Department of Talking Very Loudly In A Bar

Overheard tonight, three women, one in an arm cast, giggling over their daiquiris:

"So, yeah, I had to go to the emergency room! But I didn't want to wait for hours, like you have to unless you're having a heart attack or something. So, I told them I was pregnant."

"What!!!"

"They take you right back that way! I mean, right back. Bam!! I had a doctor examining my broken wrist within minutes."

"But didn't they do a test!?"

"Please, they don't doubt you if you say you're pregnant. They only test you if you say you're not pregnant! They said I couldn't get an x-ray, but they still set my wrist and I just went to the Ortho the next day. I was out of there in an hour-and-a-half."

Oh, my.

This clever approach to being seen immediately by health care professionals in a busy emergency room would have never occurred to me. It's selfish and horrible and wrong and entirely evil, to be sure, but you have to admit, it's wily as all hell. One thing that keeps my job interesting is the neverending stream of shocking people describing their audacious behavior during cocktail hour.

I mean, come on now, you know you would've never thought of that.

I think we have an emergency
I think we have an emergency
If you thought I'd leave then you were wrong
Because I won't stop holding on
So are you listening? So are you watching me?
If you thought I'd leave then you were wrong
Because I won't stop holding on

Paramore, "Emergency"

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