15 March 2004

I work for a doctor. We'll call him Dr. Love.

Dr. Love forwards an e-mail to me the other day. The e-mail is from someone coordinating a conference that Dr. Love will be attending. The e-mail asks Dr. Love to send the titles of the presentations he will be giving so that they can be added to the conference program.

Lovely, I think. Why was I sent this? I ask my colleague.

"Dr. Love wants us to sit him down and get the titles of the presentations out of him, then e-mail them to this guy," my colleague explains.

"So the e-mail was sent to Dr. Love," I say slowly, trying to understand, "and he knows the answer to the question that the e-mail contains..."

My colleague walked away, and I didn't have to finish my thought. She knew.

Why involve me? She had no answer.

Neither did Sonya.

"Let it go," she advised, "doctors are like that, and they're not going to change for you."

I so need a different job. This one, I'm afraid, does not match my temperament.