“Welcome to the Jungle

We’ve got fun and ‘n’ games

We got everything you want

Honey, we know the names

We are the people that can find

Whatever you may need

If you got the money, honey

We got your disease”

 

 

Axl Rose’s voice roared over the loudspeaker as I sang along with a bar code scanner doubling as my microphone. “Welcome to the Jungle” seemed quite the appropriate theme song for where I found myself at 3AM on a recent Wednesday morning: an enormous warehouse on the outskirts of Lexington, KY.

But how the hell did I get there?

One day in July 2013, while on a month-long break from medical school, I found myself dreaming about what I would do during the 8-month break I would soon have between finishing medical school and starting Residency.

During that day-dream, I found myself:

a) in the outback of Australia, rough-housing with cuddly koalas and lacing it up with rambunctious kangaroos

b) providing medical care to the indigent people in Chennai, India with an old friend

c) attending evening lectures at Harvard and mingling with Nobel laureates

d) indulging at Carnival in Rio de Janeiro

 

 

Each of these seemed as likely as the next. My mind wandered and the possibilities seemed endless. Approaching the end of my journey to becoming a physician, I was feeling a bit grandiose. My delusions of grandeur had me feeling like the memories I would create by gallivanting around on such ridiculous journeys would serve as a buffer for the long nights and difficult times I would likely face in Residency.

 

 

But none of those things will happen during this 8-month break. No koalas. No Jared Diamond lectures. No flights to Chennai. No beads at Carnival.

Instead, I’ve been spending an enormous amount of time on the Amazon.

No, not the Amazon River. Though I’m surprised it didn’t ever arise as a possibility during my day-dreaming sessions.

The Amazon I’m referring to is the Amazon processing line. The Amazon that services your on-line orders for ginkgo biloba, Lego’s, the King James Bible, cans of corn, defective remote-controlled helicopters, and a new door handle.

 

 

Yeah, you ordered all of those things from one website. In five minutes. And it cost you $107.18 and was delivered in two business days. I remember your order. Creepy, I know.

So where did my day dreams go so wrong?

The end of my nearly nine year sojourn to becoming a physician ended with a month of Trauma Surgery, not exactly the typical elective for a a future Family Medicine doc. I felt like an incredible weight had been briefly lifted from my shoulders when I walked out of that hospital for the last time as a student. Now I wanted to regain some semblance of self, or at least reflect on whom I had become… even if it included moving somewhere I hadn’t lived in nearly 15 years.

Upon arriving in Lexington, I was in need of some serious mental and physical recuperation. I promised to give myself the month of November to basically cram whatever meaningless and mind-numbing things I could into my life before starting to be a productive member of society again.

 

 

As November was coming to a close, the stark reality that money no longer grows on trees began to reflect in my bank account. So I began researching possible job opportunities at the local universities, considered private tutoring, and investigated becoming a Craigslist gigolo.

 

 

I quickly realized that I was either severely over-qualified or unlikely to get anything worth my Bachelor’s degree when potential employers realized I was in Lexington only temporarily. Except for the gigolo position, you can never be too qualified for that. But you can be too out-of-shape.

And then, in a stroke of holiday magic, I flipped open the newspaper on an early December morning to see a booming full-page ad for “Temporary Work! Great Wage! Happy Holidays!” placed by Amazon and the agency that fulfills its temporary staffing needs for the holiday season.

I could hear the Bezos Dollars cha-chinging in my ears.

 

 

So I bundled my pride up in a knapsack, which I had obviously ordered from Amazon, drove it to the Kentucky state line, and tossed it into the Ohio River.

Then I drove to the staffing agency that handles temporary hires for Amazon, parked my Benz as far away as possible, and walked in head held high, unsure of what I was getting myself into.

Before I could muster a word, the young blonde at the front desk blurted out, “We are only hiring for night shift. It’s 6:30P to 5A. Are you still interested?”

“That’s perfect!”

 

 

She was only momentarily stunned by my enthusiasm and proceeded to quickly detail what lay in store for me… in the next three hours I would have to maneuver my way through a series of computer terminals, video presentations, and drug tests before an impromptu interview where I might still be told I wasn’t quite Amazon material.

Medical school doesn’t allow time for part-time money-making endeavors, so I thought, “Three hours? I’ve held retractors longer than that!”

 

 

By the time I reached the second of three computer terminals, I was beginning to wonder how much my professional reputation could be impacted in twenty years if it came out I was a gigolo between medical school and Residency.

At this computer, I was welcomed by a flashing screen. It warned me that if I was unable to score a 90% on the following exam, I would immediately be removed from the applicant pool and would have to return in 30 days for further consideration. My palms began sweating. These people were not screwing around.

Thankfully, I nailed all 20 of the picture matching questions.

 

 

Cha-ching!

After fist-bumping the guy at the station next to me, I said a quick prayer thanking the Medical Licensing Examination Gods for preparing me for such a rigorous test of my mental faculties.

A short hour later, after watching a video about how awesome it was going to be working in a warehouse overnight, I was beckoned to a makeshift interview area.

 

 

A pleasant woman pulled up my on-line application and asked, “So you have a college degree, that’s great! Any other education?”

“Uh, yes. I do, but I don’t think it’s relevant.”

She looked at me quizzically. “Will you have a problem standing for 10 hours straight?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Then get a copy of your high school transcript. That way you won’t get fired in the first week.” I humbly nodded my head and wondered again what the hell I had gotten myself into.

That was over two months ago. I can’t say processing customer returns in a warehouse overnight has been a “come to Jesus” moment, but if I needed one, it would suffice.

 

 

On a recent night, while parked in the snow-covered lot outside the warehouse, waiting to begin my shift, I answered a phone call from one of my aunts. She had heard what I was doing and chatted me up about it for a minute or two.

As the conversation began to wind down, she asked, “So… you are going to be a doctor, right?”

“Yes. I am. I swear. But if I ever needed a reason to go to college, which I already did, this would be it.”

She laughed. In my head, I reflexively wondered, “I am going to be a doctor, right?”

As I stood at my desk that same night, the conveyor pumping boxes alongside me, the overhead radio station blared ’80’s rock and I sang along as if I was competing for a place on the The Voice.

Axl Rose screeched, “You know where you are, you’re in the jungle, baby!”

I turned to the woman at the desk behind me and said, “More like, you’re in the Amazon!”

She giggled; I again wondered what the hell I was doing in a warehouse at 3AM, when I could be in the actual Amazon. Shooting blow darts at ravenous crocs. Or learning how to carve a canoe out of a tree with a toothpick.

I suppose that’s why they are called day-dreams.

 

“Welcome to the Jungle

We’ve got fun and ‘n’ games

We got everything you want

Honey, we know the names

We are the people that can find

Whatever you may need

If you got the money, honey

We got your disease”