January 27, 2010 by Keli.

Yesterday, I had enormous fun juggling the management of two county-wide organizations, by myself, and handling the stupers (short for irrepressibly stupid persons) who persisted in calling. The desks of both associations face each other in one office, so I raced back and forth constantly. I nearly pole vaulted, using my umbrella, over each desk in order to answer the respective phones. Then I catapulted over the visitors’ chairs to unlatch the front door for the UPS man, while I was still on the phone. Being hyper energetic by nature, the sweat pants and sneakers only enhanced my mobility. The true challenge arose when the phones rang simultaneously. But that is fodder for a different post.

The callers are what really made my day. They generally seek legal information; I’m afraid it’s the issues they’re experiencing that cause me to stop and ponder: Where is the human race headed? Shouldn’t stupidity have been mostly eradicated by now?  I present Exhibit A: “Chuck” who stated,

“I need legal advice. I have a terminal illness…”

Immediately, I sank to the floor to accentuate the deep compassion I felt as well as my exhaustion from pole-vaulting, until he explained,

“I’ve had it since 1992…”

Is that possible? Forgive me if I sound idiotic, but doesn’t “terminal” mean approaching death? I mean, I’m grateful that he’d made it this long, but I had trouble with his word usage. It turned out he wanted to sue a drug company for medication he thought was not working. He’d lasted almost twenty years while taking the meds, so I didn’t follow his plight. Thankfully, he and the drug company were located in a different jurisdiction so I referred him elsewhere.

Next, came Luther. I like the name Luther. It reminds me both of Luther Burbank, the famous California botanist who sweet-talked his thorny cactus plants into losing their thorns, thereby creating the spineless cactus. It’s true. My guru said so (more on my guru in an upcoming post). Wikipedia confirms this phenomenon.

Luther also reminds me of Lex Luthor, the supervillain in comic books and Superman’s archenemy. Lex allegedly lost his hair in a laboratory accident, and well, the rest, as they say, is history. I know how I feel when I have a bad hair day. I can only surmise what would happen if I lost my hair while conducting one of my stuper lab experiments.

Anyway, my caller, Luther, complained to me that he was being tortured and has continued being tortured for some time. I asked for the name of his tormentor.

“Oh, it’s not a person.”

I patiently waited, while I heard the other line ringing. I casually inquired, “Is it the po-po?” (This is the part where I begin to slightly suffer an imbalance in my mind; when this occurs, my speech is the first to go).

“No!”

While he paused, I picked up the other line, only to find the caller had hung up. I breathed a thirty second long sigh of relief. I forgot about Luther until I heard a voice on the speakerphone say (I had to place him on speaker to answer the other call; my umbrella was not handy):

“It’s the Internet. I’m being tortured by the Internet.”

So here’s where I draw the line. I can’t even go into the reasons why as I am currently in relax mode, but I feel confident my dear readers know what I’m talking about. I convinced Luther that this was a matter for Homeland Security and got off the phone.

Truly.

Please think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity | 6 Comments »

January 18, 2010 by Keli.

Periodically, I engage in a song & dance routine. I get out my black, patent leather shoes, pink bow tie and glittery cane. I’ve performed this little tap number at four branches of a local bank in order to obtain necessary paperwork for a loan.

My husband occasionally buys and sells real estate. Hence, the need for loans. To borrow money from a lender, we must prove that we don’t really need the money.

My energetic little jig is usually followed by polite, staccato applause from my small, subdued audience; afterward, I am handed the requested piece of paper to show the lender. I typically begin my journey to the exit, but rarely make it out the double glass doors. Along the way, I notice that the paper, which summarizes the balance of my accounts, provides no evidence whatsoever that it originated from a bank. I could have typed it up myself.

“Where the hell does it say which freaking bank this is from?” is what I’d love to shout (years of maintaining an angelic demeanor for the sake of the kids has taken its toll on me). Instead I say,

“Would you kindly open a drawer and locate the super impressive, official-looking stamp that says ‘Los Pueblos Bank’ and illuminate this little sheet?”

