The forceps had been missing for three weeks. That was the last straw.
“I’m going to punch him the next time I see him” stated Jacobson.
The day arrived and the forceps were returned without a witness; almost like when Santa leaves you the gift you wanted most.
“Good, I didn’t want a fight to break out in clinic” Jacobson quipped with a sheepish smirk.
He held the forceps like a prized possession and it occurred to me, the offending party was an orthopedic surgeon; a tightly wound ball of muscle. Jacobson was, well, six feet of lanky smack talk.
About the Creator
Jen Jadick
Underemployed medical assistant for a posh orthopedic surgeon. I spend my days wondering "what if" and weave my thoughts into stories. I mean, what if that guy broke his arm jumping off his garage on a skateboard?
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