Code 3 for SOB. At the goof house. It’s 3am.

I ring the bell.

A resident opens the door, “I called.”

A staff member reaches the door, “Please wait a moment, guys.”

The door closes.

My partner thinks out loud that the staff member is telling the resident to go back to bed, but I wasn’t born yesterday.

A minute goes by and the door opens again. Clearly a huge medical emergency.

“I’m sorry about that, guys. You see, I had just told him not to open the door at night without checking to see who it is. He already forgot what I told him.”

“He doesn’t look sick.”


“You don’t look sick.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“I think you’re breathing just fine.”

“I had pneumonia last week.”

“You still have it?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to wait until the morning because the doctor told me to come back right away if it got worse.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it literally.”

And you can’t remember the thing about the door just now but you can remember what the doctor said a week ago?

“Let’s go.”

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