So begins a mad dash from drawer to drawer by the employee in search of the elusive stamp. This occurs each and every time and can last anywhere from four to twelve minutes, depending on the I.Q. of the person assisting me. (That was mean. I’m sorry. I.Q. has no bearing whatsoever on stupidity. Highly educated people can be impossibly stupid).

Yesterday, Husband and I entered the branch closest to our home to add his name to an account that I have with my mother. Doesn’t that sound delightfully simple? Nancy assisted us. We obtained proper signatures and left to get my mother’s signature. We did so. Husband returned the signature card to the bank (I didn’t have my tap shoes on me). It was his turn to secure the little piece of paper.

Here’s what happened:

When Husband entered the bank, Nancy was nowhere to be found. He overheard some one say, “She’s in the lunch room, doing her nails.” Husband was advised that no other person, out of the 15 employees present, could add the signature and print out the paper he required. He asked to see the manager.

Unbeknown to Husband, the manager had declared Tuesdays to be “Don’t-help-customers-no-matter-what-day.”

When he asked how long Nancy would be, Manager replied, “Ten minutes.”

Husband said, “No problem. I’ll wait. I really need to deliver this paperwork to the lender today.” Husband showed Manager a sample copy of what he needed.

Manager carefully scrutinized it, then announced, “That’s a cute little paper, but you’re not getting anything today. It’s going to take at least twenty-four hours to update the account.”

Husband, realizing them’s fightin’ words, said, “Are you sure? I’ve done this before and it’s instant.”

She restated, “It can’t be done.”

Husband left. He filled up the gas tank, stopped to get coffee, then drove five miles to the next branch of the same bank. This time he met a very smart teller who printed what he needed in less than ten seconds. Unfortunately, it took another four minutes to find the infamous official bank stamp.

Why? Why must we jump through hoops and perform astonishing feats of ability in order to survive an encounter with stupidity? Well, first of all, so I can run this blog. Secondly, to sharpen our minds. Those who can think and do, can always beat ten men who can’t and don’t (to paraphrase George Bernard Shaw). Don’t you feel a sense of accomplishment when you’ve resolved a problem or completed a task, no matter how large or small? Stupers (short for abysmally stupid persons) don’t know what that satisfaction feels like. And never will.

Choose to think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity | 7 Comments »

November 21, 2009 by Keli.

I recently discovered yet another surefire method for recognizing stupers (short for unanimously stupid persons), sight unseen. No, I’m not telepathic, super brilliant (I may be just plain brilliant though), or saintly (I hope I’m not bursting too many of my loyal readers’ bubbles). I just know an idiot when I meet one, or in this case, read one.

I correspond regularly, via e-mail, with many seasoned professionals: Attorneys, Physicians, Investment Bankers, Teachers and Certified Public Accountants, for instance. I’ve not met the majority of these people in person, so I don’t really know any of them. We’re involved in the same causes, part of the same groups, etc. But I do know that an authentic human not only thinks before speaking and taking action, but before sending out e-mails as well. Stupers rarely think and their email correspondence reflects this.

Physician Katy sent out an email to CPA Mallory, requesting information on expenses attributable to a chartitable organization that Katy headed. All Katy wanted was numbers, as you may have guessed. No questions were asked of CPA Mallory such as, what do you think about these numbers? Or do you have a good recipe for mincemeat pie or is Kalamazoo the capitol of Michigan and if not, do you think it should be? None of these questions were posed. I was copied on this e-mail.  I took note of how courteously it was written by Katy and really appreciated its brevity. “Please” and “thank you” appeared in all the right places. It warmed my heart.

