Semple addressed the man sitting on the park bench in weather too chilly for deep contemplation. “You look a little depressed, Junior Boyd. I know your favorite lunch spot is shut down again. But we haven’t been going there much anyway.”
“It’s not the restaurant, Semple. People are saying they shouldn’t call my wife Dr. anymore because she possesses a doctorate in education not a medical degree. They say she’s just like the new First Lady. They shouldn’t call her Dr., and they shouldn’t call my wife Dr. That’s the proclamation in the paper. Or at least it’s an editorial.”
“I told you about that paper,” said Semple. “Don’t let it get to you. She’s my favorite Doc, even if I don’t use the label much. She don’t either. We should if we want to, though. She earned that title in them classrooms, in them conference rooms, and on that keyboard. I’m gon be Semple, but she should be Doc whenever she feel like it.”
“Thanks, Semple. Your unequivocal validation is important.”
“I ain saying all that. I’m just saying don’t go for the okey doke.”
“It becomes depressing sometimes when they unveil the old arguments to disparage certain professionals. They frequently use the heart-attack fallacy. They say that if you’re at the dinner table with a person experiencing a heart attack and you’re not qualified to assist, then you have no business calling yourself Dr.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard of. Why the world gotta revolve around they heart attack? If I feel I might be having one, I know what to do. Tell somebody to get me four 81 milligram aspirins to chew up---the aspirins gets in the blood quicker that way---and rush my ass to the emergency room. A doctor told me that, but I ain gotta be no doctor to remember it. And if I can remember it for me, I can remember for anybody I’m dining with. I can assist them---if I feel like it. And I don’t have to be a doctor to do it. They ain gon be worrying about who a doctor then anyway. That’s that television and movie nonsense. Is there a doctor in the house? Like that’s the only way stuff can go down. A drowning person gon snatch whatever hand offered. They definitely could use the help of the new First Lady. If I gotta have a heart attack, that’s the person I wanna be with. All them Secret Service agents gon be around. Gon clear all that traffic. I be all up in a limousine. Staff gon get to hopping around like grease on a grill when we show up. Let the dude who wrote that editorial have his heart attack around the new First Lady. He’ll call her whatever she tell him to call her. Couldn’t say it fast enough. If the attack is fatal, nobody gon be helping, doctor or not. But if there’s a chance, I want the new First lady at my table. I even called my radiology technicians doctors. They said, ‘No. We’re just technicians.’ I said, “They just technicians and they ain’t nowhere as good as you.’ Now don’t get me wrong. I has great respect for the medical profession whenever it’s showing some respect for me, really listening and not shuffling me from specialist who can’t quite call it to another specialist who can’t quite call it and ignoring what I got to say and running up the tab and being pawns for drug companies. They missed some classes somewhere along the way. Few things more worthless than a bad M.D. But overall I tends to respect the degree. I ain gon talk myself out of no care. But people need to stop tripping. You gotta remember something about me, Junior Boyd. Something you know. I was delivered by a fireman, and I never seen a medical doctor put out a building fire and rescue nobody.”
“Well, Semple, you have a multitude of things going on in that passionate response. I’m sure that you are conflating a few issues, but I do think I follow.”
“Then follow me to my man’s spot. It’s closed except for takeout, but he’ll let us in. You can warm up. You can even fall out at the table.”
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