Claire and I were waiting at the elevator bank in a hospital lobby the other day when two paramedics wheeled in a guy on a tricked-out gurney. This wasn’t the emergency room, just the good ol’ fashioned, low-priority front entrance. Now, dude wasn’t spewing anything black and bubbly out of any of his major orifices. Nor was he sporting any new holes or perforations care of a dispute settled with hot lead. But nevertheless, he was on a stretcher. And the rest of us were standing.
That said it was pretty crowded in the lobby. And some of us had been waiting there already for 30, maybe as much as 45 seconds. So I guess you can’t hold it against us for not stepping aside and giving him our place in line. In NY, you better be able to show a little uncoiled intestine if you expect to have any chance of jumping the queue.
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