During our conversations on Friday night, Eric (my supervisor) mentioned that the neurosurgeon he works with (the unfriendly one from last Monday) is the only person he works with that he still addresses formally (it’s a French thing) even after knowing him for five years. This is because he’s such an experienced and internationally regarded neurosurgeon, and surgeons come from all round the world to see him at work, and therefore he’s much more important than an ordinary anaesthetist. I was horrified, and I still am. This sort of abhorrent attitude should not be tolerated, in my view. Don’t want to have our surgeons hearing about this sort of outrageous behaviour.
He also said that he’d never had that surgeon around to his house for dinner, or even any of his own anaesthetic colleagues (apart from the sporty registrar that was with us on Friday). That seemed bizarre to me, and it’s not that big of a department either (although I don’t know numbers). Sadly after my red wine/cheese knife incident, he may not repeat the experiment.
Eric’s daughter is coming to the end of her pharmacy degree. Apparently it’s six years long over here. That seemed excessive to me, and I told everyone over dinner that in New Zealand it’s only three years (fact checked that today – it’s actually four years followed by an intern year at a hospital. Should have kept my mouth shut). Everyone at dinner was amazed and unbelieving when I told them about the three year degree (as well they might!) So then I said, oh yes, its very short because we’re more intelligent. (Really should have kept my mouth shut). Luckily everyone laughed.
I had a terribly scarring experience many years ago, trying to be funny with overseas people. My German sister in laws family were staying with us. They loved my husband, they thought he was the most witty and amusing person they had ever met. But whenever I tried to make a funny, they just stared at me blankly. It was a very dark time.