Head like a hole
Who: House, Foreman; open to all.
Where: House's apartment the day after he got drunk > Vogler Conference Room.
What: House wakes up in pain in more ways than one/House goes to teach the darn class (though will he actually teach anything is the question).
When: Wednesday 29th March, 2006; arrives to work 10.45AM, late for the class.
OOC: Because it ( Read more... )
Where: House's apartment the day after he got drunk > Vogler Conference Room.
What: House wakes up in pain in more ways than one/House goes to teach the darn class (though will he actually teach anything is the question).
When: Wednesday 29th March, 2006; arrives to work 10.45AM, late for the class.
OOC: Because it ( Read more... )
Another long stretch of silence passed, the only sounds heard were the occasional shuffle of someone in their seat or someone trying to inconspicuously cough, before House finally spoke again. “I’m supposed to be teaching you something, but you know what?” he began caustically. “I quite frankly don’t see why I should be wasting my time on any of you. Most of you, when you graduate, will be about as useful as a blunt scalpel in an aggressive surgical debridement. That said, I have no choice but to teach the lot of you insipid ignoramuses until your usual lecturer is back to wipe your asses for you. So, if you don’t want to face having your intelligence, or lack thereof, insulted I suggest you leave before you go running like a pack of crying children to Dr. Cuddy, or anyone else you think will listen to you, about how cruel and nasty that Dr. House is.”
Propping his elbow on the desk he was sitting at, House covered his face with his hand again, wishing the headache that was pounding forcefully at the front of his skull would go away. Or wishing that he was back in the dark confines of his apartment, drunk to oblivion. Or wishing that yesterday had never happened. Or wishing he could remember when everything started going wrong. Thing was, none of it seemed wrong when they were happening; his mind simply geared into that direction when the moment was over and there was all that damn time to think and process everything. And him, being the reckless, impulsive person he was, always sought to rationalize these things in the most damaging and selfish ways, because he couldn’t deal with it; never mind what the other person was going through or thinking.
He realized, when he heard someone in the lecture room coughing, that he’d drifted off into thought again and was still cradling his face in his hand. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been that way, but he finally looked up and surveyed the room of students again. They all looked as uncertain and uncomfortable as they had when he first addressed them all, if not more so since his rude and abrasive remark he’d made to them a few minutes before.
“I take it none of you are going to leave, then?” House asked testily. No response. “Suit yourself,” he continued a beat later, snatching his cane up and pushing himself up off the chair. He pulled his sunglasses off his face and grimaced at the light before pinching the bridge of his nose, sunglasses dangling between his fingers.
“Too much to drink last night?” one of the students daringly asked, perhaps in an attempt to break the stifling tension in the room.
House glanced sharply at him. It was that pretentious kid with the pocket protector in his breast pocket. “No, I have a headache,” House snapped back at him.
“From drinking too much?”
Blinking at the light as he lowered his hand, House shot back, “No, I have an inoperable brain tumor.”
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Giving a condescending scoff, he replied rudely, “Of course not, you moron.” The kid gave him a peeved, offended look. “Would you have almost liked me out of sympathy if I did?”
The student paused for a moment, clearly taken off-guard by the question. “Sympathy for you, yes,” he replied slowly. “Liked you, no.”
“Sympathy,” House echoed snidely. He tossed his sunglasses on the desk with a clatter and then looked back to the student with the pocket protector. “See, now that just proves you’re a moron. If a patient comes to you complaining of a headache and says he has a brain tumor, would you instantly be sympathetic towards him?”
“Well, of course not,” the student replied, looking defensive.
Walking towards the edge of the podium towards the student, House asked him in a demanding voice, “Why?”
He watched the kid try not to appear intimidated by House’s bad temper; he sat a little straighter in his seat and set his jaw. “Because there’d be no proof that the patient had a brain tumor until conclusive tests proved otherwise.”
“Yet, you just took the bait about me having an inoperable brain tumor, and confessed to having sympathy for me, even though you had no proof that I actually had a brain tumor at all.”
“I-I… I assumed--”
“What?” House demanded, staring piercingly at the kid. There was no point to this attack other than he was venting his pent up frustration at him. “You assumed what? That because I’m a doctor I was therefore telling the truth?”
The student looked exasperated and insulted. “I didn’t know if you were telling the truth, I just--”
“You just assumed I was,” House cut in sharply. “Because, why? Because, being a doctor, my credibility is automatically higher than that of a random patient who walks into a clinic from off the street, which therefore makes me more believable.”
The kid merely blinked at him, mouth open as though he was going to reply to that. He then snapped his mouth shut.
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“Is there a point to this?” the student shot back indignantly.
“I’m just pointing out how much of a screw-up of a doctor you’re gonna make.”
The moment he said that House knew he’d pushed it too far. Not that he cared, really. The student instantly started gathering his books together, slapping them loudly on top of each other before he stood up abruptly, looking completely humiliated by House’s attacks on him. “I’m not putting up with this,” he said. “You have no right to talk to us like that.”
“I gave you the opportunity to leave,” House returned, shrugging his shoulders as though he couldn’t have cared less. “Your bad that you stayed, not mine.”
“You ought to be reported.”
House cupped his hand to his ear, leaning forward as though he was hard of hearing. “Is that a threat I hear?”
The student merely huffed angrily, snatched his books and bag up and began to shuffle out of the row of seats.
“So, is this how you’re going to react to every asshole doctor who’s above you?” House pushed, watching the kid merge into the aisle. “Coz I gotta tell ya,” he continued sarcastically, “you’re gonna to meet no end of arrogant asshole doctors during your year of residency. Doctors who’re going to treat you like you’re not worth spitting on. What’re you going to do then? Huff like a big baby, threaten to report them and then storm out like a hormone-crazed teenaged girl?”
“I’m reporting you to Dr. Cuddy,” the student shot back as he stalked up the aisle towards the exit.
“Wow, I’m terrified,” House replied dryly. As the kid slammed his hand on the door and exited, House called after him, “Tell her I said hi for me while you’re at it.”
The door slammed, the loud banging echoing around the room. The rest of the students sat there, dumbfounded by the exchange that just happened, while House stared at the door, knowing he was probably going to cop an earful from Cuddy about this later, but not giving a shit about it at that moment. He felt a little better, a little less angry and his headache had dissipated a little.
“Well,” he began after a small stretch of silence, turning his eyes towards the class again, “anyone else want to leave while the opportunity is still there? Shall I give you a prompt? Count backwards from ten, perhaps? Ten? Nine? Eight?” Two students started packing up their things and rose from their seat. “Seven? Six?” They moved out into the aisle and quickly left the auditorium.
“Fivefourthreetwoone,” House finished in a rush, turning away from the class and heading towards the whiteboard. He glanced at his watch. Only ten minutes had passed. He still had another forty minutes to go. Jesus. “Okay, well, that’s settled, then.”
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