Clinic day
Since the departure of my senior for his exam leave, work place seemed to have magically transform itself into a clinic. There's not sexy or demure nurses. Just two patients. Who's on duty? That would have to be me, Dr. Jason.
Consultation hours commence half past eight. That's 30 minutes earlier than average clinics and medical centres. And guess what, the doctor's always there to provide personalised services, on-the-spot remedies to guarantee your functional efficiency to the maximum. And the best part, it's F.O.C from an non-economical perspective.
Dr. Jason's just amazing. His hands cure with miraculous wisdom-soaked writings, these in a language known as accounting and math. Choices of aromatic and music therapies are available through the cologne he offers and that tranquil voice. Did I forget his latest ability? Laser-eyes! The state-of-the-bio offers the patients sharp scanning and fair analysis your problems. It's unbelievable! It's jaw-dropping! It's!! Dr. Jason.
Of course, Adam Smith wouldn't stand for what Dr. Jason worded above! The founder of economist might just prosecute me for disregarding the opportunity cost of the deprived luxury of scheduling my work. Alas, its Walter Woon who stepped into the trial, shoving his notes of non-pecuniary losses I've incurred over my course of duty: Weariness; the Waterloo plague on thy brain cells colony; sleepless nights of the body.
What does Dr. Jason prescribe? Knowledge (I hope) and "solutions" obviously.
