The Angriest Man in Brooklyn

Wait. Wait. Let me just-

Let's get Daddy! Everybody get Daddy!

Let's get your Daddy!

It's not me. It's the camera.

- It's not working.

- If the camera doesn't work well...

then I'm gonna take it home with me.

- Oh, look at you.

- Oh, my God. Ohh!

Oh, my God. I can watch them all day long.

Hi, Papa.

What are you thinking?

That I'm happy.

Michael, you're on the air.

Yeah, my kid goes to school

in Staten Island...

They got these new hockey masks

and they shatter on impact.

You want to sue somebody.

You sue that knucklehead.

Michael, Michael, Michael. They're

flushing your tax dollars down the crapper.

- What's the matter with you?

- They shouldn't be making things like that.

I took the kid to the doctor

and the doctor told me-

As Henry Altmann waited in traffic...

on the way to his doctor's appointment...

he mentally added subwoofers

in small cars to things he hated.

On his short list was also

dog crap, car alarms...

indecipherable parking signs,

double baby strollers...

ass-crack fashion, men's cologne...

bubble gum, bicycles, hamsters...

garbage trucks, neighbors,

metal hangers, TV remotes...

greeting cards, flip-flops,

fliers for cheap haircuts, fat people...

pigeons, The Weather Channel,

smell of urine, new mothers...

credit card offers,

blocked phone numbers...

big umbrellas, F train, J.F.K., B.Q. E...

A.T.M. Service fees,

99 Cent Stores, radio personalities...

networking, Starbucks, the Knicks...

the Knicks, the Knicks...

and God.

What the hell?

I ask you, what the hell?

That was a red light you ran!

Can't you tell red from green?

You took the test, right,

when you got your driver's license?

Remember that? Multiple choice,

number two pencil, dirty walls?

And what does red mean?

Does it mean "go"?

Does it mean slam into my car,

is that what it means?

- It-It was yellow.

- Oh, yellow!

Oh, yellow like your cab

or yellow like a daffodil?

Like a pretty little daffodil?

Does daffodil mean step on the gas

and hit my car in your country?

Is that it? Is daffodil your excuse

to f*ck up my life?

Destroy my tranquillity?

- I- I- I- I...

- I- I- I- I...

No, I am gonna get your license revoked...

and have you sent back

to wherever the f*ck you're from!

- Racist!

- Racist?

How can I be a racist?

I don't know what race you are.

- Uzbek.

- Uzbek? You're right.

I hate Uzbeks.

I hate them all. But particularly you!

You dead.

What? What did you say?

You too, mother-

As Sharon Gill

stared at the woman and her pet-

She was consumed with grief

over her own cat, Harold.

Three days ago,

Harold had jumped out the window.

Afterward, she learned that

this was not uncommon with cats.

The fact that Harold landed on his feet

10 floors below was of little consolation.

Oh!

Sharon understood

that Harold was a trigger.

That she was emotionally exhausted.

Ohh.

Still, caring more for

a dead cat than her sick patients...

was clearly a case

of clinical depersonalization.

Open.

Wider.

Excuse me.

No one had ever mentioned this reality...

when she was a bright,

shiny medical student.

Uh, Doctor?

When she believed she was going

to save the world one patient at a time.

Doctor.

No one told her

that care does not equal need.

Care being finite, need being endless.

Doctor! Move, man. Move.

What care equals...

is 15 minutes per patient.

- Doctor, Mrs. Fine is in 4.

- Who?

Mrs. Fine! She's one of

Dr. Fielding's patients...

who you're covering, remember?

And we got Wong in 3

and Peterson in 9.

Okay, all right.

Listen, I just need a minute.

- But she's been in there over an hour!

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