I don’t know what his real job is, but he is a piece of work no matter what.
He is a short, thin, black man who swoops around the place dressed in various shades of blue operating room scrubs. He has booties on his feet, scrub shirt and pants, an open at the front gown that reaches almost to the floor, a hair net, and a surgical mask hanging around is chin.
He looks like he just stepped out of the operating room and is on some important errand. While the patient lies on the operating table and the doctors stand around with their gloved hands in the air, blue bird man whizzes around the hospital in search of some vital piece of information so they can proceed with the procedure.
Only thing is, scrub man seems to have forgotten his important errand. Because he comes by to flirt with the phlebotomists and I see him chatting with the janitor, or shooting the breeze with the electrician, and I am pretty sure none of these people have the vital information the doctors need in order to proceed with their procedure.
But in between chats, our whizzing man in latest fashionable disposable garb is a force to be reckoned with as he walks very fast. And when he passes you, his gown flaps wildly at his sides like wings. He kind of reminds me of Groucho Marx, but instead of the cigar, this guy has a surgical mask.
I am consumed with curiosity about the nature of his real job, because surely my imaginary one CAN’T be right. Otherwise we must have a lot of doctors standing around with their gloved hands in the air, waiting for mister blue bird who is at this minute flapping down the hall at top speed, to return. Fat chance of this happening.
I don’t think any procedures are proceeding if it’s up to our man in scrub.
Tomorrow, I am going to ask our resident “in the know” person, what his job is.
Or maybe not, I kind of like my explanation best. It has more flap…. I mean flair.
Don’t you think?