Poor Bastard

While I was on my seven hour journey to nowhere the first time we tried to evacuate (I was beginning to wonder if I was going to need a passport if I ever finally got to Saratoga), I was listening to the local television station on my car radio.

One of the guys who was interviewed was a doctor or physician's assistant or something in one of the rural clinics here in our neck of the woods. Most of his staff had already evacuated and the reporter was asking him some pretty tough questions. I could tell the guy was distracted and would rather be doing anything other than a television interview.

I don't know if it was his distraction or worry about his impending doom (he wasn't evacuating) but the Poor Bastard said a couple of things that made me laugh out loud as I sat in bumper to bumper traffic on my journey to hell.

Reporter: Will the clinic remain open through the storm or will it close if necessary?
Poor Bastard: That will be up to the discrepancy of the doctors in the clinic.
(Me: I'm pretty sure he meant to say discretion of the doctors in the clinic but I hope the discrepancy was cleared up and that Poor Bastard got the hell out of there.)

Reporter: Will you have a full staff for the duration of the storm?
Poor Bastard: No, we will have a skeletal crew.
(Me: I know I have a sick sense of humor but the morbidness of that one, in my pre-hysterical state at the time, really hit me funny. Once again, I sure hope the Poor Bastard and his skeleton crew made it through the storm and good for them for holding down the fort.)