(no subject)
It was a relatively quiet evening in the clinic - not that I was complaining. I had brought a plate of food from the party to the clinic, and I sat at the desk to eat it in relative peace. I could still hear the singing machine from inside the clinic, but that was fine. What the singers lacked in skill they made up in enthusiasm, and it was entertaining enough.
Still, I couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed. If the island could see fit to provide us with enough alcohol to drown half of Scotland, I didn't see why the bloody thing couldn't provide a few medicines. Or perhaps a snug little surgical suite. Or even some plates for the x-ray machine.
It would have been lovely to have a glass of whisky, but unfortunately I was on duty, and even though I didn't think my services would be required this evening (unless someone drank entirely too much and fell and fractured something) it would be unprofessional to sit in the clinic and drink. Instead I helped myself to a bottle of Coca-Cola. It was something I hadn't had often, and I hadn't had it in so long I had almost forgotten what it tasted like. And it was better than I remembered, perhaps because of not having had it in so long.
A large container of ice rested on the clinic counter in case I needed it to tend to minor bumps or injuries, and half-buried in it were three more glass bottles of Coca-Cola. I could drink them myself, but I would be more than happy to share them as well.
[ooc: sunday evening clinic post. claire will not mock your drunkenness. would love for qui-gon to tag, too. i want to see him drink coke. :D]
Still, I couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed. If the island could see fit to provide us with enough alcohol to drown half of Scotland, I didn't see why the bloody thing couldn't provide a few medicines. Or perhaps a snug little surgical suite. Or even some plates for the x-ray machine.
It would have been lovely to have a glass of whisky, but unfortunately I was on duty, and even though I didn't think my services would be required this evening (unless someone drank entirely too much and fell and fractured something) it would be unprofessional to sit in the clinic and drink. Instead I helped myself to a bottle of Coca-Cola. It was something I hadn't had often, and I hadn't had it in so long I had almost forgotten what it tasted like. And it was better than I remembered, perhaps because of not having had it in so long.
A large container of ice rested on the clinic counter in case I needed it to tend to minor bumps or injuries, and half-buried in it were three more glass bottles of Coca-Cola. I could drink them myself, but I would be more than happy to share them as well.
[ooc: sunday evening clinic post. claire will not mock your drunkenness. would love for qui-gon to tag, too. i want to see him drink coke. :D]