Return Of The Toe Fungus Beast
Given that my undergrad teaching position is effectively no more until the fall, I usually spend my summers back in my original position in the office of emergency medical research. Working half time, as our office is at it's least busy time of the year, and generally on a project I have had a hand in selecting, it's a great way to fill the summer work schedule and have a relaxing and enjoyable time doing it.
With an office staffed with colleagues I truly enjoy, most notably my MD boss, Laurie, it can often not even feel like work. That is until today, after lunch. Entering the foyer with Laurie, we both glance at the new receptionist, a plump woman with tiny, pointed little eyes, busy with the task of colourfully and loudly chatting on the phone.
Turning the corner, Laurie shoots me a dead pan glance, "Nancy? Please god no, it isn't. Is it?"
Smiling with a pained restraint, I confirm, "The one and only. Nancy with the toe fungus."
"No! No, no....She is not allowed near the lunch table this time. Tackle her if she so much as tries".
Flashback, three years ago. Spring, 2006.
The semester had been a busy one, and between a new admin assistant, a new office, two abstracts due for annual conferences, our office "forgot" to offer a summer intern position to someone. Laurie (our boss) admits, she fucked up. Of course since Laurie so rarely fucks up, we all wanted to ensure she felt supported, so we agreed.
The only problem was, in all the unity, power and goddess energy offerings to Laurie, the reality was that all the quality grad student candidates we always enjoy working with were being picked. Every last one of them.
Looking at the interview prospects, and of course realizing we are completely fucked, I offer a cheery, "Shouldn't be that bad".
Silence.
"Oh come on, we still can choose from the undergrads. No? They are gone too? Oh shit.This is bad".
Just how bad, we were about to discover.
I'll call her Nancy. Nancy is very lucky to be working in one of the most progressive emergency medicine research institutes in the country. I'm not at all sure Nancy is aware of that.
"Does anybody know if that Richard Gere gerbil story is true? I heard it was this hospital!" Is a frequent style of question. That, and narrating the "Rod Stewart injested a quart of dog semen. It's true!" ER story that her aunts sister in law in Long Beach was lucky enough to be working the night shift for.
If only that were it.
One of the larger issues we have with Nancy, from a long line of issues, is around appropriateness. We are an academic research division. The women in our office have many options for style of dress. Usually, it is a very academic, business, but decidely casual look. And given the more "progressive" and creative reputation of this institution of higher learning, the stereotypical, slightly eccentric, granola hippie, complete with dangle accessories and billowing Indian crepe skirt, is also an acceptable option. Both of those looks, or variations not all that removed from each other, are perfectly acceptable. My point here is, Nancy has options.
Why then, the woman decides to exercise the specific style of deportment that displays her navel, and her, I'm not kidding, plumber butt, I don't know. Today, the navel grazing shirt is hot pink. It is of the "hello kitty" variety, with bright, sparkly letters over the breasts. The acid wash jeans are faded out, obscenely body hugging, very low rise, and have zippers mid calf, aka, late 80's early 90's. Finished of course, with sockets and sneakers.
But even so, when I walk into the makeshift meeting room, I am rather shocked to be greeted by Nancy in her hello kitty best; with one plump, bare foot placed on the table.
A brief pause, I recover with "Do you need some ice"?
Hoping against hope she sprained something and that is the reason for the apendage elevation. On our lunch / meeting table no less.
"No"? she stares at me like I have three heads.
"I just have to bring a sample into my doctor later".
"A sample?"
Nancy returns to digging away happily with a nail file under her right big toenail. And the woman is scooping out her toe fungus, and neatly placing it on the table. In a growing pile of toe jam.
I kid you not.
"I always get fungal infections in the hot weather"
After considering the trajectory of that statement, I am thankful it's only her toes she is going to town on.
"Okay then. See you later".
I lean in the door of my bosses office, looking sadly non plussed. And a bit green.
"So, not the intern we dreamed of"? Laurie smiles, glancing up from whatever she is busy pursuing.
"Well, that depends, do you need tips on digging toenail fungus out of your wet festering recesses deep below your toenails"?
"What"?
I raise one eyebrow and simply nod. Words seem excessive here.
"You are fucking kidding me"!
"Nope. Foot up on the table, with not even a hint of awareness this may not be the best move, that crazy bitch is shoveling toe jam".
"On the table we eat at"?
"That would be the one"
"EWWW".
Just about out the door, Laurie mutters. "I feel like I should be wearing gloves. FUCK! You know, there was a reason I stopped treating patients, damn it"!
alto


