Hi, I'm a moron.

There are an unbelievable number of idiots that come into the ER. I'm not sure of the exact percentage, but a sadly high ratio have already spawned and have now blessed the world with potential little idiots. And it's tragic. Because kids aren't born douchebags, they get made that way by their parents.

A fine example would be Tweedle Dipshit, who graced us with her presence at 0430 the other day. Her two year old, Tweedle Jr., was the absolute cutest kid ever. All ears and grin, he was dragged into the ER because he had a 104' fever. Tweedle tells me, "Well, he felt really hot but I didn't feel like taking his temperature and I knew yall'd do it here. I didn't give him no tylenol either, because I just wanted to get here quicker and that kinda stuff takes too much time."

I can only manage a blank stare for three seconds, max, before I want to hurt something. So I turn to look at this kid, who immediately wants to give me a high five. I open my mouth to start asking questions when mom, and I shit you not, holds up a finger in the universal "give me a second" gesture and pulls out her cell phone, dials her friend, and proceeds to start talking about how long the ER wait was and how the nurses haven't done anything yet for her kid. Even though the kid got tylenol in triage.

Wolverine has a beserker rage that just takes over him. If you've seen the movies, he just snaps and snikts and slices some people up while everyone around him is like WTF just happened?! Sometimes I joke that I have this rage inside me too - which helped me fend off a creepy potential rapist, a story for another day - but after this day I'm not so sure. If I really had a beserker rage, Tweedle wouldn't be alive right now.

Instead of flinging metal claws out of my hands and destroying her, I silently vowed to somehow get revenge. So I glared at her for my max of three seconds, then loudly started asking questions over her talking. She looked at me like I had three heads, rolled her eyes, and gets off the phone. Whatever.

I tell her to pull the britches off her kid because I'm taking him temperature again. She asks "why would you need to do that?" It's like this woman is here solely to infuriate me. Because, I tell her, you brought your kid in for a temperature, which means I sort of need to know what his temperature is. Sigh. As I pull his diaper open, the smell of freshly laid turd assaults us. Tweedle looks at me. I look at her. She asks for a diaper and wipes.

I'm at boiling point. What parent brings their diaper wearing two year old somewhere at the wee hours of the morning and doesn't bring a diaper bag? Scratch boiling, I'm at silently raging homicidal by now. The worst part is that I have to get the kid a diaper, because I can't let an innocent kiddo marinate in his own poo. It's not his fault his mother is on the same evolutionary level as a sea cucumber.

After all this, all the rant inducing behavior and brain degradation, she manages to push me over the edge with one simple request. "You get me a soda? I want Ginger Ale. And crackers, t-"

Imma let you finish, lady.

Well, no I'm not. I walked out. She yells "HEY! Get me a soda!" towards my swiftly walking away self. I give her a half turn, and point in the direction of the waiting room. "Vending machines. Help yourself."

Listen, I'm bound by the law which means I can't stab, kick, punch, shoot, or otherwise maim her. I also can't be too much of a jerk to her because then she'll call my supervisor and I don't feel like dealing with that. But Karma's a bitch, and revenge is best served as a crunchy snack that I made you pay for. It's not much, but I'll take what I can get.