Well, it’s been four years working here at Tufts University in the sunny town of Somerville/Medford, and I can honestly say with all my ever–loving heart and soul that it’s been quite the experience! Being the kind, nurturing woman that I am, there’s nothing that I would like better than to help out all these young rascals, especially the ones who fake illnesses in order to steal the entire box of free condoms and Dr. Watkins’ best thermometer.

I love the youths!

I love when they talk about “whipping” and I accidentally think they are referring to the whooping cough. I love when they do the “dab” and accidentally knock over my framed portrait of the digestive system.

Yay youths!

Honestly, this position was right for me, and I’ve known it since day one. I fell in love with the Health Services building the first time I laid eyes on it! Then I realized that I was looking at the frat house next door, and accidentally bumped into two bros hauling a keg. I briskly shook the beer (oh that devil’s milk) off of my body and went in to apply for the job!

One of the questions on the application was, “Which aspects of Tufts’ curriculum or undergraduate experience prompt your application? In short: ‘Why Tufts?’ (50–100 words)” and I looked up and smiled. “It’s all about the people!” I wrote.

Oh, those words! They wake me up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I shout and shake and utter the “Gettysburg Address” in my fevered delirium. How I lament this phrase with all my lamenting heart (I need two hands to write because my fountain pen is sincerely quite that heavy). Because little did I know that working at Health Services would be my undoing. Or more specifically, little did I know that “the people” included this one godforsaken, mother-loving, beard–splitting hussy. Sandra Rhodes.

Sandra Rhodes.

Get the fuck out of Health Services, Sandra Rhodes.

She came in for the first time just a few months after I started. This bitch had a bow in her hair and severe tuberculosis. At first, I was sympathetic… I probably wouldn’t have been, but for the love of fudgesicles and creamsicles, I went to eight years of nursing academy and patient kindness was drilled into me (goddamnit). Also, I told you. I love youth.

It’s not that I hate my job, because I don’t. It’s not that I hate children, either. No. It’s that I have no patience for this one this one special star.

She keeps asking if I can give her 19 different prescriptions, which I tell her I can’t do, because I’m not actually a doctor. And that really brings up a lot of bad memories. (The doctors only pizza party that I accidentally attended, the shirts that all my friends wore that said “Doctors Do It Better,” Dr. Seuss…) I’m not going to lie, I shed some tears.

Dang flabbit!!!! Oh, pardon my vulgarity but Sandra Rhodes really grinds my gears. She comes in every. Single. Day. Even on Sundays, the day of the Lord! She’s had every possible illness, every possible injury, and, damn it, she’s even developed laughter–induced asthma. She got diseases that they thought no longer existed in the US of A. Such as the blasted mumps. The cursed measles. THE DOGGONE MENINGITIS. I’ve seen her in my office with Dengue Fever every other Wednesday!!!

This hoe is crazy!!

Every morning I wake up. And I turn to my husband, Old Gus. And I say, “Old Gus. I can’t see that bitch again.”

Old Gus doesn’t get it. He thinks that I’m over exaggerating. He says, “Dammmmnnnnnnnn Debbie! Back at it again with the irrational hatred.” Old Gus is a fool, and thinks that this girl is just a sickly child. That old vagabond asks me to give her empathy. Empathy!!!! As if I haven’t tried.

But here’s the thing. Sandra can trick Old Gus. She can dupe her peers. Maybe she can even mislead the great Dr. Watkins. But she can’t fool me, because I’ve taken her vitals!!!

HER VITALS I SAY! Goddamn it, HER VITALS ARE THE TRUTH, and you can’t hide from the truth!

Her blood pressure is so normal, it’s like that episode of Spongebob where he turns into the normal version of himself and impresses everyone. I’ve listened to her heartbeat, and it goes THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-I-AM-A-PHONY-ASS-HOE.

Oh Sandra. Sandra Sandra Sandra Sandra Sandra. PLEASE stop. I can’t take it. I’m going INSANE. I’m losing control! I’ve forgotten how to type! Dnenyimtntisduchjrnttkpeitntntjri

Old Gus thinks he can reason with me. “Debbie!!” He scolds. “HAVE KINDNESS! HAVE A HEART! Remember how you were on our first date? The day we went to the Swashbuckling Square Dance Fall Formal? So full of kindness, and so supple!!”

I turn to him with pity. Oh, bless your heart Old Gus. The words coming from your denture clad mouth will never be the remedy to my aching soul. Because try as he might, he hasn’t seen what I’ve seen. He’s never seen one girl ask for twenty seven flu shots in the span of one day. He’s never looked into the heart of mankind and been surprised to see that it was dark, cold, and saturated with fake staph infections.

He’s never dealt with Sandra Rhodes.