Mallory took it upon herself to respond, not with any numerical information as requested, or even a salutation, but instead with this:

This is IMPORTANT, as a reply to your e-mail (note to readers: idiots believe we, meaning everyone else but them, are stupid, so they feel a need to tell us what is important, figuring we may not get it)

Your charitable organization should not accept any more donations (note to readers again: Katy did not ask about donations)

I REALLY don’t think you want to shut down the ability to get grants, funding, etc…(please note again: are caps really necessary? And keep in mind, this particular  has been in operation for decades without receiving one grant or donation.)

There are many other ways around this. (Note once more: though Mallory hints at “other ways,” she never bothers to explain. Why? She doesn’t give free advice. What is “this” anyway? Which begs the question, is hard drug use on the rise among professionals or is it just stupidity?).

Blah, blah, blah. (Readers kindly use your imagination to insert additional nonsense).

Katy, call me immediately to discuss.

Not one “please” or “thank you” to be found. Really. How backbreaking is it to insert a please or thank you, now and then? Such pleasantries immediately lift a person to thinker status and even offer the reader a slight lift. I cannot begin to tell you the many positive results I’ve noticed as a result of a smidgen of courtesy.

It’s like attending a meeting in ripped jeans (not even fashionably ripped, but slovenly ripped like you’ve been attacked by a rabid, starving coyote) and a stained shirt while your competitor rules in a stylish St. John knit.

A few carefully chosen words in the right places does wonders for making a person appear intelligent and kind, even in email correspondence. Taking the time to insert a simple salutation and make remarks in a kindly fashion make the communication appear thoughtful and intelligent. Mallory has now been branded an idiot, thanks to her failure to use garden-variety courtesy.

When we fail to be kind to others, we destroy our own peace of mind, and turn into immediate idiots.

Why not think?

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity | 5 Comments »

October 13, 2009 by Keli.

Every year about this time, my lone walnut tree erupts with nuts. If you’re a walnut fan and you’ve never had fresh walnuts, ’tis a pity. Just ask my walnut addicted, shell crunching dogs or the thieving, greedy crows (why did God create crows? That question keeps me awake many a night).

I struck a really fair deal with the dogs: walnuts on ground level are theirs. Then I made an equally magnanimous deal with the gosh darn crows: all walnuts at sky level are theirs for the taking. That means the remainder are for me, and my non-idiotic family, friends and neighbors, right?  Not exactly.

My gardener, Eddie, is wonderful, and no, he is not a stuper (short for an exasperatingly stupid person). But his brother, Dumb Dom, is. When Eddie is too busy to do my gardening, he sends Dom and an apprentice.

I happened to be home during one of Dom’s gardening days. I peered out the window and saw, as usual, the gardener’s apprentice toiling over the lawn mower, the weeds and the rake, while Dom played around with a pair of shears, snapping them open and shut at imaginary flies.

I left the window and returned ten minutes later to view Dom beneath the beloved walnut tree, arms busily reaching upward and picking, while his pant pockets bulged with nuts… from the tree.  Then he proceeded to tuck in his shirt and drop walnuts down his neck into his newly formed bag/shirt.

I rapped on the window until he turned toward me. Then I waved, just to let him know I was on to him and hopefully firmly plant the guilt seed. Instead, Dom threw me a wildly dirty look for interrupting him and continued picking. Not to be outdone, I raced outside.

“Mind leaving some for me? I like them too, you know,” I stated fiercely, waving the shovel I held in one hand around threateningly.

Dom grumbled and sauntered away, walnuts spilling from all sides, which my dogs rapidly proceeded to devour. By the way, Dom does not speak English and has been in this country only a short time. Perhaps where he comes from, picking other people’s fruit and nuts is a sign of friendliness and good will. Then again, I hear hands are cut off for less, in some places.

Typically, I pick the fruit and nuts from my trees and pass them out. Even Dom has gotten his own bag of plums and apples. But what to do with stupers who believe mi casa es su casa? What’s yours is mine? I tried heading him off at the pass by giving him his share. You saw where that went. I really wasn’t up to frisking his 6′4″ frame; even in my four inch stilettos, I’m still only 5′11″.

