Lost in translation

Most careers have their own lingo, usually out of convenience, perhaps necessity, probably to keep outsiders willing to pay for the services rendered. And it makes sense. A carpenter would much rather order pre-cut studs than “two-by-four framing boards cut to ninety-two and five-eighths inches long.” Nurses get to starve us with NPO orders while giving us medication BID. Lawyers? Oh, yeah, we got ‘em! Mandamus. Writs. TRO’s, privity, and worse. But I got trumped the other night. A friend of mine claims to have had a patient come into her ER for treatment, requesting, and I quote: “peanut butter balls for my smiling baby Jesus.” Sadly, this was not a mental patient. She was just calling back what she had heard, which was, “phenyl barbital for my spinal meningitis.” Sure, I may have been in a contracts class where the distinctions between cows, heifers, steers, and bulls were CLEARLY and vividly delineated by an enthusiastic Tennessean with a penchant for pink pullovers. But peanut butter balls? Nope, I fold. OH. OHHP! Now I am all verclempt. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you a topic: “Two-by-fours are neither two inches thick nor four inches wide.”