“I need more drugs because I had a heart attack yesterday and in my monumental pain I flushed my Percocet down the toilet.”
I stare.
“No really. I’m serious. I don’t know what’s going on with my heart and I accidentally flushed my drugs down the toilet when it was causing me, like, serious pain. I REALLY need some more. I’m in like 24/10 pain.”
“That’s a pretty strange fraction.”
“Well, that’s how bad it is.”
I hope my eyes are at least a little more than half-closed, “Dude. That’s your excuse? Really? That’s the best you have for me? Flushed?” My ever-blindingly cheerful mood deflates a bit.
“Well, it was the case manager who told me to come to you for more Percocet. I tode her Dr. SW101 isn’t cool with narcs, so I figured you wouldn’t go for it, but she told me to try.”
“So, the NURSE made you do it?”
“No…well (looks hopefully at me), uh, maybe?”
He did utter one truth, I’m not cool with writing for unfathomable doses of highly-addictive, mind-altering substances that have outrageous street value and regularly cause the utter destruction of families, careers and lives.
He’s right. I’m not cool with that.
Sometimes it feels like I’m just sitting in my clinic handing out bullets…each one stamped with “If this causes a disaster of any kind, please blame Dr. SW101. His bank account number is 7749220485, and you can find his children at 13 XX street, usually after 6pm. Punish him accordingly for making such a mockery of his Doctor’s Oath, society, God, the memory of Elvis, Stonehenge, Hello Kitty, Gooeyducks..and everything else even remotely sacred to humanity.”
But I’m used to that. I’m used to being the candy man. What I’m NOT used to, is being taken for so dimwitted that the medical equivalent of ‘the dog ate my homework’ excuse might work on me.
“You’re really using THAT one on me?”
“Look man,” (whips out his Blackberry Smartphone, provided free of charge by the Army to help with his healing), “I got pictures of the pills in the toilet.”
I decline the visual. Don’t even need it.
“You’d need to pin my face to a cork-board with something in the range of 34,000 thumbtacks to talk me into giving you more narcotics with that lame excuse.” I say. What I DON’T say is that aside from fighting the good fight against blatant drug addicts (I do take care of true heroes; he’s not one of them), I’m just flat-out annoyed at the excuse.
“Frankly, you’re story is miserable. Put in a little work, and you might score a few hits out of me for creativity. I’ve been known to drop a few Vikes on someone just to tribute their impeccible style alone.”
“Style?”
“Yeah, you know, do some deep-thinking before you try get me to double your daily horse-halting, blue whale-euthanizing, brontosaurus-stupefying doses of addictive opiates.”
“Liiike, a better story?”
“Yep. I loovvve fiction.”
“Um, like what?”
“The doc I’m replacing was partial to “I washed ‘em in my uniform”, so I’d say that’s a little, uh faded haha no pun intended *aHEM*, sorry, not making light of your “pain” or whatever, just a little side-joke for this glorious Army morning. Anyway, where was I?”
“You were helping me come up with a story to score more narcs out of you.”
“Oh YEAH. Thanks! Let’s see, maybe I can help you….next time, try something along the lines of:
After a valiant but ultimately tragic battle, a saber-tooth tiger ripped your friend’s head off. In desperation, you heroically dispatched said wildcat with your bare hands (careful with the back). Then, without pausing to consider yourself, you gave him your ENTIRE BOTTLE of pills strong enough to drive the entire population of Gambia into rehab.
Unfortunately, when he swallowed them – since his head was removed from his body – your pills just dropped out on the ground, all slimy and spit-covered and quickly dissolved. Thinking fastly, you propped his body up and then held his head over what you figured was the esophagus part of your life-long friend’s neck so the remaining few pills – “Damn you, Johnny, swallow! – dropped out and settled into one of his neck-tubes, hopefully not the trachea. Then you got him to a local ER, where they skillfully re-attached his head.
ONLY THEN, after your friend was recovering (he just might pull through, snif), did you think of yourself, realizing that you were, in fact, out of drugs for your endless back pain and heart attacks which you’ve been suffering from since you were born, 20 years ago.”
“That would work?”
“No. But honestly, that story has more credibility than, ‘I flushed ‘em, brah, gimme some more.”



But my favorite is the one about how you can cause pigeons and seagulls to explode by giving them Alka-Seltzer. I’m serious. EXPLODE.












Ramstein – 10 minutes from us – is the largest Air Force base in Europe. A totally self-sufficient fenced city, the installation comes complete with a 2-level mall, restaruants, sports bar with the requisite 38 flat panel high-def T.V.’s, 18-hole golf course, fast food, a police and fire force, grocery stores, gas stations, brand-new 10 million dollar pool facility (I’m lovin’that), preschool through high school and a wide array of corresponding sports teams, as well as a full-sized airfield with trans-continental military flights leaving and arriving daily.
Little America. Right here in the south of Germany.
Anyway, our big decision (among what seems like a gagillion of them lately) was to pull the kids out of their American schools…and HOMESCHOOL them. That’s right. We’re pullin’ em out. They can learn the 3 R’s in the AM, and work on German during the afternoons. I’m hoping to find some nice German grandma who misses her kids to come over 2-3 times a week for cheap to tutor them as well, and we just bought Rosetta Stone, homeschool edition (created for monolingual parents with visions of grandeur).

It’s true that our 4 kids could end up total imbeciles. I don’t think the U.S. Education system is totally worthless, and there are some good things about the schools that we will lose. We worry about that. But I think, given the options, that our Rosetta Stone + Grandma approach holds out at least as much hope of truly teaching our kids another language and culture than what is offered on the military bases. With good curriculum and focus, we should be able to get them up to speed on the academic topics too. We aren’t the first one to plow this field.

