“Plots have I laid!”
Since we’re getting down to the finals days of the “biggest jerk” poll, I have another story to tell…a few details have been changed to protect the identities of both innocent and guilty parties…
The Surgeon has an enemy that he’s been at war with for years. Decades. Probably longer than I’ve been alive.
They used to be colleagues and then had some sort of falling out…I could never get a straight answer out of the Surgeon about what really happened between the two of them, which suggests to me that it was something that was embarrassing or his fault, or both. But who knows? For a long time I thought that the Surgeon had probably slept with the other man’s wife or sister or something, but he denied it. He claims the other man started it.
When I say it’s war, I mean it’s war. Scorched earth, take-no-prisoners, Siege-of-Leningrad war. The Surgeon hates this guy and it’s very personal. The only reason he hasn’t killed him is that he takes so much satisfaction in torturing him. Legal action, academic one-upsmanship, poaching patients, poisoning professional relationships, various publications discrediting his research and methods and business practices.
The other man has a zillion dollars and gives as good as he gets, too, by the way. He doesn’t come out of this looking too good, either. I don’t even want to think of how much money these macho dickheads have sunk into fighting one another. It’s like an awful divorce, where neither party is willing to quit.
The Surgeon claims that the other man is evil, which might or might not be true–the Surgeon is not exactly a reliable narrator here–so I’m going to call him “Dr. Evil.”
Of course, I got dragged into the Surgeon’s plots. At his instruction, I picked up Dr. Evil at the hotel bar at a medical conference one time. In retrospect, I’m not proud of that. It didn’t occur to me until afterward that it was a scumbag thing to do. At the time, it seemed like a harmless game to me, and Dr. Evil was getting easy sexual attention from a younger, attractive woman, so what was wrong with that? I didn’t hold a gun to the man’s head, true…but somehow I doubt that he would have had sex with me if he knew that I was the Surgeon’s girlfriend. Dr. Evil didn’t know that I was there with the Surgeon. He didn’t know who I was–he thought I was just a random person at the conference.
Or maybe he would have. Maybe he would have! Who knows?
I’ve asked a number of different people what they think was going through the Surgeon’s head when we had me do this, as it remains a mystery to me. All that I know is that the Surgeon got a huge kick out of it. He wanted to hear alllll about it.
My analyst is convinced that this entire thing is homoerotic and the Surgeon was using me as a proxy for himself. Others suggest this was merely manipulative, stalker-ish creeper behavior. One guy said that the Surgeon used me to “impress” his enemy. To this day, I honestly have no idea.
Let’s move ahead a few years…the Surgeon achieves his biggest victory of the decade against Dr. Evil, and I got to see that one up close and personal, too: somehow, he managed to poach a former employee of Dr. Evil’s who used to organize an important event hosted by Dr. Evil. Now, he has the inside scoop on part of Dr. Evil’s life, and he is going to use this employee to throw a rival event the same week as Dr. Evil’s…
“It’s going to be better than his! I’m going to get all the best speakers in the profession!” roared the Surgeon, running around his hotel suite like some demented, maniacal ferret. Oh, he was bouncing off the walls.
Competing parties. Like they were back in middle school. All the cool kids are coming to MY party! We’re going to have a DJ!
This also forces people in the medical community to basically pick sides. I imagine that they did not relish this decision.
I got to be there when the Surgeon called Dr. Evil’s secretary and left him a long message informing him of his plans. The language was ostensibly polite, very passive-aggressive, and gloating. Gloating above all!
The employee that the Surgeon poached was in the room, too, sitting at the desk.
I was there, too, but I wasn’t sitting with them. I was five feet away, tied up in the closet. The employee didn’t know that I was there, which is sort of creepy. The Surgeon wanted me to hear. He was very happy with himself.
Afterward, the Surgeon walked the employee to the door and took me out of the closet. He dumped me on the bed, still tied up, and then did a few more victory laps around the room. Oh boy, was he happy. He looked like he’d won the lottery or the presidential election or something.
“How’d I do?” he asked me, as if he didn’t know. He was bobbing his head like a happy cockatoo. He was already checking his phone to see if Dr. Evil had called him back.
“I’m sure Dr. Evil will have a rage-stroke when he hears your message.”
The Surgeon called room service and ordered champagne.
“Do you think I should send Dr. Evil an anonymous consolation gift basket?” he crowed, eyes glittering.
“That might be overkill, baby,” I said. How does he come up with this stuff?!
Then he fucked my brains out.
What a guy. What a story! I’ve got a million of em.
“Plots have I laid!”