I'm not homophobic. I just don't like you.

ER residency training should have an entire one month rotation in alcohol intoxication. After nights like last night I am convinced that without ethyl hydroxide, we'd need only about half of the ER physicians we currently have in the US. However, although they may be a source of job security for me (up there with smokers, people who don't wear helmets/seatbelts, and the trampoline industry) I really loathe drunks. A. Whole. Lot.

Last night one of the drunks that was brought in by EMS from the dorms was particularly annoying. He was a very intoxicated, underage sophomore who is so flaming gay that he makes Carson Kressley look like Chuck Norris. (Though the supercute outfit and perfectly coiffed to give that tousled look hair were slightly less awesome once drenched in vomit. I believe the vintage was Taco Bell and Jose Curevo.) Attached at the hip was his slightly less intoxicated but equally flaming boyfriend - who insisted on coming with him in the ambulance because he was a pre med! Because you never know when balancing a redox reaction or labeling the organelles in a eukaryotic cell diagram will be a lifesaver.

So I bit my tongue, gave Drunky McDrunkerton a once over to make sure this was all just from alcohol (and not a head injury, etc), wrote MTF* on his white board, and left him in the skilled clinical hands of his BF.

It could have been so easy. They could have just hung out for a few hours, Drunky would have demonstrated his mad skillz at drinking water without vomiting and ambulating without collisions, and they would have been out of the ER in time for Starbucks to open up.

But nooooo. Easy is not for them.

Within 10 minutes the average sound level from room 4 was reaching 60 dB with peaks in the 90-100s. Even worse, we were treated to a varied selection of colorful expletives screeched for the entire ER (including the toddler in room 6.) I gently reminded Drunky and BF that they were in an ER, there were children present, and they needed to use their inside voices.

They did try.... but being drunk as shit, their concentration was probably a bit off, so they lasted all of 10 minutes. I went in a second time and told them that if I had to come in a third time, BF would be banished to the dreaded waiting area (since largely he was the instigator and definitely the louder of the two.)

Then the inevitable happened and security escorted BF to the waiting area. My hope was at this point young Mr Drunkerton would fall asleep for a few hours, but it was not to be. Replacing the colorful expletives was a weeping and wailing that would have been appropriate if, say... BF had just died. With my ears now bleeding, and 600mg of ibuprofen in my stomach I entered room 4 to see a (theoretically adult) male crying like a toddler. I mean, this was an impressive performance... tears, snot running down his face, flailing of arms. Really this was worthy of the Academy. Perhaps I am a masochist, but I asked:

Perhaps I am a masochist, but I asked:
Me: “what's wrong?”
Drunky: “You.... you made him leave... you're ho... ho... homophobic!”
Me (looking shocked... not really, but I do a good shocked look): “Really? What makes you think that?”
Drunky: “You made my boyfriend le-he-heave! If he was my girlfriend, you would have let him stay!”
Me: “No, actually the reason he was asked to leave was because after two warnings you insisted on screaming obscenities so that the little girl two doors down could hear you. I won't have that in the ER. This isn't a bar or your dorm.”
Drunky: “That's bu-bu-bullshit! Its because we're queer and you know it! You fu- fuck- fucking Christian piece of shit! Fuck you!” (Maybe 90 dB and at the end.... he huffed... and literally pouted. If he could stand I would have expected to see a foot stomp. Were it not for my headache, I might have even seen the humor at that point. But the ibuprofen hadn't worked yet.)
Me: “Well for one, I'm not Christian. Two, thanks for proving my point. And three if I bear you any ill will its not that I'm homophobic, I just really don't like you. The only problem I have with you being queer is that I'm embarrassed since I'm gay too. And the fact that you are playing the gay card because you're angry that you've been treated like a spoiled brat just annoys the living snot out of me.”
Drunky: moves his lips, eyes bug out a bit, and a little squeak comes out.
Me: “I grew up in the 80s in the south and had the shit beaten out of me (numerous times with startling regularity) by fag-hatin' rednecks. So I know what homophobia is, and this isn't it, son. This is just the natural consequences of your actions. My advice to you would be to shut up, start acting like a grown-up, and maybe if you can demonstrate that you can, I'll let BF back in.”
Drunky: "Bwa-ha-haaaaaa." Snivel. Cough. Flounces over on his side (and won't look at me as he blubbers because I am such a mean man.)

Clap.
Clap.
Clap.

Though fortunately perhaps he had a few functioning axons somewhere in his poorly developed frontal lobe and after I left, we had blessed silence as he fell asleep.

-- Your friendly neighborhood ER doctor


*MTF = Metabolize To Freedom (the process of letting one's liver gradually decrease one's blood alcohol level to the point that you are safe to be released into the wild.)