So I'm taking a break from freelancing. Also trying to keep from freaking out over how much wedding crap I have YET to do (staring at this pile of to-do stuff is making me want to jump off the balcony, and frankly the last thing I need is a broken leg--we only live on the second floor). It's the perfect time to procrastinate.
Two weeks ago, my brother and his friends drove to Augusta, GA for the wedding of a good friend. The night before the nuptials, the wedding party and close friends gathered at the bar for a few last rounds. During the evening, a random guy wandered over to the group and started chatting up one of the bridesmaids.
After a few minutes, this guy proved to be in big trouble because a) he was wearing a wedding ring and b) he claimed to be a cardiologist who studied/is studying at [university program I can't quite remember, but let's just call it UPenn as a placeholder].
As you might imagine, the second he overheard the word "cardiologist," my brother was instantly inclined to get involved in the conversation. After hearing a little of the garbage this guy was spouting, my bro decided to take him down a notch or two. But first, he did a little research. My brother sought out the husband of another bridesmaid who is currently studying to be a physician. He and threw his very lengthy and one-in-a-million *official* diagnosis at the guy. The med student was able to decipher it for the most part.
Satisfied, he made his way into the original conversation and casually asked the offending "cardiologist" more about his specialty. Right away, the guy started throwing out credentials that fall flat. Apparently the school where he claimed to study cardiology doesn't even have a cardiology program. Then my brother started asking specific questions any med student should be able to answer even if s/he were completely wasted. Dude did not pass.
Let me take a break here to say that the Monday after this weekend, my brother called my mom up at work and told her he'd gotten into a fight. He routinely gets her to believe the most ridiculous things, and even worry over them. I can't believe she bought the bit about how there were two hits: my brother hitting the guy, and the guy hitting the floor. My poor mom fell for that cheezeball line and came to me, worrying about how hurt my brother must be after a fistfight (he is most certainly not a large man by any means). He was delighted to hear this.
Anyway, so my brother was trying to get this pretend cardiologist to trip up. And even after it had become evident that he was a fraud AND married, the guy continued to maintain his lame story. Finally my brother (who had had several drinks by now) had enough. He untucked his shirt, lifted it up to show the entire establishment the long white scar running from his breastbone to his navel, the two U-shaped scars curving under his armpits and the various other reminders of having been opened up for 11 open-heart surgeries. And he says, "Diagnose THIS, bitch." Everyone at the bar turned and stared. The guy had no other choice but to give up his game and leave.
I have never heard of my brother showing his scars to anyone. He even goes to the pool with a t-shirt on. That guy must really have been a sleaze.