Dear Malingerer Girl,

You are not injured, and no amount of piteous screaming, moaning, sobbing and wild gesticulations you engage in, even delivered at ear-splitting volume, is going to convince anyone.

In fact, the evident ease at which you moved your injured shoulder during your performance, will be thoroughly documented by me in dry, objective clinical prose, in addition to the total absence of any objective signs of injury.

You were struck by a soggy clump of acoustical ceiling tile that fell from perhaps five feet over your head. You are not permanently disabled, nor are you “fidna git paid,” as you so loudly proclaimed to me, the business manager, and everyone else in earshot.

You have, if you’ll forgive the use of complicated medical terminology, a “boo boo.”

Your boo boo, at most, entitles you to an apology from the manager, and a coupon for a free footlong sub of your choice.

If you doubt that, just wait until whatever vulture personal injury attorney you retain reads my medical report.

Love and kisses,
The Paramedic Whose Time You Wasted