Moving sucks. The cleaning, the packing, the money, familiarizing yourself with your new block, all that. And worst of all, it’s learning to deal with new things that can have you in debt in the blink of an eye. So as I began contemplating how much I’ll grow to likely loathe my landlord, it made me think of other shit I don’t trust. Ever. But maybe I just have trust issues. Peep game:
I fucking hate doctors. With a passion. I hate their poking and prodding, I hate their prying questions, I hate their prescriptions because they never give me the good ones (ha), I hate their love affair with insurance companies and pharmaceuticals, I hate their penchant for slicing and dicing, I just hate them. Hate, hate, hate. But hate does not equal distrust necessarily, so let me stress that I also don’t trust these types for shit. Let’s analyze, shall we?
A doctor’s office is a business. In no way different than, say, a salon. You go in, you probably have an appointment, you check in, some type of service is performed, you pay for that service (or deal with insurance co-pays), and then you leave. There is a price tag on everything that they do. Ask any business man what their priority is? I’ll bet 99.9% of the time it is to expand their customer base and increase profit. How do you expand your customer base if you’re a doctor? Perfect scheme – lead people to believe they’re sicker than they really are, increasing their need to come in your office for visits, and pumping them full of medications that are chock full of adverse side effects (which not only keeps them coming back for follow ups in your office, but satisfies your pharmaceutical mistress).
Perfect example: years ago I had something I’ll call the most brolic flu EVER. I’m talking like a week of not being able to eat or anything. Puking and miserable. I definitely dropped like 10 pounds. My mother insisted I go see a doctor because it was getting out of hand. So I went. And they gave me some shot that was supposedly going to make me stop puking. I paid some stupid ass co-payment just to get stuck in the arm with a substance not naturally occurring in my body, only to go home and continue puking and feeling even more miserable. When really I should have just continued to wait it out. The doctors won that round. Financially, not in the sense they actually cured me.
In the medical game it’s like the pharmaceuticals, the pharma-industrial complex shall we say, is the Colombian drug lord. The HNIC’s of the shit. Their reps are the pushermen. The Don is untouchable so he has his soldiers. The middlemen.Then the doctors are the weed carriers. Yep they’re the ones peddling the shit and holding onto it for the fiends. They just happen to be extremely rich weed carriers. Something like that doctor that is allegedly responsible for killing Michael Jackson. I’m pretty sure he was making it rain. And let’s remember that a lot of these drugs are horrendously bad for the human body. But I’m far from a healthy lifestyle fanatic so I’ll stray from that topic. It’s really just a legalized version of an organized crime drug trade.
And, furthermore, doctors are human. They aren’t encyclopedias, they don’t have cyborg brains and photographic memories, and lord only knows how many classes they skipped in med school because they were too hungover. And they wanna cut me open? Oh HELL no. Board certification? Seriously, anyone can pass a test with a phone that has an internet browser on it these days. And how much material that you learned in college do you really remember now? Exactly. Are YOU smarter than a fifth grader? Your doctor might not be! Someone close to me is in med school and I’m not about to say any names but they are one of the most spaced out, out-of-touch, ditzy individuals that is a phone number in my address book. I don’t care if they’re my peoples, I sure as hell wouldn’t count on them to save my life. And I only say that because I know them. Your doctor could be the same way but you don’t know them well enough to be able to see it. Humans make mistakes. A lot. It’s extra creepy to think about.
Hell, I trusted my former boss with a needle more than I trust any doctor I go see. And he’s a Hasidic Jew business owner who loves Israel and I’m a Palestinian. What does that tell you?
Just another friendly rant sponsored by management here at Untitled Type. Next up I’ll address my distrust toward cops, people who wear sunglasses indoors, banks, and of course landlords.
