So, I'm hanging in the hallway at work, waiting for the opportune moment to relieve my coworkers for a lunch break, shooting the shit with one of the perfusionists who covers our hospital (a perfusionist operates the heart-lung machine that keeps you alive when your heart is being sliced and sewn). One of the newer heart surgeons, a Texan of Indian (bombay not blackfoot) extraction, walks up and relates this story:

"So you know what? I was standing up at the front, and this breast surgeon guy comes up to me and says

'I don't like your coat. It looks like something a resident would wear.'

(Heart surgeon wears a knee length lab-type white jacket embroidered with his name and title)

I looked at him and said "Excuse me?" and he told me

'I don't like your coat and I don't think you should be wearing your boots into the operating room.'

(oh yeah, he wears his cowboy boots. To work. In the OR. )

like that's any of his business what shoes I fucking wear and so I told him

"If you have a problem with my jacket or my shoes, we can settle this right now. Otherwise, you just stay out of my heart room and I'll stay out of your breast room (heart surgeon is all of 5' 4" 130 lbs soaking wet with his boots on). Can you believe this shit?"

I told him no, I couldn't believe this shit, but another staff member who heard the tale said

"Good, I'm glad Dr. Boob got put in his place."

Jeez, some people.