In my mind, this is what was happening last night.

In reality, what was happening was this: Sean and I hung out for hours in the ER waiting for him to get a shot of antibiotics for an infection in his leg. The people I saw were mostly cute blonde girls behind the desk and chubby motherly nurses. There wasn't a single male doctor in scrubs, swarthy or not, in the whole damn place.

It was remarkably calm and remarkably uncomfortable. Why would a waiting room purposely have chairs you couldn't lie down across? Some airports do this too and it drives me nuts. What purpose does my discomfort serve in these venues? It's inexplicable. When we left at 4:30 AM there was a family with a sick kid trying to sleep in their seats that had been there for at least three hours. The guy that had been there for four and a half hours got nothing but a nod of thanks for his patience from the cute receptionist. Bummer.

The one bit of excitement was a hooker that was brought in who couldn't stop saying fuckin' and was spewing feathers from the coat the paramedics cut. She was livid. "I can't help it if you fuckin' shop at Ross," she said. "This is a fuckin' expensive french coat and you fucked it up!" Now, if I can't have George Clooney swinging me onto a gurney, then at least give me an irate hooker or two, right?