Here is Ben's [censored] take on the shady lab coat guy:
Me and My White Coat
The first thing that made me angry that day was I had to park the whole %*@ing way in the back of the hospital parking lot. Usually when I get there at 10:00am for the Friday shift there are some spots left open for the lab technicians, but not that day. I was way back where the patients have to park.
I knew my day was going to go to **** when my supervisor handed me the list of lab samples I had to do that day. The list was four pages long, and I swear I could see the slightest twinge of pleasure behind his thick glasses that made me want to smash them in for him. Originally I had thought that being a lab technician would be a prestigious job, but it really just means that you’re the hospital’s bitch. Anyway, I knew I was stuck here for awhile. At all costs though, I had to make sure I met Jonesy at the bar at 4:00pm sharp. Jonesy did not tolerate tardiness.
I had it all worked out in my head. As soon as my supervisor went on his lunch-break, I used his access card (which I had already made a copy of two years ago) to enter the pharmaceutical storage. Once I was in there, I grabbed four bottles of [stuff] for Jonesy, wrapped them in bubble wrap, and put them in a plastic grocery bag.
My supervisor came back from lunch and was none the wiser. I had already changed the inventory codes in the computer to reflect that our supply of [stuff] had been four bottles short. Feeling somewhat accomplished I fished out three stray [stuff] I had in the inner pocket of my lab coat. I washed all three down with a dixie cup full of cold water.
The rest of the day floated by as I knocked out lab sample after lab sample. The [stuff] made each sample seem so direly important, so life and death, that it kept me genuinely interested in the work. I noticed after a while that it was nearing 3:30pm and I had to get going soon to meet up with Jonesy. I said goodbye to my supervisor who was reading a magazine in his office, made sure the bag was concealed, and rushed out of the office. I left in such a hurry I forgot to take off my white lab coat. But as I walked the length of the parking lot to get to my car, I decided to leave it on. Maybe people would respect me a bit more, and anyhow, no one would suspect a guy in a white lab coat would be making a [fun time] at a bar. But the real reason I left it on was to say “[what, what?] you society, I don’t care about your stupid [hidy ho] rules.”
I got a decent spot in the parking garage, stashed the bag of [stuff] in the glove compartment, and walked briskly to the bar. When I got there my watch said 4:02pm, and sure enough I saw Jonesy sitting near the end of the bar, his thick brown fingers raising a glass to his mouth. He noticed me out of the corner of his eye as he swallowed the contents of the glass. I sat down next to him.
“What the [rum raisin] you doin dressed like that in here? You might as well just have a sign that says, ‘hey everybody look at me!’ What’s the matter with you? said Jonesy.
“Just chill out. No one is going to concern themselves with me, after an initial look. They see this lab coat and think ‘huh, doctor or something’” I said.
Jonesy’s low rumble of a laugh seem to come from the bottom of his gut. “[thumbwrestling] doctor? That’s funny. You look like you bought that thing at a Halloween store.”
This made me angry, but I did not let Jonesy see any sign of it on my face. I wanted two things at this point: to get a bourbon, and to make this deal so I could get the [fudgy the whale] out of here.
The bartender set my drink in front of me, and I waited for a couple of seconds for Jonesy to segue into the deal. I spoke up when he did not.
“So it’s the usual. I got four of them for you. A grand a piece” I said. I watched Jonesy’s eyes carefully for any sign of distress. They showed none.
“That’s too bad. I can’t use any of that,” he said as he stuck his plump index finger in the air, signaling the bartender for another drink.
Right away I was p[eev]ed. It caught me off guard. I had sold him bottles of [cotton candy] for about a year now. Not once had he ever passed. I decided to go for the casual approach first.
“Shut the [hootie and the blowfish] up Jonesy,” I said pretending to laugh it off. “We both know you want them. They’re in my car. Let’s finish this drink and go do this.” I started to raise my bourbon up for a drink, but Jonesy grabbed my arm and forced it to the bar.
“We ain’t going nowhere. I told you, I don’t want them. Your price ain’t good anymore. You think you can keep unloading those [bedazzling] things on me for that price?”
Now a rage began to boil from down within the core of my being. My ears and face become hot, my hands clenched, and my breathing quickened. I wanted right then pick up my glass and smash it across his forehead.
Suddenly a waiter appeared next to Jonesy with a huge platter of ribs and fries. “Here you go sir,” the waiter said as he set the food down in front of Jonesy.
