I am packing to go home, and preparing for another move which means going through all belongings with a scrutinizing eye. Used book stores, second hand clothing stores, and recycling plants--brace yourselves! I love a good purge, being the anti-pack-rat that I am.
So in this process I stumbled upon a little book of quotes that I kept during first year (yes, cue the nostalgic montage). One quote is from a weekend when Keith came to visit. For those of you who don't know Keith, he's one of my oldest friends. We met when we were 14 at a volleyball camp in Jasper, Alberta. We were both going through a "skid" phase and wanted to become doctors some day. Hence, fast friends.
About 8 years later I managed to convince him, over a Boston Brute, to become a nurse with me. We also got our first nursing jobs together, as employed students on Unit 62 (the acute psychiatric unit at the Royal Alexandra Hospital).
He's now living in London, England and has a masters in nursing (my attempts to get him to join me in medical school were ill-timed due to his masters!) He's this total kick ass, published, saving the world one abandoned patient demographic at a time nurse now. He's currently specializing in schizophrenics suffering with HIV. He also specializes in being awesome.
Anyway (longest pre-amble ever) he came to visit at the very beginning of medical school. I was living with three classmates at the time. A few necessary points required to understand the passive aggressive note Keith left George (one of my roommates).
We had a MASSIVE whiteboard in our kitchen.
George had recently been published for some melanoma research he'd assisted with.
I had complained to Keith about how George always drinks from the Britta and never fills it up.
Keith gets belligerent when he drinks beer.
Georgey-Boy.
No. You cannot leave the Britta with 1cm of H20 in the bottom.
Unacceptable. I think you're slipping. You're never going to get published again unless you refill the Britta.
I'm just sayin'.
Fer realz, Bro-ski.
Love Keith.
P.S Best note ever.
P.P.S Yer momma.
Stumbling sleepy eyed into the kitchen on Saturday morning George discovered this note written on the white board. We had been sitting there having our morning coffee and had completely forgotten about the note until George stopped talking and was clearly reading it. It was like one of those slow motion
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! [dive roll attepting to grab paper towel to erase it before he actually read it.] But it was too late.
George, ahem...failed to see the humor in the note, I believe. Being a rather serious chap. Things were a little chilly for the next two days but I sniggered to myself over it for ages. And Georges still brings it up when I mention Keith. Coming across these little gems is the one and ONLY upside to packing / sorting / moving hell. It still makes me laugh. Nothing like a dear old friend leaving passive aggressive / yer mom notes for your new roommate to really make things awkward.
Love ya, Keith! xx
So in this process I stumbled upon a little book of quotes that I kept during first year (yes, cue the nostalgic montage). One quote is from a weekend when Keith came to visit. For those of you who don't know Keith, he's one of my oldest friends. We met when we were 14 at a volleyball camp in Jasper, Alberta. We were both going through a "skid" phase and wanted to become doctors some day. Hence, fast friends.
About 8 years later I managed to convince him, over a Boston Brute, to become a nurse with me. We also got our first nursing jobs together, as employed students on Unit 62 (the acute psychiatric unit at the Royal Alexandra Hospital).
He's now living in London, England and has a masters in nursing (my attempts to get him to join me in medical school were ill-timed due to his masters!) He's this total kick ass, published, saving the world one abandoned patient demographic at a time nurse now. He's currently specializing in schizophrenics suffering with HIV. He also specializes in being awesome.
 |
| London 2012. Almost at the 20 year mark! |
We had a MASSIVE whiteboard in our kitchen.
George had recently been published for some melanoma research he'd assisted with.
I had complained to Keith about how George always drinks from the Britta and never fills it up.
Keith gets belligerent when he drinks beer.
Georgey-Boy.
No. You cannot leave the Britta with 1cm of H20 in the bottom.
Unacceptable. I think you're slipping. You're never going to get published again unless you refill the Britta.
I'm just sayin'.
Fer realz, Bro-ski.
Love Keith.
P.S Best note ever.
P.P.S Yer momma.
Stumbling sleepy eyed into the kitchen on Saturday morning George discovered this note written on the white board. We had been sitting there having our morning coffee and had completely forgotten about the note until George stopped talking and was clearly reading it. It was like one of those slow motion
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo! [dive roll attepting to grab paper towel to erase it before he actually read it.] But it was too late.
George, ahem...failed to see the humor in the note, I believe. Being a rather serious chap. Things were a little chilly for the next two days but I sniggered to myself over it for ages. And Georges still brings it up when I mention Keith. Coming across these little gems is the one and ONLY upside to packing / sorting / moving hell. It still makes me laugh. Nothing like a dear old friend leaving passive aggressive / yer mom notes for your new roommate to really make things awkward.
Love ya, Keith! xx
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