Monthly Archives: May 2010

I just started a new job – you know how that goes, right? You don’t where anything is, where you’re supposed to be, or what you’re really supposed to be doing. (Although I am pretty sure whatever it is, I am doing it wrong.)  It’s stressful to start something new and try to make a good impression as you figure things out. I’m very much the newbie right now; I don’t know everyone’s name, or even have my own key to the staff bathroom, for that matter.

So a few nights ago, when my new boss called me and asked if I was willing to attend a meeting after work the next day to learn about our new system of allergy testing, I said yes. After all, it’s never good to say no to your boss about something educational-sounding, especially when you’re still trying to make a good impression.

But as the details emerged, it became clear that the “meeting” she mentioned was a dinner sponsored by the company that makes the allergy test. I was so disappointed when I started realizing what was going on. I had been really proud of myself for never having once attended a dinner intending to sell me, and hence my patients, some kind of drug or device.

I didn’t know what I should do, but in the end I decided I didn’t have the balls to say no to the new boss quite yet, especially since before I quite knew what the meeting really was for she had made special efforts to secure me a ride to and from the event, which was upstate.

So there I was the next night, standing outside of the clinic under the #2 train elevated platform, waiting for my ride and feeling like a coward for not having the guts to tell my boss the truth. Every time a train passed overheard, the shaking made me feel a little more queasy. Soon, I saw a dark sedan pull up, and a short, stubby man with slicked back blond hair and a thick face jumped out and called out my name. “Hey, Doc! I’m here to take you to dinner!” he said.

Once we were on our way and making awkward small talk, I realized that he was the sales rep! It wasn’t a hired taxi as I had imagined it would be…the actual company representative came personally to pick me up. Now I really felt like I was sleeping with the enemy. Queasy factor – up a few more notches.

The whole night just felt sleazy to me. I couldn’t believe how much money they were spending taking us out to dinner. The “meeting” about the specific lab test they made was only a quick, 10 minutes sales pitch. The rest of the time the company guys (there were three of them) just made small talk with the doctors (there were five of us), mostly about the amazing food. To add to my guilt, it was a really good restaurant. Mario Batali. There was this goat cheese, pistachio, truffle honey pizza that seriously made me never want to eat anything against lest it should tar the memory of what I had just tasted.

Enjoying the food made queasy bump to straight up nausea.

I felt bad enough by that point to ask for a taxi home early, and soon enough, I was on my way back to lower Manhattan. The sales company, of course, paid. I couldn’t help but ask the driver how much he had charged the company for my ride, which would easily be close to 90 minutes long. It was a lot. Enough to pay for allergy medications for a patient for an entire year. That thought resounded in my head the whole way back home.

I felt dirty. I feel dirty, still.

I realized that night that many of the physicians I work with, especially my boss, are not infrequently in contact with various pharma and other sales reps. So for me to take a personal stance against it not only tells them my view on the matter, but also casts judgement onto their actions. It’s a little bit of a slippery slope. How can you tell someone that you prefer not to participate in something because you believe it is inappropriate, even somewhat immoral, but hey they should go on and have a great time? I really don’t want to be on a high-horse with my colleagues. After all, it’s hard to rock the boat when you don’t quite have your sea legs.

I don’t know if I have much of a point to this story. I guess it’s just to say, without intending to be melodramatic about it, that I really am disturbed about the whole thing. Not having the courage to say what I wanted to. Not having the conviction to act on my principles. I feel like I compromised my integrity, and it’s a bad feeling.

I know someday soon, when my boss asks me to attend such an event again, I’m going to have to tell her why I choose not to go. I can’t do what I did that night again. It’s going to be very awkward, I’m sure. But it can’t be any worse than feeling the way I do now.

I hope.

So as some of you may have noticed, this has been the longest span of time without a blog entry from me. There is a good reason for that. I have been utterly boring in the last month, singularly preoccupied with one thing – furnishing my new apartment. Last week, I finally moved into a proper one bedroom apartment, in a nice doorman building, where the faucets all work the way they should.

Anyway, I’ve spend an abnormally large amount of time thinking about how to furnish and decorate my new place. Any free moments I have had in the last 5 or so weeks has been spent shopping or surfing the internet for design ideas, color palates, furniture, rugs, lamps. I think I have sat on and tested out every single sofa in Manhattan. You see, I had this desire to have the place look nice, and not cookie-cutter like every other West Elm catalog. I scourged E-bay for antique furniture on the cheap, and turned to Dwell Magazine and Design Within Reach for ideas. Most of them were too expensive for my budget, but it was fun to see what I can’t afford.

The one thing I can’t help but wonder is, why does everyone want to have furniture that is shabby chic? Isn’t that just a euphemism for, “I found it in my grandmother’s attic and am trying to sell it for way more than it’s worth on E-bay, and hoping that some Manhattanite yuppy will use it to impress their Crate and Barrel loving friends?” Have people always overpaid for furniture that is chipped and uneven and broken?  What is it, exactly, about distressed wood that makes it seem somehow wiser than fresh, newly painted wood? I really don’t know why exactly it’s so fun to have your high-rise, downtown city apartment look like a country cabin on the inside, but for some reason it really just is.

I know I have been putting way more thought into all this than a rental apartment deserves. But I can’t deny I’m a little worried about it, because people notice this kind of stuff all the time. Think about it, if you go over to your new date’s apartment for the first time and find everything is black leather and glass, you might, say, categorize him into a certain style of person. Ok, let’s be frank – you’ll judge him for it. He went from that nice guy you were picturing introducing to your best couple friends to, to that kind of cheesy guy who clearly lacks any taste.

I guess what this all means is that I’m afraid of being judged. What does my furniture say about me? Am I modern, distinctive, classic, or retro? (Ok, not retro – that stuff is just plain ugly.) Should I put a motorcycle in the middle of my living room? That always seems really cool for some reason. And what exactly is a sconce?

Anyway, here I am, in my nice new place with some oldish-looking furniture, and some more modern stuff in the mix as well. Shabby? Chic? You all can be the judge; housewarming party coming soon. I’m gonna go find that old motorcycle on E-bay.