There are all kinds of surgeons. (You know, that bunch of slightly over-educated barbers.)
General surgeons, pediatric surgeons, plastic surgeons, neurosurgeons et cetera et cetera.
Most are good.
Some are just plain awesome.
Some are well, lecherous.
I know one such. Let's call him L; L for lecherous, L for lascivious, L for loser and L for first letter of his name. He happens to be a professor; or so he professes. His small stature is in absolute inverse relation to his Legendary Libido. I think he has a lardaceous, ladoo-munching low-life for a wife. But then, that's just my conjecture.
Now, our man Casanova was to take a tutorial class for us.
This is a class where we take a case which might come for the exam, present it to a consultant and strain cochleas to absorb every whisper that emanates from their halitotic oral cavities. You know, we are kinda desperate; and they kinda stink.
This week, like i mentioned already, L was to come and shower surgical nuggets all over us. His tutorials have characteristics completely their own. At least, unlike any i have encountered thus far.
* makes the girls come closer, to each other, and to him.
* forgets the guys, for all practical purposes. (No, i ain't complaining.)
* insists that the girls tuck their identity cards to their white coat sleeves; and insists on peering down them, just to know their names.
* sometimes pulls them from their coats, and none too subtly while doing so.
* is a syphilitic bastard.
What was the case that we were presenting, one might ask.
You know hernia, dear readers?
You know hernia, you do. It is something that pops out of one's groin (generally).
You know hydrocele, dear readers?
You probably do not. It means fluid in one's testes.
Our patient this time, had both. Aww.
L walks in like a Little Mouse, all prepared to do L talk. ('reys the leyg, reys the heyd, do the teyst', 'Chaurasia is a flute singer' etc)
Patient strips waist down for thirteen pairs of eyes to fix on his things.
Girls closer, boys forgotten..the routine.
We do not know what kind of sick behaviour it is, but he always asks the girls to examine the testes and the hernia. The test, by the way, involves some serious grabbing at things. He prods on extremely hesitant, rosary-counting types to make the 'swelling' more tense. This is not some ploy to teach the students better, but the man is so into cheap thrills you want to call him Rakhi Sawant.
Another test involves using one's index finger to do some poking around in certain delicate areas. And his idea of questioning us is to turn to a girl and ask, 'Why not the middle finger?'
There is another silly exercise where we need to localize the hernia using three fingers in a specific manner. In such a scenario, what is the need to take a girl's hand and hold individual fingers, all in the garb to teach us, while he could use his own fingers, that non-amputated bitch.
Cheap shot. (And the man is not getting enough action)
While all this lewd behaviour does slightly irritate me, what really takes my goat is this. During exams, the mere presence of slightly hypertrophied mammary tissue on a humanoid bearing XX ensures spectacular success (according to one running legend, he makes people bend to retrieve paper from the ground). While the unfortunate other half with the weak Y suffers untold indignation for not knowing enough Bailey, Love, Das.
What is this undue advantage to the fairer sex eh? To say, no girl in my batch is even fair.
As for Mr.L, balls to him.
(Or, maybe not)