Friday, December 21, 2007

The God of the Sea

The DNB has a horrendous call night!

There were no 3am codes, no "clear"-zap defibrillator scenes. He even got to play Guitar Hero with one of the leukemia kids, and not just to cheer the poor soul up.

No, what made this night so horrible was his call room. He offered to take the Bad One, he tells me. The one with the phone cord so short the phone is actually under the bed. The one with the light bulb that's been missing from the bedside lamp for nearly a year. The one with the mattress springs that feel like tridents.

"Wait, what?" I stop him. "The springs feel like what?"

"Tridents," he responds, as if it's the most normal thing in the world to compare Poseidon's instrument of destruction with the inner core of a mattress.

"Really, though? Tridents?" I ask, just to be sure. "Not, say, spikes?"

"Oh no," he replies, quite sure of himself. "It definitely felt like being stabbed by tridents."

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