Nothing beats boredom better than fucking with other people—and Robert (Bob) MacIntosh was becoming an expert. Rejoining the Canadian Armed Forces in 1984 at 28, after completing his nursing diploma in 1982, he was sent to Canadian Forces Recruit School Cornwallis, Nova Scotia, because he had two years of civilian RN time under his belt. His previous training as a Medic in the early 1970s, where his WWII vintage instructors instilled an ingrained disdain for military women, and for nurses, in particular, probably led to Bob's predilection for focusing on his nursing colleagues for his fun.

He couldn't get too much mileage out of his uniformed colleagues though because they had all been through the rigorous basic training where the instructional staff had mastered the “mind-fuck,” so Bob held his cards close to his chest when messing with that course's graduates. It was too easy for them to see that they were being played. The civilian contract nurses, who were desperate for work in a depressed economy, on the other hand, were prime targets, and Bob had one picked out early after his arrival.

  Nursing in a recruit hospital is pretty boring for someone with Bob's civilian experience because the most serious thing the hospital dealt with was the odd case of pneumonia or fatigue from the strenuous training schedule. Bob didn't see much fun there, but there was one other group, those recruits afflicted with Situational Anxiety Reaction (SAR) where Bob thought he may be able to get a little mileage, and have some fun with a new civilian nurse. The SAR diagnosis was applied to those unfortunate 18 and 19-year-olds who mistakenly joined the military without considering that in basic training, instructors will occasionally raise their voices, or compare the recruits to various farmyard livestock as they went about his daily ablutions, marching, etc. (e.g., while doing push-ups once instructor was keen to observe that a recruit resembled a dog trying to fuck a football). The usual sequence of events for the SAR-afflicted was that the recruit would be stressed from the rigours of having to get up early every day and then complete a class and physical fitness schedule. When de-compensating they usually shut down and became despondent, or they acted out, sometimes attaching instructors. Bob preferred the latter for his setup.

  His target was Michelle, a 24-year-old relatively new Acadian nurse from the French Shore near the recruit base. Bob picked up on her nervousness the first time he met her because she seemed quite skittish having to take responsibility for 10 to 20 hospitalized recruits—even though they had minimal care requirements. Nonetheless, he tucked it away and worked for a few weeks with her to get a better feel of her approach to things before putting his plan into action.

  On the last night they worked together Bob was on the day shift and would be handing off to Michelle who was scheduled to cover the night shift. Being exceptionally bored that afternoon, despite having more than 20 hospitalized recruits, Bob decided to have some fun.

  First, he enlisted the help of ward medic to go along with his scheme, then he made up a Kardex record of a recruit-patient who was admitted with SAR. In Bob's fiction, the “recruit” in question had lost a grip on his emotions during a particularly stressful drill marching session and had physically attached his instructor, grabbing him by the throat and attempting to choke him, before being pulled off by other instructors (the other recruits, as good followers, did not move).

  As Bob was going through the admitted patients during his handover report to Michelle, he explained that Private Ferguson had lost it and attached his Master Corporal earlier in the afternoon. Unlike other SAR patients, Bob explained, Ferguson seemed to do better in the general population and was not confined to the private isolation room that was usually reserved for psychiatric patients. He was not only doing well but seemed to be improving when mixing with the other recruits, Bob added.

  Bob finished the handover report and then made the short 10-minute walk to his home on the base. Once comfortably settled at home with a beer, he made his first call to the hospital. When he got Michelle on the phone, in a new voice, he was Master Corporal Edwards, from the recruit school.

“How's that little asshole that attacked me today, ma'am?” he asked.

“Well,” Michelle started, “He's doing much better out in the general population, and seems to be more subdued,” repeating everything that Bob had told her in the report.

“Well ma'am,” Edwards finished, “I'm glad that little asshole is doing better; tell him I called to check on him.”

  “Oh I will do that for sure,” said Michelle, hanging up the phone.

  Now Bob, while chuckling to himself as his plan came together, realized that the next thing Michelle would be doing would be to check on the actual recruit. Bob waited 15 minutes before making the second call, this time, is yet another voice, as Sergeant McPherson of the military police.

  When he got her on the phone, finally, Sergeant McPherson barked, “Are you missing one of your patients, ma'am?”

  Completely flustered, Bob could hear some relief in Michelle's voice: “Well, yes, I can't find Private Ferguson.”

“No wonder you can't find him, ma'am, he's hanging up in compound's fence in the barbed wire all cut to rat-shit,” Bob playing the Sergeant told her.

  Bob could hear Michelle's horrified gasp, upon realizing that she had lost one of the patients under her care. Before she got too far along, Bob started laughing and told her, “No, it's me, Bob, there is no patient; I made the whole thing up. It's a joke!”

  “But where is he?” Michelle asked, starting to sound a bit hysterical.

  “There is no patient, Michelle, I made it up as a joke; I was the other people who called from the recruit school and the military police,” Bob said, trying to calm her down.

  “But I can't find him,” Michelle screamed into the phone. “He's not on the ward anywhere.”

  “Oh my God! Put the Medic on,” as Bob was beginning to panic a bit himself.

When the Medic took the phone Bob practically screamed into the phone, “For fuck's sakes, calm her the fuck down—it was a joke. I'll be right there.”

  By the time Bob got back to the Base Hospital, Michelle had been crying for some time and was incoherent. While he and the Medic reassured her that everything was going to fine, they helped her into the cab they had called and sent her on her way.

  Michelle never came back to work as a nurse, and when last heard of, she was picking worms out of Cod fish in the nearby Digby fish plant.

  Sometimes jokes go too far.

Credits

Nurse image from Google Images non commerical https://c1.staticflickr.com/7/6156/6179254601_2f5683fbc7_b.jpg