Pool_2

the good. Each useless commission fending barnacle layered on top of a host of predecessors. Mary Richards wondered what the human genome might look like if there had there been a DNA joint commission and an RNA Ernie. "Couldn't shit through the BIPs," Yount summarized. Fruits of Ernie-ism included, the very attractive - to children - bright red cookie-jar look alike dirty needle disposal containers. There was the guaranteed to get you somebody somebody else's medication by accident idea in the guise of confidentiality through anonymity - removal of patient names from bedside charts. We can't forget the implementation of security clamps on the emergency cart to prevent unwanted people from moving it - especially doctors scrambling to resuscitate some lost soul who is probably screaming "SECURITY CLAMPS?" in Saint Peter's ear. But the public does not notice stuff like that, not the really deadly subtle ideas. The public notices decor. And there, Ernie topped himself. The public was treated to those most visibly horrific posters that declare all the rights that patients ought to be asserting - in six languages plus Braille - printed in seventeen annoying fonts on a makes-you-blind plastic glossy laminated poster sized about three feet wider than any wall space that can be found. These whale sized monstrosities came in an assortment of styles which, according to Yount, were baleen, killer, gray, bottlenose, beaked, toothed, pilot, narwhal, finback, finner, humpback and beluga - depending upon the interest group whose ass you were kissing this week. Varied though they were, each was in keeping with the series by way of inordinate size. Each had to be cut into vertical strips and hung like wall paper rather than admit to planning error. Ernie Eyesore became his official Table name. His favorite phrase, "Gotta be ready for the commission," a battle cry of mediocrity.