Mr. Appendicitis, Or So We Heard

Tahiti, 9 Aout 13

For most of our vacation, we were lucky enough to have a French couple on one side of us and no one on the other. We were able to enjoy our balcony in peace, in other words. That was until Mr. Appendicitis, aka Chatty Charlie, moved in next door. He is unfortunately the most talkative, self-centered, ass with whom we have ever had the displeasure of being next to.  Thankfully he and his cronies only come outside one time per day.  I assume it is because he has to hook himself up to oxygen to be able to survive the rest of the day after talking non-stop for hours on end, with no breathing in between. I think, but am not sure, that he is from New York. His attitude certainly insinuates that.  Perhaps I am wrong and he is from Jersey. Figures.

This morning, he was talking about his recent medical experience.  Apparently, several doctors “believed” he had Crohn’s disease, or at least they made him think they thought that they thought it. His attitude probably had something to do with his mis-diagnosis, honestly. I know if I was his doctor, I would have put the jerk through the same tests, even if I had not seriously believed he needed them.

First off, he has an extreme potty mouth. Out loud, in public, at an expensive resort, among people he doesn’t know, in normal conversation. He is so bad, that he makes me never want to curse again. Ever.  And that is saying a lot. Unfortunately, since he is American, we can understand everything he says. He says a lot. Also unfortunately.

The doctors first diagnosed him with a stomach issue. Then they said he might have Crohn’s. Then they did an endoscopy and a colonoscopy. He said he thought it was so that they would see each other from each end. He said they didn’t find anything. Well, they did not look because just after listening to him for thirty minutes, right before breakfast for goodness sake, I knew that he was full of it. Like it. You know what it I am talking about do don’t play a Clinton and claim innocence.

Then he started making fun of the Indian doctor who treated him, mocking his voice. I can tell you all that the doctor had more intelligence and prestige in his left pinky nail than the jerk has in his whole body. People who are in a foreign country, making fun of people who are foreign, should be required to ride the slow boat back to the mainland and take unrudeness classes the whole way, writing like a million times, “I will mot make fun of other cultures and will instead learn from them,” all the way back home.

Then he went on to say that they eventually figured out it was his appendix. He “told them it wasn’t $&@&ing Crohn’s but they would not listen.”  Here is a hint, prick: They knew that anyone with such a bad attitude when they were only trying to help, because you, of course, are smarter than anyone else in the room or on the planet, especially those from other countries or cultures, would be certainly the perfect patient to try out their new colonoscopies on. They might not find anything, but putting huge tube up one end was good. Putting another one down your throat so you can’t talk, however, was even better.

Lesson herein: remember that people hear what you say in public. Remember that if you are in Tahiti (where there other people who can overhear your conversations), staying in a room with someone who is obviously not you wife because you have referred to your wife in the third person several times and the one you are rooming with has Skyped with yet another man while you were out golfing, you might want to learn to shut up or risk everyone overhearing your disturbing stories about your bowel movements, colon, and other bodily functions, giving them absolutely no doubt in what your personality is really like.

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