The next time Dom showed up for his so called gardening job, I was ready. I remembered some advice once offered by French Royal and well known stuper, Marie Antoinette, a short time before she was beheaded, “Let them eat cake.” True, such advice backfired for her, but I knew it work on Dom.  Now, at harvest time, I always leave a large piece of cake or three for Dom. That way he’s too busy eating when he arrives and too full for picking by the time he leaves, I give him his share, and I get to keep the rest of the nuts.

Keep thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Monumental Stupidity, Professional Stupidity | 7 Comments »

September 30, 2009 by Keli.

I have recently discovered that asking too many questions can turn a stuper (short for a disarmingly stupid person) away. And not a moment too soon.

I’m sure most of my readers are well aware of the reputation that many members of the legal profession shoulder: money grabbing, heartless, wily misanthropes who care nothing for the client. This may or may not be true, depending on the individual attorney, but I must remind you that for every idiot attorney, there is an idiot client.

I work for a charitable organization which attracts all sorts of people, including those that refuse to think. Nancy called me needing help with her landlord. A simple enough problem, no? Not when Nancy is a Class AAA+ stuper.

I try to get the facts out of my callers; directing them to dispense with the extraneous, ridiculous, cringeworthy details mostly of a derogatory nature. Nancy began her tale,

“I live in an eight unit apartment complex with a bunch of crackheads. And it isn’t even good crack.”

Which, of course, begs the question, how does Nancy know the crack’s no good? She continued,

 ”I told the landlord I can’t take it anymore. The fumes sent me to the emergency room. And now I have asthma. And there’s banging on the walls. And the building is filled with gays. I’m the only female and I am constantly discriminated against. The Mexican gardeners make too much noise with their ()*#$*%& blowers. Why are all *&$&^*% Mexicans gardeners? The manager is a black homo and he’s the worst. Then there are the Asians and the Jews… I have it all on videotape.”

You get the gist of it. After about five minutes, there was no race, ethnicity, religion or gender that she failed to insult. Okay, she kept the Tibetans out of the equation. Meanwhile, I pondered hanging up on her, passing her on to some more deserving soul or breaking into song with the aim of encouraging her to grossly underestimate my abilities.

Instead, I asked her a few questions. How long she’d lived there, when did her troubles start, what does 1+1 equal, and finally,

“Do you have medical records of your visit to the Emergency Room?”

This was Nancy’s response,

“Lady, you ask too many questions! I’m going to Los Angeles to get me a real lawyer!”

Immensely relieved, I thanked her profusely, but she’d already hung up.

Now when a potentially whacked up client calls me (they are extremely easy to spot because they have zero self-control once they begin blabbering), I interrogate them to distraction. This way stupers are instantly revealed and shoved aside so I can focus on the clients that sincerely need help.

Keep thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity | 6 Comments »

September 20, 2009 by Keli.

The police in my town have embarked on a sting operation. You know, the kind where a law enforcement officer poses as a cooperative member of the public so said officer may be victimized by lawbreakers who will then be immediately apprehended, possibly even wrestled to the ground, jolted with a stun gun and placed in shackles, to protect the real, wide-eyed public. Unfortunately, as you may have guessed, this operation was run by stupers (short, yet again, for unimaginatively stupid persons).

Keep in mind that the place where I live is not exactly a hotbed of criminal activity. The population hovers at around 4000, and the most heinous crime here (besides stupidity) consists of driving with a suspended license. Oh sure, there was that one alleged crime boss/racketeer/mafia kingpin, but the FBI caught him and put him away for life plus 120 years, and all of his crimes occurred in the Los Angeles area. No actual bodies were found anywhere on his spread in my town.

This highly complex decoy operation involved police in plainclothes strolling across a street using a crosswalk. The police cited six drivers in one day during this crackdown; villainous motorists who failed to yield to pretend pedestrians trying to cross the street.

