I arrived in NYC sometime in the afternoon, and I thought I was doing quite well for time. Little did I know I was about to get violently ill and spend the next three hours with diarrhea in my friend's apartment. Thankfully for him he was busy being a resident while I was paying for eating three bowls of cereal the previous day (I think I'm lactose intolerant, and I'm almost sure cow's milk is what set me off).
After my penance was paid, my friend came home to find his room re-organized and cleared. I did this a little at a time between my trips to the bathroom to pass the time. Him and I went out for dinner later, and then two of my friends from medical school called and convinced me to go into Manhattan and stay with them. I ended up meeting them at a club, and we hung out until 4 am. I, however, did not enjoy myself. I felt the music was too loud, the club was too crowded, and the women seemed quite ... plastic, if I could find a word to describe the vibe they gave off. I think I may be done with clubs.
I parked the car on the street and, as soon as I got out, my friends jumped into a cab to take us back to the hotel. We slept a total of three hours (an overestimate) and promptly headed to graduation the next morning. I met a friend of mine in line and was surprised when he volunteered that he did not match this year. I quickly pulled my two friends aside to warn them not to ask anyone where they matched, and explained to them that some people had actually come to graduation despite not having matched. I have no idea how these people worked up the courage to come, if I had not matched then I certainly would not have appeared for the ceremony. I was nodding off through my president's speech, it was very long-winded. The best overall student from our cycle, though, definitely managed to make light of the situation by throwing in a 5-minute speech that included several funny quotes and anecdotes.
Several people from the office were mentioned by one speaker during the ceremony, and as he ran through the list of people we hated, the clapping was mediocre, a word I use generously. Then two or three people who actually do work at the school were mentioned, and we all erupted in praise and applause and obnoxious shout-outs. One of the people we disliked at the office actually had the nerve to walk up to me afterward and ask why I had initially not wanted to come to graduation. I shrugged and made a bunch of monosyllabic sounds because, at least for the next three years until I need some transcripts or licensing papers processed, I'm done with the school. Eventually, the people we don't like at the school will be dead, and it won't matter anymore. Realistically, eventually I and everyone who reads this blog will be dead, and it won't matter. I'm not trying to sound depressed or to freak anyone out, I've just gained some much-needed perspective on things after medical school ended. I feel like my graduation (my real graduation, in September) allowed me to stick my head up out of the water for air. My family thoroughly enjoyed the ceremony.
Then we got back to the hotel, and I couldn't find the car. I searched again with a cab driver, who was very reluctant to drive around and help me find the car. Then I tried the transportation department, the cops, and the local police precinct said that, unless I was sure of where I parked the car, they didn't have the man-power to send a squad car out looking for the thing. I was so angry and frustrated and stressed about the whole situation that I got a separate room in the city just so that I could get an uninterrupted, full-night's sleep without being disturbed by my friends walking into the hotel room. I don't handle these types of situations well.
The next morning, I set out after my full night's sleep to search for the car. It was still missing. And it was a rental, so I had no idea what I was supposed to do. My resolution at the time was to wait until it got towed, and pay the $400 required to pull it out of the impound lot, and then drive home. I then arrived at my friend's apartment in Queen's, and he told me to go back to the precinct and make the cops help me. He said something about the cops not wanting to do actual community service unless they are absolutely pressed to do so, and so I went back there and told them that I remembered the exact sign at which I parked the car, and that it was only found at such and such intersection. I was right about the sign, but I was wrong about it being the only one in midtown. There were a few of those types of signs in midtown, as we soon discovered when the cops agreed, upon realization that they had to either file a police report or play ball, to drive me around in a squad car and canvas the area to search for the car. After various interesting conversations with New York's finest, we found the stupid rental car. It was parked (with a $95 ticket on the windshield) one street south of the last street I had walked looking for it.
To celebrate my finding of the car, my friend and I stuffed ourselves with sushi and we talked at length about residency. He had recently found a 2nd year internal medicine position (he was previously in a preliminary match meaning he had to re-apply in his second year) so he was very happy, and I was just starting myself and worried about ending up tired and destroyed and surviving entirely on meal bars like him. He said not to worry, for he was in internal medicine, and I will be in family medicine.
The next glorious day, I drove all the way home to Toronto. The day after that, I rented a U-Haul and headed to Pittsburgh.
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