The Janitor at the Clinic

Old Doc Henderson had been wanting to get out to his deer stand for weeks, and one Thursday morning he decided enough was enough — the fish and the deer weren’t going to wait forever.

He pulled his janitor, Clarence, aside and said, “Clarence, I need a favor. I’m going to head out to the woods for the day. You think you can hold down the fort here at the clinic? Answer the phone, show folks in, handle anything minor. I’ll give you fifty dollars.”

Clarence puffed up a little. “Doc, you can count on me.” So Doc Henderson grabbed his rifle and his thermos and headed out, and Clarence settled behind the front desk like a man born to the role.

The next morning, Doc came back and found Clarence looking very pleased with himself.

“Well, Clarence? How did things go?”

“Smooth as silk, Doc,” Clarence said, leaning back in his chair. “Three patients total. First fellow came in complaining of a headache. I gave him a couple of Tylenol and a glass of water and sent him on his way.”

“Good thinking,” Doc said. “Second patient?”

“Lady with a stomachache. I found some Maalox in the cabinet, gave her a dose, and she felt better almost right away.”

“Excellent,” said Doc. “And the third?”

Clarence’s expression shifted just slightly. He cleared his throat.

“Well,” he said, “I was out back having my afternoon cigarette when I heard the front door fly open. I came back inside and found a woman standing in the waiting room in quite a state — very agitated, very distressed.

Before I could say a word, she had kicked off her shoes, thrown her coat over a chair, and stretched herself right out on the examination table. And she looked up at me and hollered, ‘Please help me — I haven’t seen a man in over two years!’”

Doc Henderson stared. “Good lord, Clarence. What in the world did you do?”

Clarence shrugged calmly. “Put drops in her eyes.”