great day.
But GeeHad’s euphoric thoughts were soon shattered. As he approached the entrance, his feet slipped out from under him. He lost his balance and fell backwards, landing on his backside. The force of the fall was partially broken by his outstretched hands, which slipped in the muck beneath him. He was momentarily dazed, but, after regaining his senses, managed to crawl to his feet. It was then that he became overwhelmed by the pungent smell engulfing him.
“Yil’an shaklek!” GeeHad screamed, so loudly that he awakened the sleeping security guard. Realizing this was not a call to prayer, Jimbo, a seventy-five-year-old semi-retiree, staggered toward the front door to find GeeHad covered in bird crap. “Son of a bitch!” GeeHad blurted out as he tried in vain to brush nature’s alterations from his fine, tailor-made suit.
“Are you alright, Mr. Bin-Sad?” Jimbo inquired, without any genuine concern.
“Hell, no!” GeeHad shot back, locking his fiery eyes on Jimbo. Jimbo couldn’t help but notice the bulging veins on GeeHad’s forehead begin to pulsate. He was certain that it wouldn’t be long before steam would billow from GeeHad’s ears. Sensing danger, Jimbo instinctively stepped back.
“Jimbo, you sorry, decrepit bastard! What in the hell do I pay you ten dollars an hour for? Certainly not to sit on your ass and read RV magazines! Every goddamn day there’s bird shit at this entrance. I have told you countless times to hose down this area every morning. Since I can’t seem to get rid of these fucking birds, then I need to get rid of you. You’re fired!”
“Yes, sir,” Jimbo replied instinctively, although he was not yet fully awake. However, when GeeHad’s tongue-lashing finally registered, Jimbo was ecstatic! “It’s time to go RVing!” Jimbo shouted with joy, and started to do a jig. “Thank you, Jesus, this was just the excuse I needed to leave this dreadful little town,” Jimbo said out loud while the thought of traveling the country became more and more appealing. “Yes, indeed, it’s time for old Jimbo to kick up his heels, enjoy several ice cold beers, and chase a few new dreams,” Jimbo concluded with a great sense of pride as he watched GeeHad storm off in a huff, trailing a toxic cloud of Carencrow’s claim to fame—buzzard excrement.
Chapter 4
GeeHad had just left the doctor’s lounge, where he had showered and changed into red surgical scrubs. It was 6:00 a.m., and his monthly administrative meeting was about to get underway. The members of his team slowly shuffled into the conference room, each sipping on coffee in a vain attempt to vacate last night’s alcohol-induced blues. The group included his corporate chief operating officer, Ms. Martha Mulch, the chief operating officers representing representing each of the twelve hospitals controlled by Lambed HCA, the corporate chief financial Officer, Mr. Johnny Cinch, the hospital’s medical director, Dr. Cornelius Lyon, and Abdul Salah, Mr. Bin-Sad’s personal assistant. GeeHad stood with his back toward them, staring out the window. The rain had begun to fall. His bloodshot, bleary-eyed executives did not focus on this strange man in scrubs until he turned to face them.
GeeHad Bin-Sad was a portly man in his late fifties. He was completely bald but sported a grey scraggly beard. His eyes were a cold jet black and only seemed to glisten when he received reports of revenue increases. No one had ever seen him smile. This morning GeeHad appeared to be in an unusually foul mood. Without warning, his fist came crashing down onto the conference table, startling all those present. The meeting had been called to order.
“Martha,” GeeHad growled as Martha Mulch snapped to attention and listened intently.
“Yes, sir?”
“This hospital is filthy, and the grounds look deplorable. Furthermore, I am tired of walking through a hundred yards of bird shit just to get onto my own property. I don’t know why in the hell thousands of birds have collectively decided to roost and poop on Carencrow Regional Hospital, but enough is enough! Fuck the environmentalists! I want this species of pests driven past the point of extinction no later than next week. Then, I fully expect the parking lot and the sidewalks to be power washed. How in the hell can we run a successful business surrounded by such filth?”
“You’re absolutely right, GeeHad. We’ve tried scarecrows and high-pitched noise to run the buzzards off, but now it’s time to break out the poison. Consider the PETA-protected pests history,” Martha replied with determination.
As Lambed HCA’s chief operating officer, Martha Mulch had clawed her way into a top management post of this large hospital chain by stepping on, over, and through others. Desired results were achieved at any cost and no sacrifice was too great. However, the years of trench warfare were evident. Her round face was a road map dominated by craters and deep furrows. Accentuating her rather plump body was the hairdo from hell. It appeared as if some ill-spirited hairdresser had placed a bowl over her head and then cut her hair short at a precise angle so that it would curl underneath. With the small, oval bald patch on top, the hairdo was an exact replica of the head of a giant penis. In polite company and well out of earshot, she was lovingly referred to as “Mushroom Head,” but the nickname “Dickhead” was far more appropriate for such a mean-spirited individual who ruled Lambed HCA with an iron fist.
GeeHad sneered at Johnny Cinch, Lambed’s CFO. This healthy, athletic, thirty-five-year-old accounting protégé had cut his teeth at Arthur Andersen, an unfortunate career choice, made even more disastrous by his handling of the Enron audit. By virtue of the two years he subsequently spent in prison for his misdeeds, Johnny had been blacklisted by all the large and semi-reputable accounting firms. As if this was not enough misfortune, his personal esteem had been crushed by a nasty divorce and the resulting bankruptcy. GeeHad knew that this was the right man for the job precisely because Johnny’s reputation was tainted. Most importantly, he had learned that Johnny was an expert at playing the corporate shell game and backdating executive stock options. Revenue and expenses were mere numbers on a piece of paper, and debt could easily be shifted from one company to the next. GeeHad felt sure he needed the talents of such a man to line his pockets.
“Johnny, where are this quarter’s operating results and next quarter’s revenue projections?” GeeHad demanded, finally deciding to get down to business after his tirade.
“Ah…” Johnny mumbled nervously, shuffling the profit-and-loss statement to GeeHad and each of the other executives. “For the quarter, Lambed HCA showed a profit, but relative to the same time period last year, our revenue was down ten percent, and our expenses had increased by well over eight percent. Unfortunately, it now appears that next quarter’s projections will also be disappointing,” Johnny concluded, as his voice started to wane. He knew GeeHad would not be pleased.
Immediately GeeHad turned beet red and began wildly beating on the conference table.
“Damn it! These results are absolutely unacceptable! We are a publicly traded company and every quarter our stockholders expect us to exceed our projections. Revenue must go up, and expenses down! Now, let’s start on the revenue side. Johnny, what exactly was the problem?”
“Well, sir, we are being squeezed across the board. The percentage of self-pay patients continues to increase at an alarming rate, and they seldom pay us a dime for valuable services rendered. Additionally, Medicaid recently… Unfortunately, I can’t foresee a viable solution to these problems.”
“Damn it, Johnny, I’ll give you a solution to this problem. I want those sorry, self-pay bastards and the worthless group of unemployed Medicaid deadbeats thrown out of our emergency rooms! Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” GeeHad’s corporate minions mumbled collectively.
“GeeHad, by federal law we’re