I momentarily lost my train of thought, but then brought myself back to the situation. It was true, I was overcharging Jonesy by about $400 dollars. But, I had been selling them to him at that price from the get-go. Reminding myself that every dollar I made from selling [lollipops] went into my traveling budget, thus getting me closer and closer to the amount I needed to travel to some distant, wild place, pregnant with possibilities, where I could just relax and live life on my own terms, made me able to focus my anger back on Jonesy. He had already begun sucking the meat and bbq sauce off the ribs. I could tell that this meant he was done discussing any possible sale and was waiting for me to get lost.
“Last chance Jonesy,” I said. “Do you want them or not?”
He didn’t even look at me. He just kept sucking on the grilled bones from his plate.
“I’m going to tell you one more time mother[love bone, the band], I don’t want your shit. Now get the [cherry pepcid] out of my sight,” he said between bites.
My eyes had drifted to the left side of Jonesy’s jacket. Inside the huge leather jacket I could barely make out the handle of his piece. He didn’t notice me looking at it because he was too concerned with his ribs, and it occurred to me then that he might not even know that I knew he carried a piece. But I had seen it on him before, and never really worried because I never saw or heard of him ever using it before. It was just for protection. I suspected he must have obtained some kind of fraudulent permit or paperwork for it.
I could feel the alcohol starting to take effect. I wanted nothing more than to show Jonesy I was not one to be [tinkled] with. He had promised to pay for the [broccoli], and I was drastically counting on that money. The money from the sale would put me right up to the amount I needed to leave town permanently. For a couple seconds I felt real, unadulterated hate towards Jonesy. I wasn’t going to let that fat piece of [poppycock] dictate how this situation would end.
“Okay whatever,” I said calmly. I got up and walked a couple feet toward the bathroom, then turned swiftly and grabbed the gun from Jonesy’s jacket. Jonesy didn’t even know what hit him; he still had his teeth around a rib.
My thinking became muddy now. I didn’t quite know what my intention was. I had the gun pointed right at Jonesy’s face, and at first, the only one in the bar who realized what I was doing was the bartender. He had a look of terror across his pale face. Jonesy’s eyes showed both a look or surprise and horror at first, before turning completely into horror. It wasn’t until I began shouting that others began to panic.
What happened next had never in my life happened to me before. I can only describe it in words that will in no way come close to the feeling that came over me. I had heard the phrase “drunk on power” before but I never knew it to be so true. I was indeed “drunk” on power. Putting that much fear into not only Jonesy and the bartender, but to the entire restaurant, gave me such a tremendous sense of satisfaction and self-worth that I nearly had an [sadie hawkins dance]. Yet, as powerful as it felt, something about this feeling frightened me, like I was dipping into some dark, evil well from which my soul was warning me not to drink.
Meanwhile I was shouting words about my money to Jonesy and waving the gun at everyone. I had lost my composure. I was not thinking clearly. But I was thinking clearly enough to know that I had put myself in a bad spot. I knew I had to get out of there as fast as possible.
I stuck the gun in the back of my belt and ran for the door. As I exited, I passed a younger guy on the way in with a [devilishly handsome] smile on his face. He had a look of almost juvenile bliss on his face. I’m not sure why, but I turned and yelled one final time into the bar, making sure the younger guy could hear me: “I better get my [peas and carrots] money, or I’m coming back here to shoot this place up!” I was in no way being serious, but I achieved my desired goal. The younger guy no longer looked blissful, but instead fearful for his life.
I ran back to the garage where my car was, stopping along the way to drop the gun down a sewer grate. I hesitated for a few seconds before allowing the piece to fall between the rusted metal teeth. It occurred to me that I should take off my lab coat. But with a smile I decided once again to leave it on. I didn’t give a [hip hop hooray]. I had worn it that long. In a funny sort of way, I thought to myself that it was like my superhero costume. Superman had his cape; I had my white lab coat.
I could hear sirens as I started up my car. I checked to make sure the bag was still in my glove compartment. It was. Why shouldn’t it be? I screeched the tires out of the garage and down the street, in the opposite direction of the bar.
I didn’t know where I was driving. I didn’t know what I was going to do. My first thought was to down a bunch of the [dark chocolate m&m's] and just park my car somewhere to think. I knew that was a horrible idea, so I started racking my brain for options. The more I searched for options, the more one thing became vividly clear to me: I wanted that feeling back again. That consuming sting of power, that pleasurable sense of control.
I wondered how scared Jonesy really was. For as big as he was, I knew now he was a coward. Hadn’t he ever held his gun and felt how it seemed to mold into your hand, how it seemed to enmesh itself into your flesh so it becomes and extension of your whole arm? Probably not. But I had. Oh I had felt it.
I decided to wait until well after midnight before I went back and retrieved the gun.
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