Homeless Guys Are Choosy Too!

So, back to slicing my finger.

A whiteboard fell on me- somehow, the edges flew off as it hit me and underneath it's just a sheet of aluminum. It gave me a wicked metal papercut. Four stitches. ("Von stitch, all better!")

When Kyle took me in the next night to get my wound checked, we had an interesting homeless guy experience.

He told the check-in nurse he had scabies. He said he'd been here before and was somehow mad that the doctor hadn't cured it, I guess, because he proceeded to talk about how he wanted to give the doctor scabies so he could feel "what I've felt these last few months!"

The nurse admitted him, gave him a wristband and directed him to the waiting area. Ten minutes later, he came crashing back to the check-in window screaming "Dammit, I don't want to be at this hospital! I told that driver to take me to UCLA! Not... (apparently he forgot the name of the hospital he was actually at, which was St. John's) THIS place!"

"And you can take this thing..." (Here he ripped off the wristband and brandished it in front of the nurse.) "...and shove it up your ass!"

Halfway to the door he turned back to add, "And I hope you get an infection off of me, because that's what you are!" At this point, security escorted him to the door.

As Kyle would say, slow clap.