i came to work two days ago and had this incredibly strange yet contextually typical conversation.
a patient asks me, “do you know where the half-eaten hamburgers are?”
i say, “pardon me?”
“you know what i’m talking about, the half-eaten hamburgers, in the plastic bag, by the dumpster? tell me where they went.”
i simply respond, “i don’t know where they are, i’m sorry.”
“yeah, you do, they weren’t hamburgers, they are really trinkets, magical golden trinkets. where are they?”
again, my response is simple. “i apologize, i don’t know where they are. maybe they’ll turn up somewhere.”
“i have two eyeballs. have you met my friend butthead? it’s him and beavis.”
now, this patient has been diagnosed with “psychotic disorder NOS (not otherwise specified)”, a catch-all term for “we don’t know what the hell is wrong with him, and what’s with the hamburgers? here’s some pills, you crazy fuck.” interacting with him is a challenge, needless to say, as his incredibly random statements almost require some kind of innate skill. i sure as shit know i couldn’t make up something as bizarre as that, at least not without extensive planning.
later the same afternoon he engaged me in conversation once again, this time with two words:
“prime rib.”
i say, “pardon me?” which is my standard response. it gives me time to process what is happening.
“black angus.”
as this conversation is happening amid dinner, it seems somewhat plausible that his thoughts about food are somehow related. in response i say, “it’s great, but i’ve been there only once.”
“maybe he’ll take you there.”
“who will take me there?”
“your dad, he’s in town. i’ll tell him where you are.”
note two things about this: one, my dad is in fact NOT in town, and the patient cannot tell him where i am as he has no clue who my dad is. hmm.
i decide at this point to play along somewhat, because the patient seems pleased that he has broken the news of my father’s arrival to bellingham. “i wasn’t aware he’s around, he didn’t tell me he was coming.” i realize that i am stringing the conversation along and perpetuating his delusion but i am far too curious to stop.
“medium rare.”
[i wait.]
“medium rare is the way to go. or rare.”
thus ends the conversation. i give him points for consistency and a somewhat organized thought process as the next two days he asked me if my dad had taken me out for prime rib yet. hmm. my parents are on their way up tomorrow and if i can talk them into buying me prime rib i am going to shit my pants.
