complicit The day is over. He's called his wife, gathered his things, straightened his desk. I am writing the final note on my last patient, sitting on a chair in the corner, back against wall against plastic, pinning the distance wide. He waits. I keep writing. He waits, shifts his weight, waits some more, looks at me, staring. I am writing.
"Where's your evaluation form?"
I stop. I don't want it. Don't want an evaluation from him. I want to go home and bathe in hydrochloric acid, could give a yellow fuck about an evaluation from him. But I give it to him. Because everything is okay and everything is normal and I'm okay and I'm in control and if I ignore it then perhaps it will be over, because if I say fucking give it a rest already then confrontation intimidation alienation. And I need a job. And this is what crosses my mind, as I sit in his office alone with him, back against the wall, pushing myself into the corner, just keep your mouth shut, don't screw it up, you need a job, if you tell him to fuck off, he could ruin interfere jeopardize slander. If you make him angry you might not be working here.
"Lets see here, what does this have to say about you?" he asks.
I fast quick a fake smile, "you don't have to fill it out, really. _______ (preceptor formerly known as pervy, clearly I had no idea) can fill it out for me, really".
"No, I want to fill it out" he says, taking it with relish and reading it out loud for me.
"Relationships with clinical teams," he begins. "Willing to establish excellent relationships with team members, check, however she's unwilling to establish relationships with me".
I stare at the computer. I stare at the screen. I stare at the computer. I stare at the screen. I hate myself for not saying anything. I will myself to not say anything.
"Student is trustworthy. I doooooon't know. Are you trustworthy? Can I trust you? Hmmm, I wonder". He stops and looks long at me.
I state at the computer. I stare at the screen. .
"Student is respectful and honest in professional situations...yeah, I'd say. A little too professional if you ask me!" he guffaws.
I stare at the computer. I stare at the screen.
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He gives me highest marks, with a half-baked anecdote about a my being good with little old lady and a complicated case. I take the evaluation from him, shove it in my bag. I will go home later and rip it to pieces, because it feels like a pay off, like an exchange, like I am complicit, like I said, for the price of an A and a job I'll keep my mouth shut and stare at the floor while you push your unwanted advances, your leering, glaring, strong arming closed door comments on to me and you'll go home to your wife, and the olympics, and everything everything will still be okay.
