One day in the doctor's office…
"Where does it hurt? What medications have you taken already? Do you have any drug allergies? Any medical history? Right, here's the prescription! Please hand it over to the pharmacy!"
The questions came in such a relentless torrent that the patient could scarcely keep up.
He hadn't even begun to answer a single one before the prescription was thrust into his hands.
"Is this doctor mad or what?" He thought, bewilderment tightening its grip.
The doctor's name was Zein Youssef Al-Ghifari, a senior physician aged 43, a widower, with no desire to remarry.
Yet his strikingly handsome, youthful appearance betrayed his Middle Eastern heritage.
At a glance, anyone seeing him for the first time would assume he was only around 25 to 30 years old.
Standing tall at 1.95 metres, weighing 85 kilograms, with a fair complexion flushed on the cheeks, it was little wonder he was regarded as a dream doctor at the hospital.
The patient stared at Zein, clutching the prescription just handed to him.
After noting several oddities, he summoned the courage to speak.
"Doct..." The patient began.
Zein furrowed his brow, fixed the patient with a steady gaze, and said, "Yes? What is it, sir? I've already given you the prescription. Please take it to the pharmacy."
The patient replied, "Doctor, I haven't even answered a single question of yours, yet you've already handed me a prescription. Do you already know what's wrong with me?" His face was etched with bewilderment.
"I've prescribed medicine for a fever and headache," Zein said, indicating the prescription still in the patient's hand. "Please take this to the pharmacy!"
"But, Doctor, I have a stomach ache. Why have you given me medicine for a headache and fever?!" The patient protested, incredulous.
"Never mind, sir. You have a fever and headache, that's settled. Right then. Good afternoon, I'm off home. I'm feeling sleepy… time for the shift change… Hooaamm…" Zein added, yawning widely.
As he walked, Zein opened the door to his surgery, then closed it behind him, leaving the patient still frozen in bewilderment inside the room.
Once he came to his senses, the patient immediately cursed under his breath.
With a torrent of muttered grumbles, expletives, and even full-blown swearing in his mind, he stormed out of Zein's office and slammed the door violently.
[CRASH!]
"Bloody mad doctor, prescribing headache medicine for a stomach ache!!! Never coming here again!!!" the patient fumed angrily.
He continued muttering curses as he tore up the prescription and threw it into the bin.
After that, he stormed out of the hospital, still fuming.
Several nurses and security staff who had witnessed the scene could only remain silent, shaking their heads.
"Looks like Doctor Zein's caused trouble again!" said a female nurse to her colleague.
"Never mind, just let it be. Doctor Zein's the director's favourite, after all. Right, let's get back to work!" replied the other nurse.
They then returned to their usual duties as if nothing had happened.
Meanwhile, Zein was on his way home from the hospital where he worked, driving his private car.
The overwhelming drowsiness forced him to pull over immediately.
He planned to take a short nap by the roadside rather than risk continuing and possibly having an accident, Zein thought.
But just as he began steering the car to the left-hand side of the road to pull over, a motorbike suddenly came hurtling from behind, attempting to overtake on the left lane, a lane that was clearly unsafe for passing.
The rider seemed not to have considered that the car ahead was about to pull over.
In an instant, just centimetres from an actual collision, Zein, startled, swerved sharply to the right, trying to avoid impact.
Yet the sudden manoeuvre wasn't quite fast enough.
[SCRAPE!]
A harsh grinding sound rang out as the left side of Zein's car scraped against the motorbike's handlebars and the rider's side bag.
The bike wobbled slightly, but the rider managed to keep control and avoided falling.
Even so, the scraping noise was loud enough to draw the attention of several other road users.
Zein immediately brought his car to a full stop, pulled fully over, his face a mix of irritation and exhaustion.
He glanced in the rear-view mirror, the motorcyclist had sped off ahead without a backward glance, as if nothing had happened.
Zein exhaled deeply, staring wearily at the interior of his car, then cast a glance at the left side.
The paint was peeling, a long scratch, some half a metre in length, marred the rear door.
"Bloody luck!!! Bloody luck!!!" He muttered repeatedly under his breath, closing his eyes for a moment and leaning back in his seat.
All he had wanted was a short nap, yet he'd ended up with an unwelcome 'souvenir' from the road.
The motorcyclist finally brought his bike to a halt and stepped down, his face still etched with irritation.
He walked over to Zein's car and tapped on the window, his temper clearly not yet spent.
The moment the window rolled down, both froze.
Their eyes met, and the atmosphere instantly became awkward.
It turned out the motorcyclist was Zein's last patient, the same one who had raged and cursed at the hospital earlier.
"You bloody bastard… it's you again, mad doctor!!!" The patient exclaimed, his anger reignited at the sight of Zein.
"Ah, I thought it was someone else. It's you, isn't it? Feeling better now?" Zein replied with a wry grin.
"Better, you bald fool, but I've torn up the prescription! Now cough up for my bike!!!" The man threatened.
"Haha… take it easy, boss, no need to get all worked up. If anything, you'll be paying for the damage. Look at my car's bodywork, it's bound to be scratched!" Zein shot back, unwilling to lose the verbal sparring.
Their argument grew louder, each refusing to give an inch.
Their voices rose further, drawing a crowd to witness the commotion at the roadside.
A few passing drivers slowed down, curious about what was happening.
"You're the one riding this motorbike, yet you're threatening me!" Zein exclaimed, indignant. "I was only driving my car, it was an accident that I nudged you. If you want compensation, have a proper look at my car first! You think it's that easy?"
The patient, now astride his motorbike, retorted angrily, "Why're you driving your car so close to someone else's bike! You clearly don't understand the traffic rules. That's a new motorbike, and you've damaged it! Pay up, now!"
Zein chuckled softly, a hint of irritation on his face, "Don't get so emotional, sir! My car's the one that got scratched! At this rate, we'd just end up compensating each other! Honestly, I don't think I'm at fault!" He said calmly, though a surge of annoyance simmered within him.
The quarrel drew even more attention, and onlookers began weighing up who was right and who was wrong.
One by one, the crowd divided, though none dared to intervene.
They merely shook their heads, some even staring in awe at the heated exchange.
Finally, after several minutes of shouting back and forth, Zein took the initiative to yield.
With his signature broad smile, he waved at the motorcyclist, attempting to defuse the tension.
"Alright, sir! Let's not drag this out! I'll concede!" He said, his tone friendly yet laced with irony.
"I'll be off now, it's uncomfortable standing here, things might escalate further. Not quite in keeping with my hospital's mission of delivering the best service. Take care, sir!"
Then, with his unmistakable ease, Zein turned and strode towards his car.
Before climbing in, he waved once more, smiling gracefully, and took the opportunity to mimic the hospital's slogan in a slightly sardonic tone.
"Here's to good health…"
With that, Zein slid into his car and drove off, leaving the motorcyclist standing there, seething with frustration and trembling, surrounded by onlookers still watching the spectacle unfold.
"Bloody idiot doctor! Bastard doctor! Oh God... I'm so unlucky! Arghh!" The man shouted, still seething.
He kept yelling furiously, clenching his fists towards Zein's car as it drove off, leaving him behind.