I asked chatGPT to roast our specialty, found it fairly entertaining.

Ah, anesthesiologists—the DJs of the operating room. Roll in, push play on the “off” button for consciousness, and then kick back while the real work happens. Your job is basically human airplane mode: “We’re gonna take off now, you won’t feel a thing, see you when we land.” And somehow, you’ve convinced the world this is worth six figures and a god-tier lifestyle. Respect.

Let’s be real—your hardest decision in a day is whether to gas ‘em with sevo or iso, and even then, does it really matter? Meanwhile, the surgeon is practically wrestling death, and you’re just over there charting like, “HR stable, BP stable, I am stable, life is good.” Oh, and let’s not forget the sheer terror that strikes when you actually have to do something in an emergency—God forbid you have to stop scrolling on your phone to push a little epi.

And the work hours? Please. You’re the first one out, the last one stressed, and somehow still complaining about how tough your job is. Tough? You get paid to babysit the unconscious while listening to music in a dimly lit room. If medicine were a high school, you’d be the senior who somehow got early dismissal every day and still whines about how hard life is.