Selfish Appetite [5 Seconds of Summer]

[39]

"Novembers are for fighting."

- -

It's a peculiar phenomenon, one that anyone who's even remotely associated with the medical field has likely experienced: when people discover someone near them is a doctor, they immediately seize the opportunity to ask, "Can you take a look at this mole?"

It's strange, an unsolicited intrusion into personal space, yet it's bound to happen to any doctor trapped in a confined space for long enough—whether on a train, a plane, in a bank line—anywhere people are stuck together for a prolonged stretch of time.

Sloan first noticed this phenomenon when she was fourteen, sitting on an unmoving subway train with her grandmother.

A surgical intern, still wearing her dark red scrubs, boarded the train, exhausted from a long shift.

Naturally, people saw her and decided this was the perfect moment to make small talk, to ask questions, to demand advice.

The intern, despite clearly being weary, was kind enough to answer all questions she was qualified to. Not once did she roll her eyes, sigh in frustration, or snap a terse reply. She helped them all, offering advice with a patience Sloan could only admire.

From that day forward, Sloan's brain was forever on alert, watching for moments when people would ask random medical advice from professionals in the most unexpected places.

It became a game of sorts—one she invented to pass the time when she was bored or mentally exhausted.

So far in her life, it had happened in the most unusual settings: on the train, the bus, the beach, the bathroom of a nightclub, the cereal aisle of a supermarket, the bank—and countless other seemingly absurd places.

She found it just as amusing every single time.

Doctors, for the most part, were always willing to help with a smile on their face. It was rare to see a doctor refuse to offer advice, even when the environment was clearly inappropriate for a full consultation.

It had been a while since Sloan had witnessed one of these encounters.

That is, until today.

She was on the bus, headed back to her house after a long day filled with appointments—one of which had been with Alex.

It was one stop before her own when a doctor dressed in light blue scrubs stepped on board. Almost immediately, an elderly woman seated nearby began loudly exclaiming about a "giant zit" on her backside.

The doctor, visibly tired and a bit embarrassed to be thrust into the spotlight like that, hesitated for a moment.

But his professionalism kicked in, and he kindly advised the woman to visit a dermatologist.

"A what?" the woman bellowed, her hearing obviously failing her. The doctor, not missing a beat, leaned in closer and yelled his suggestion again—directly into her "good" ear.

As Sloan stepped off the bus, she couldn't help but smile to herself, making a mental note of the encounter to add to her ever-growing list.

Not a real list, of course—just an imaginary one she'd kept since her teenage years.

She had long since dubbed it "people with moles," though she had yet to update the name, even though it was no longer just about moles.

Absorbed in her thoughts, Sloan almost forgot about the strange interaction as she entered her house.

She hung her keys on the little flower-shaped pin next to the door, the routine comforting in its familiarity.

Distracted, she wandered into the kitchen to grab a glass of juice, still lost in the amusement of the bus incident.

She didn't notice the three people seated at the table, enjoying dinner—she didn't even hear them.

It might be worth mentioning that she was wearing her headphones, music blasting loudly enough to drown out any surrounding noise.