I was invited by the plastic surgery fellows to come out to pharmaceutical-sponsored dinner at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. This is sketchy, I thought to myself. Just a few weeks ago my institution banned all pharmaceutical-sponsored gifts to medical personnel: no free pens, no free meals, no trips to Hawaii -- nothing.

The tall, rugged, handsome, affable Stryker representative grinned and handed me a gin and tonic.

Ahh, but we're not a pharmaceutical. We specialize in medical devices. It's completely different.

I wonder if it really is different, I thought to myself as I ordered a $40 venison dish with a $10 side of potatoes. I felt very underdressed. I had worn some khakis and my dad's sweatshirt. Everyone else in the restaurant was more appropriately garbed in sports jackets and dark slacks.

The waitress kept our water goblets filled with fancy European bottled water, and I had two wine glasses on the table: one for the merlot, one for the chardonnay.

Between the three drinks, I got up four times to go to the bathroom during the dinner. I found myself surprisingly unsteady on my feet. The world tilted ever so slightly to one side as I stood at the urinal, watching ESPN on a flat-screen television embedded in the wall.

Hmm...so this is the good life, they say. I'm being wined and dined, and then more wine.