The first day of Marcella Wallace’s dermatology rotation quickly went downhill when she was exposed to Dr. H. William Wellington-Rothschild, Jr.
“Call me Chaz, everyone does!” squawked the PGY-4 MD-PhD, who swatted away Ms. Wallace’s hand when she extended it in greeting and instead adjusted his bowtie. “I don’t shake hands, too many germs.”
“Nobody calls him that,” muttered Dr. Kateri Michaud, who was glad to be graduating from the program in a few months. She nudged her medical student toward the door. “Let’s go see which patients have arrived.”
“No need, I’ve got the first one and no one else is here.”
Dr. Michaud forced a smile. “Great, thanks, Will.” Her smile morphed into a scowl as Dr. Wellington-Rothschild deposited his leather satchel directly on top of her open laptop, knocking over her full mug of coffee in the process. He glanced at the mess before shrugging and exiting the residents’ lounge. “Thanks again, douchebag,” Dr. Michaud hissed. Ms. Wallace gathered some paper towels and started helping the chief resident clean up the mess when Dr. Wellington-Rothschild reappeared.
“Ella! You’re supposed to be working with me, not cleaning up Kateri’s mess. And Kateri, you shouldn’t be seeing patients without your hair tied back.”
Dr. Michaud exhaled sharply. “Just go with him for now, Marcella, and I’ll come get you once I’m done with this.” Ms. Wallace reluctantly followed Dr. Wellington-Rothschild down the hall, where he began debriefing her on the importance of his latest research project. She was reminded of one of the final scenes from The Green Mile, an innocent prisoner being escorted to her doom.
“I’ve never met someone so completely ignorant of their own shortcomings,” Dr. Michaud said of her colleague once he was out of earshot. “I feel sorry for his mail-order wife. Thank god I’ll be out of here before they manage to reproduce.”