“This is a disturbing number of potential tragedies…” stated Lt. Julie McCann, posing as the City Police Chief. Then she threatened, “We will have more of these covert operations in the future.”

First of all, once something is published in the newspaper, which is where I read the above quote, covert becomes overt. Secondly, when was the last time, intelligent readers may be wondering, that there occurred a tragedy on this road or any street for that matter in my town, concerning a pedestrian? Let’s see…there was that time a woman, using the crosswalk, fell out of her wheelchair after her Yorkshire terrier went haywire on his leash and chased after an unsuspecting postal worker using the same crosswalk. Yorkies can be ruthless that way.

I do so wish stupers were capable of focusing their attention on more important matters. Especially those idiots involved in law enforcement. How about trying to catch drunk drivers? Or speeders?

“Now that school is open again, we must protect those using the crosswalk…” stated Police Chief McCann.

Um, there were no schools near the targeted crosswalk. (Excuse me while I lay my head face down, but resting on a forearm, and bang one clenched fist on my desk).

Stupers have trouble focusing on the real issues or matters at hand. You know, the vital topics that actually require care, thought, focus and the utmost attention. Instead, morons prefer to waste time blithering and taking needless or nonsensical action. To make sure none of us fall into this idiotic category, make sure you focus on progress: progressing your mind to make yourself a better, more intelligent being every day. If you need tips on how to do this, please contact me.

Keep thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity | 5 Comments »

July 28, 2009 by Keli.

We read and hear daily about the cheerless state of our nation’s economy. What we’re not told is that there is a silver lining. I know because I’ve been the recipient of this recent benefit not once, not twice, but three times this past weekend. And as you may have guessed, this silver lining has to do with stupers (short, yet again, for significantly stupid persons).

As most of you well know, Home Depot has been adamant in its refusal to provide customer service. Trying to find an employee, let alone a helpful, thinking employee is like trying to locate the Batcave (Batman’s sought after secret headquarters). It ain’t gonna happen. I’m happy to report that to remain competitively in business, Home Depot has initiated a policy of not hiring idiots. I believe their corporate headquarters contain these very, if not similar, words in their instructions to the Human Resources Department: “THE HIRING OF STUPERS IS NO LONGER CONDONED.”

I strolled into a Home Depot to check out their potted plant selection.

The moment I stepped into the store, four helpful, happy employees greeted me, begging to be of service.

“How can we help you?’

“Thank you, but I see the orchids right over there…” I pointed to a spot about twenty feet away.

Nevertheless, one employee accompanied me in case I had questions; she helped me lift various pots and tried desperately to recall the instructions for the proper care of these delicate exotics.

Stunned, I next went to the bank; Wells Fargo, to be precise. Once again, upon entry, an overjoyed greeting committee welcomed me. I swear one of them looked to be the Bank President. They fervently thanked me for my business. I muttered,

“Um, I’m just withdrawing thirty dollars…”

They continued to thank me.

The teller was extremely helpful. He didn’t ask the usual idiotic questions, such as,

“Don’t you want to upgrade your account to executive level? Don’t you want another ATM card? Don’t you want…?” This is usually where they stop after I holler a resounding, “NO!”

As I left, the Bank President shook my hand; I swear he wanted to slip me a twenty just for coming in.

Finally, I went to Macy’s, the hit or miss store. Once again, not even a hint of stupidity. I found a worker to help me in record time. Before I could utter…

“Is there someone who…”

I heard,

“Here I am!” by a delighted employee.

To be successful in any venture, it is of utmost importance not to behave stupidly and to actively utilize one’s mind. Taking this one necessary step further, the same goes for employees, who act as extensions of the store management. If management wants to be regarded as intelligent, useful beings, they must hire the same. Then success is practically guaranteed.

Why not think?

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity | 7 Comments »

July 15, 2009 by Keli.

