December 11th 2009

Dear Med Student, Does That Line Ever Work?

This week Stefanie’s Crazy Stories will be brought to you by the fabulous Lauren Mann. Why, might you ask? Because this is her crazy story and I don’t think I would do it justice. Have no fear, I will be back next week with hijinx, shenanigans, and antics of all shapes and sizes.

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One of the incentives I used to persuade my mother to let me move into an off-campus apartment this year was the fact that many med school students call my building home. I reasoned with her that her dream of having me marry a nice Jewish doctor could be more attainable if I surrounded myself with doctors-in-training. While there were other reasons it made sense for me to get an apartment, I’m pretty certain that was the factor that tipped the scales.

As I moved in, I was slightly disappointed at the small turn-out of students eagerly awaiting my arrival. However, I rationalized, they must be in the library, studying and watching old Grey’s Anatomy and ER reruns, honing their skills, or whatever med students do. My roommate is a Public Health major and spends a considerable amount of time at the med school library and she assured me that they partied just as hard as they studied. I was giddy with excitement when she told me we were going to meet some of her medical-library buddies that night.

Well, they were not exactly the same caliber of “hotness” as indicated in popular medical shows, but they were pretty cute. They were only a few years older than us but seemed light years ahead of the guys in our class. The real clincher was the idea that remained in the back of my mind: these guys got themselves into med school. They can’t be too brainless.

We had a great time. My roommate had been engaging recently in some hot and heavy eye-flirting with one of the guys over the cubicle walls at the library and was excited to finally meet up with him in a social setting. They quickly got acquainted with each other’s anatomy on the dance floor. One of this guy’s friends was sending me some serious flirtatious glances, so I joined him at the bar. He was a perfect gentleman; he bought me a drink and we chatted for a few minutes about school, music, and other common small talk topics. My roommate shot me a look from across the dance floor that I easily translated to “How great is this?!” and I nodded, smiled back and returned to my conversation.

Perhaps I’d spoken too soon. My new friend downed the rest of his drink in one gulp and turned to me as he placed his empty glass down.

“So, are we going to go home together tonight? I just want to know in advance. I’m really busy and need to prioritize, you know?”

No, mother, I did not go home with him, though the way he presented that offer, how could anyone have resisted? And for your information, those doctors-to-be that you pray will finally marry me are bigger douches than their undergraduate counterparts. At least a college guy will put a little time and effort into getting in my pants and then feign understanding when I instead give him my number, tell him to call me and depart. Med school guys have books to read and cadavers to explore. They don’t have time for courtship of any kind and I guess I’m just not “wham, bam, thank you ma’am” enough for them.

You can keep your stethoscopes, med students; I’ll move on to the law school.