Tales From the Crypt (And By Crypt I Mean Medical School)
In January of our second year, we were taught the basics of the female gential exam, the "pelvic", with the expectation that we would perform said exam on models who get handsomely paid for each poke. To my absolute amazement, nothing funny happened while I was doing my pelvic. Not one damn thing. And I was even assigned to the group with the now 19-year-old in our class who, until he says otherwise, hasn't even made it past the hand holding stages (I kid because I care, David). Truly shocking.
However, if there's one thing I learned in medical school (and as I start reviewing for the boards, I haven't learned much else), it's that when there's even the slightest bit of opportunity for awkwardness, embarrassment, or humiliation, someone among the freakshows in my class will step up and seize the opportunity to do something outrageously terrible, even if it's not quite when I'd normally expect it.
Fast forward to the next day, and I'm looking at gir...err...people watc...umm...studying at the Starbucks near school (as an aside, and to satisfy my required "I'm lonely and available" message for each blog: if you are an nice Jewish female and you see someone passed out at one of the tables who faintly resembles a miserable but dashingly attractive medical student with brown hair, blue eyes, and a First Aid for the USMLE Step 1 book under his drooling mouth, please wake him up. And give him your number). It's getting late and darker outside when one of my classmates strolls in. He was decked out in his white coat, so I knew he had just come from his pelvic exam - we were required to dress professionally to remind these women that yes, we were fake doctors. While I don't want to give out his name, I will mention that he is endearingly referred in my circle of friends as the FCMA - former coolest man alive. Why? Well, I'll let you use your imagination for now and maybe I'll write up another blurb about the origins of that name later.
The FCMA approaches me as he pimp-walks (not sure how else to describe it) his way through the Starbucks crowd, a smile beaming across his face.
FCMA: "Hey dawg...how's it going?"
Me: "Good man, how about you?"
FCMA: "Great. I just came back from my pelvic exam. Awwwww maaaaaan!"
Me: "Ha! Was she cute?" (As if that matters. It's a freaking pelvic exam, not a hot second date. Although, as was so gracefully pointed out in my surprise birthday party evite a while back, it's about as close to a second date as I've gotten with anyone.)
FCMA: "No man..."
Me: "Ah wel-"
FCMA: "...but she was tight."
Me (incredulously): "What do you mean?"
FCMA: "Here man, let me show you. Stick out your finger."
I think for a moment, then stick my right pointer finger out. He opens up one of his large hands and wraps it fully around my finger. Then he starts squeezing. And squeezing. And squeezing, to the point where I was losing feeling in my finger.
The moral of this story? Christ, I don't have the slightest fucking clue, I mean I can't even look at my pointer finger anymore without thinking of how the FCMA violated it. But if there's enough interest in "Medical School. It's tight." t-shirts (you can express your interest and make fun of me at the same time by posting a comment), maybe I'll try to whip something up for all my adoring fans.