Stupers (short, once again, for assuredly stupid persons) are not only incapable of listening, following directions, properly operating a motor vehicle, eating with their mouths closed and complex math problems, but their attempts to solve simplified math are akin to drilling holes in a block of cement…with a toothpick. It ain’t gonna happen. A calculator in the hands of an idiot only makes matters worse, guaranteeing a multitude of errors.

I received an e-mail from Wanda describing her unfortunate experience with a calculator-toting stuper:

Dear Keli,

I work as an editor of legal documents for a lawyer. I get paid $16/hr. Yesterday, I worked 2 1/2 hours and gave my boss an invoice for $40. Last night, she e-mailed me, saying that I overcharged her and should actually be paid $36.80. I e-mailed her back, explaining that one hour equals $16. Two hours equal $32, and another half an hour is $8, making the grand total $40. She responded, saying that she used a calculator and her total is correct. And she’s going to deduct it from my paycheck. Is this not a case of rip roarin’ stupidity? My boss does act stupidly now and then, but it usually doesn’t bother me. Unless it has to do with my paycheck! What should I do? 

Wanda

Violence is not the answer. Even subtle hostility should not be used here without extensive training as fine timing is required. I plan to do a workshop on subtle hostility and stupidity in the near future.

Wanda indicated that although her boss typically performed idiotically, it was tolerable imbecility. That should be comforting to all of us. I would suggest Wanda arm herself with a calculator, make an appointment to see the boss, and give her a quick addition lesson, at the boss’s expense, of course. It appears to me the boss multiplied 16 by 2.3 instead of 2.5; the .5 equaling the half an hour. Alas, the boss mistook .3 for 30 minutes.

The amount involved may seem paltry, but who knows? $3.20 today may escalate into $320 tomorrow. Even calculators can’t do the thinking for idiots.

Mental training involves great effort; too much it seems for stupers. We must strive harder to train our minds to develop the best that is in each of us.

Don’t stop thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity | 10 Comments »

May 26, 2009 by Keli.

When I’m forced to confront a case of stupidity, I either do so cheerfully, since I have full knowledge of what lies ahead or very, very quietly. I reserve hollering and unleash expletives only in emergency cases.

I’ve found that when stupers (short, once again, for doggedly stupid persons) are confronted with their own stupidity, they do two things: act surprised (because idiots are genuinely stunned when someone catches them acting idiotically), and attempt to lie their way out. This was the case with a meager mind at Son #1’s school a few years ago.

Son #1 has always been technically talented. My fiercely loyal readers may recall my mentioning that this same son routinely repaired his classroom computer…when in kindergarten. Parents of other kids invited Son over just to upgrade their computers or have him custom-build one from scratch.

When in the eighth grade, Son requested and was granted permission from Mr. Joe, the computer lab director, to use the school’s fast running computer for Son’s science project. Days later, Son came home upset because Mr. Joe accused Son of setting up an online gambling operation.

“Why would he think I did that?” Son asked, clearly irritated at the unfounded accusation.

I pushed away images of winning $700,000 playing poker or bingo and took it upon myself to investigate. I entered the school administration office.

I’ve always been an active parent, first-rate at attracting sniffing out trouble in my kids’ schools and resolving issues involving stupers posing as teachers, coaches and superintendents. I strolled in quietly, wielding my Louis Vuitton handbag and Prada shades (arsenal no member of the female sex who plans on battling stupers should be without).

Before I uttered a word, the Superintendent skulked away, arms up hold-up style. I was feeling good.

“Where’s Mr. Joe?” I asked no one in particular.

Mr. Craig, a respected and responsible teacher asked, with great concern no stuper could possibly feign, “Is there a problem, Mrs. Garson?”

“Damn right, Yes. Mr. Joe has accused my son of setting up a highly profitable gambling operation in the two days that Son was allowed to use the school computer.”

