Fourtysomething barefoot man, in handcuffs, led out by police:
What am I being charged with?
That's something we need to talk about.
Man, early 20s, wearing a hospital bracelet, consoling a visibly upset woman, early 20s:
You don't have to worry, he's never going to fuck you up again.
Old woman, wearing sweat pants and hospital gown, talking to triage nurse:
I'm tired of being treated like a child!
Same woman, 5 minutes later:
Stop lying to me!
Triage nurse, to receptionist after old woman storms out:
I'm so happy right now.
Man, after taking a bite of his Subway sandwich:
They put mustard on it.
Receptionist, to older biker guy:
Sir! Sir! You cannot smoke in here.
Later, same older biker guy to older biker girl:
I told you it's over between me and her. Over!
Younger woman on phone holding sleeping toddler:
These doctors don't know anything.
Old man with bandage on head to wife (CNN on in the background):
So someone dropped a nuke in Japan?
Old drunkish looking dude, being escorted out by security:
Come on man, I just want to lay down here for 10 minutes.
Teenager with ice pack on his hand, talking on waiting room phone:
Just put my mom on the phone, fucker!
Being sick in the summer sucks.
I prefer to be a vector for infectious disease in the winter. It makes more sense to be wrapped in a blanket, slurping down chicken soup and not going outside in the colder months.
Alas, I was stricken with some sort of evil microbial funk this week. It started in my head and moved to my lungs. I prayed for death, but death was on vacation (I'm a dramatic sick person.)
I drank Robitussin until the floor became liquid and the cat spoke in tongues, laid prone for extended periods, took showers in a futile effort to clear my blocked head openings and cursed the almighty (Okay, really dramatic.)
The worst part about this affliction was the timing. I started my brand new staff job at the Weekly Alibi. There was no way I was calling in. I couldn't be that guy, the guy who calls in his first week.
But a dilemma emerged: I also don't want to be the guy who comes to work when he is sick, spewing germs all over his coworkers. That's a good way to make friends, infecting others with pestilence.
In the end I came to work, germs and all.
It didn't turn out that bad. I had the best interview in months. I asked a bunch of hard hitting questions and got the “This interview is over” handshake from the interviewee.
The joke's on him. He's probably lying prone somewhere, slurping soup and wondering, “How the hell did I get sick? It's summer.”