Sent to Fosforito!
I hear your concerns and they are important to me. I am going to escalate these concerns up the chain of command in order for them to fall on the appropriate deaf ears.
Friday, June 30, 2017
Postcard #157: "Missing you..."
Postcard #156: "I farted..."
Text: I farted. I am not proud of that fact but, it happened. I was alone in a room cleaning it up after surgery. No cases to follow. Perhaps I felt safe? In a room adjacent to the OR, a coworker knocked on the door and gave me a friendly middle finger through the glass and smiled. I walked over dragging the shame cloud of my flatulence with me. It carried a familiar smell I could not place. I opened the door and he was checking the shelves for outdated product. My guilty conscious urged me to speak. "In an effort to meet full disclosure...I just farted. It's pretty bad." He replied, "Is that why it smells like McDonald's in here?" I laughed. It did. Like a large order of fries.
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