“I’ll get Mr. Joe,” Mr. Craig left and returned instantly, Mr. Joe in tow.

Mr. Joe is a small, hairless, oily looking fellow with beady eyes and lips so thin, one can’t help but stare and wonder if they’re permanently turned inward; he’s the type a parent intuitively knows treats kids like a piece of overchewed gum the moment the parents’ backs are turned. I started,

“You accused Son of starting an online gambling operation.”

“No, I didn’t. I never said that.”

“Then just what did you say?” I asked, moving in for the kill.

“I said the computers were running slower than usual.”

Obviously, code for stuper talk that meant, I did say just that, but if you persist in accusing me, I will persist in lying between my extremely thin lips.

“And did you throw out the words “online” and “gambling” somewhere in that sentence?”

He paused two seconds to pretend to engage in thought, but we all know where that leads.

“No.”

Mr. Joe left the school of his own accord (so I was told) at the end of that school year. I love it when stupidity resolves itself so neatly.

It’s important not to resist a case of stupidity or stew over it, which would be a grievous waste of our precious time. Better to meet it head-on and resolve it in a positive manner, when possible.

Don’t stop thinking.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity, Plain Old Fashioned Stupidity | 8 Comments »

April 18, 2009 by Keli.

For the past almost two weeks, I’ve been at the bedside of X, a loved one, during an extended hospital stay for a fever of undetermined origin. My main role, as my dear readers may imagine, was to keep the stupers (short for disarmingly stupid persons) at bay. Incidentally, X is now fine and home.

This hospital is world renowned and justifiably so. Traveling harpists float serenely from room to room entertaining forlorn patients, while the walls and corridors (of which there are many) practically burst with colorful pieces from Picasso to Frank Sinatra.

I’m happy to report that the physicians were exceptional; mostly concerned, cautious and vigilant at exercising thought before acting. However, here’s the problem: the number of doctors and residents attending each patient daily, is enough to successfully wage war against the city of Harmony, California (population 18). At any given time, there could be eight people in a patient’s room. And they didn’t communicate with each other. Add to that, the social worker, nurses, nurses-in-training, nurse’s assistants, menu planner, meal deliverers, blood drawers, room cleaners, transporters (not the Jason Statham variety, but the kind who chauffeur patients in gurneys to travel from floor to floor), and helpful volunteers, and suddenly the odds favor stupidity.

For instance, on Day 5, I decided I would no longer argue with overzealous residents who ordered chest x-rays with wild abandon. I decided to be quiet that day. Either that or explode with revolutionary outrage.  Apparently, my silence caused great worry. The social worker (who’d been keeping a close eye on me for days) feverishly raced up to ask if I was okay. I nodded. Then Dr. B (in charge of the resident team) who’d overheard the social worker, asked if I was certain I was really and truly okay. I told him I was rock solid. His response,

“Nobody is that solid. You really should seek some help.”

I absolutely did feel solid. Did I need help? I’d shoved aside inaccurate diagnoses and predictions of dire illnesses as being the cause of the fever and still managed to keep my head, even though such pessimism caused me great distress. Just how well did Dr B know me, anyhow? Did I show signs of strain? Or sure, my nail polish was beginning to chip, and I did wear the same red Lacoste shirt two days in a row, but I felt fine and knew the situation would soon be over.

Two days later, a virus was found to be the culprit and the Infectious Disease Specialist (whose very voice oozed calm and comfort) announced that X could go home. However, X did not go home because the other groups and specialists took three more days to reach agreement that X really could leave.

Was this stupidity or an acute state of caution? Does it really matter? What does matter is the ability to remain attuned to what’s important and to act accordingly.  If we act self-righteously, which I’m afraid I am guilty as charged whenever I believe that I know all, or if we constantly shift values to fit what we want, then we are not using our minds properly.

Think.

Keli

Keli@counterfeithumans.com

Posted in Professional Stupidity | 6 Comments »