a remote plausibility to one of the eventual rumors that had me finishing off an entire row of Lemon Creams. But, an entire box? Are you kidding me? The thought actually disgusts me.
What I DO know with certainty is that, at some point, the surgical delay was overcome and I headed over to the holding room to greet our next patient.
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An hour or two later, a fellow Resident and friend, Pat Cooney, DDS MD, entered my operating room in a pique of pseudo-anger barking,
“Hey, Marvin. Did YOU eat all of Dr. Nelson’s Lemon Cream Cookies?”
I do recall laughing at the thought of what he had asked; not knowing (remembering) if there was any proof substantiating the allegation, I obviously replied, “No.”
Cooney followed with a definitive,
“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t me!”
Only later, once free of the Operating Room, did I finally learn what had transpired before his interrogation:
(Dr. Nelson, Alan Alda look-alike, mentor and boss, walks into the OR-side departmental office intending to eat one of his precious Lemon Cream Girl Scout Cookies. Allegedly finding only an empty box, he directs his inquiry to Clarice, his trusted aide-de-camp/Girl Friday/brains of the operation):
Dr. N: “Clarice, do you know who ate all of my Lemon Cream Cookies?”
Clarice: “No; the only person I have seen lately is Cooney.”
(Cooney Enters)
Dr. C: “What’s hangin’?”
Dr. N: “Cooney, I came in here expecting to enjoy a Lemon Cream Cookie but it appears you beat me to it! Hell, you beat me to all of them!”
Dr. C: (Indignant) “Sure, ........... BLAME THE FAT GUY!”
Pat has an entirely different take on the story (which probably speaks more to years of exposure to inadequately salvaged Nitrous Oxide while a dentist):
"You (as in me) and I were coming back from pre-op-ing patients, around 18:00 hours. We ran into one of the perfusionists who told us about the Girl Scout cookies in the office. Then as YOU were in the process of eating ALL of the Lemon Cream cookies, I told you to ease up because, in the end, when Nelson finally realized all of his precious Lemon Creams had gone missing, everyone would blame the Fat Guy!
The next morning, I got in to the office before you had a chance to tell Clarice your biased, sanitized version -- because I KNEW what you would try to do and was determined to beat you to the punch.
When you walked into the office trying to frame ME for YOUR gluttony, the cat was already out of the bag!"
(And, I am CERTAIN everyone believed the FAT GUY had nothing to do with the disappearance of all those cookies, Pat!)
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A few months later as the academic year drew to a close, Dr. Nelson et al presented both Pat and I with two very large, gift-wrapped boxes. Having expected a golden laryngoscope, I was truly excited at the prospect of what could possibly come in such large packages!
As it turns out, Dr. Nelson found himself passing through Chicago O’Hare airport in the weeks that followed the drama that became known as the "Day of the Missing Lemon Creams." While waiting for a flight, he fortuitously happened onto yet another prostituted Girl Scout who was desperate to sell the last of her cookies ~ she desperately wanted to get home to play her Grand Theft Auto video game.
He wasn’t the least bit interested in her Tagalongs, Thin Mints, Do-Si-Dos, Somoas, or Shortbread.
He had but one request on his mind. Actually, two.
Two cases of Lemon Cream Girl Scout Cookies.
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For the record, I don't eat Lemon Cream Girl Scout Cookies; the fact they are no longer sold is irrelevant.
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