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Stop.  Reminding me.  I’m a nurse.  I KNOW I’m a nurse.  What, you think I don’t know what these blue scrubs mean?  You think I’m not aware of the huge ass scarlet letter N stapled to my forehead?  Oh believe me.  I know.

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Guy in elevator at 7:30AM: *glances at me discreetly*

Me glaring at the ugly tiles on the floor: *thinking “I hate this job”*

Guy: “Are you a nurse?”

Me: *deny it*  “Yea”

Guy: “Oh man, just got off huh?”

Me: *No, I just decided to wear this for fun you simpleton* “Yea”

Guy: “Wow.  Well.  I just want to say.  Thank you so much for your service.”

Me:

will-smith-the-fuck

 

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This is not an uncommon scene for me to experience.  My friends see me in my scrubs, “OH aw, don’t you look so good, all nursey and stuff!”  I envision punching them in the face while I walk out of the room.  It’s not an effing costume, people!  It’s not cute.  Or adorable.  Or a service that deserves to be recognized.  It’s an effing job.  You have no idea what it entails, what it’s really like (here’s a clue: I’m not actually saving lives), just like I don’t know what it’s like to be a minion office worker (although, actually, I do since I did that before nursing)  But still!  Don’t pretend you “get it” and throw empty phrases at me that hold temporary meaning.  I hate that superficial, chatty, bull shit propriety.

Now if you’d like to say, “Dude, that job is rough, hope you sleep and drink it off well today” then I will give you a hearty high-five and may even let you glimpse the rarity that is my smile.

But a “thank you for your service?”  Psh, shut up, fool.

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Volunteer coordinator: “You’re a nurse?!”

Me: *deny it* “Yea.”

VC: “What kind?  I mean, department and stuff?”

Me: *back pedal fast* “Transplant.”

VC: “Omigawd, how noble.  How amazing.”

Me:

GIF-Approve-Like-Likes-yes-nod-approval-Stanley-Hudson-GIF

VC: “Wow, do you know any good doctors?  I have this pain in my stomach and they put me on these medications but I don’t like being on medications and I’m afraid it’s just going to keep getting worse.  I mean, I don’t think I need a transplant.  Right?  Maybe I do.  The pain is here, let me show you…”

Me:

Me:

*10 minutes later*

jud92q

 

 

 

 

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People, I am not a doctor.  In fact, I purposefully chose NOT to be a doctor (although perhaps I should have gone that route since they seem to not care about people to the same extent I don’t care about people).  Oh close your surprised mouth; if you think doctors care you are a very silly person.  They don’t care about you personally but simply about the medical puzzle you present them with, which frankly is probably more interesting than who you really are.  YEP, life is full of burst bubbles isn’t it?

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