The little dictator

Whenever I see Dr. J I think about Benito Mussolini. I can't quite explain it, but lately it has become a reflex of almost Pavlovian proportions - See figure walking down hall -> Recognize figure as Dr. J -> Think about Mussolini with dancing bundles of wheat around him.

"Why wasn't this patient extubated?", he would typically ask me, typically very early in the morning. If you don't know what "extubated" means, it actually doesn't matter, you can put any word there instead, like "violated with sunflower seeds" or "dressed like the little mermaid". It's the thought that counts, you see.

"I don't know, I just got here".
"Don't talk to me like that! I want to know who extubated her right now".
"Ok, who should I ask?", I turn my head for a second to get the patient's chart and grab the phone, but he already moved on to the nurse on bed 15 demanding to know why the patient had his urine bag on the right side of the bed, while he specifically demanded the bag be put on the left side of it.

He is a funny little guy. 5"5 with an extra inch from the shoes, it definitely has something to do with it. A little goat beard decorates his chin, and a noticeable-despite-all-efforts east European accent comes out of his mouth, which sometimes makes his temper tantrums funnier. He is a resident in his second year, which means he is actually not that high up in the food chain, and a food chain it is, but that is a story in itself.

I sometimes wonder about this guy. He mainly looks very lonely. I imagine him dreaming at night of little bundles of wheat, not too tall, doing all sorts of tricks at his command. Man, the intoxication of power. I wish I had dancing bundles of wheat at my command. I could do wonders. What will become of him in a few days, when he will no longer be able to order me around? He was clearly born to lead people, even if it is all the way to the river Styx.