The men your momma didn't warn you about

So today was blissfully slow. I even got out early. This does not stop me from bringing you today's dose of psych patient wisdom.

So, one of the guys on the ward - not my patient - was admitted after a manic episode that included, as many manic episodes do, a spending binge. Except that this guy spent over $300 at - are you ready for it? The dollar store. We had a good bit of theorizing at morning report about how one even comes close to spending that amount at a dollar store, and why the employees there didn't call us. That should be a commitable offense, right there, by itself. But you have to applaud his frugality.

My first patient of the day, got mad and walked out on the interview. That's how you know my day has officially started, fyi. My patients do this to me frequently. I don't know what it is about my style that makes them get all pissed off and storm out. I guess I'm just glad they aren't hitting me.

Later, my drama llama patient shoved a pay phone in my hand while I was walking down the hall for the second time in two days to demand that I talk to his girlfriend and break the news that he was not coming home yet again, despite the fact said girlfriend had already made reservations for tomorrow evening. Yes, sorry, I'm a bitch. And then he threatened to have my job. Again. Fine, take it.

Prior to this, I did an assessment on an old man who was demented and, really, had no business being on our unit, but should've been on the gero side. He starts out by looking me up and down, smirking delightedly and saying, "oooh, the big lady's come for me!" Which, I ignored, because he also thought we were in a furniture showroom (man, who'd want to buy that furniture?) and at one point accused me of being from the rival Thomasville store. He then, later, after I'd pointed out that, no, we were in a hospital, and I was the doctor, said, "well, I don't know about this place. And," (he looks very pointedly at the top of my head) "I really don't know about that hair."

Dude. Do not. Insult. Your psychiatrist.

The interview did not get any better.

And then I walked out, and this very big, tall, buff, bald, black man is walking down the hall, and he looks at me, and he gives me the once over, and he starts singing - in a big, tall, buff, bald, black man sort of baritone - the chorus from Beautiful Girls (Sean Kingston). And for once, instead of ignoring it and walking away faster (my usual response to these sorts of commentary, which are usually somewhat more lecherous), I looked at him (okay, as I was walking away, I admit) and said, "thank you." And he grins this big, tall, buff, bald, black man sort of grin, and says, all Southern boy, "Yes, ma'am." And I just sighed.

So here are the morals of today's very laid back, slow kind of day:

1. I'm very sorry to tell you this, but, if you do something goofy on your way to the psychiatric hospital, the staff, well, we're going to laugh at you. Please don't take it personally. Because we're not really laughing at you, you're providing a much-needed respite from the severity of our jobs. If we didn't develop a certain sort of inappropriate and gallows-esque humor about what we do, it would be far too heartbreaking to come to work. So, actually, before the next time you end up on a psych ward, try to do something a little silly on the way in. Help us out.

2. Dinner plans are not a valid reason for discharge. That argument never swayed me into inducing labor when I was an OB/GYN, either.

3. Never. Insult. Your. Psychiatrist. It's a good way to get a solid 30 day commitment.

4. All the good ones are married or psychotic.

And for dessert, you know how my shift ended? I walked out of the hospital, and slipped on an acorn. Fell down. Went boom. Splendidly, and with flourish. I fell on an acorn, dude. My life is weird.

My best friend asked me, if a Kate slips and falls on an acorn, does she make a sound? The answer, my friends, is, most definitely. And that sound is a lot like, "SHIT!"