The Douche Crew

My wife figured out how to extend the lounge chair into a mini bed and we settled in for the night. The irony of all this is that they come in every twenty minutes or so to make sure that you're still alive and/or give you another pill. Still, we managed to get a little sleep.

Then the weather turned shitty. The National Weather Service, who had done a crap job the week before in regard to issuing a severe storm warning that resulted in some serious property loss, made up for it and overcompensated by issuing a tornado warning. A tornado warning means that one's been sighted and you should find cover immediately. If you live in the Midwest, all this means is that everyone should leave the house as soon as possible and stand in the middle of the street to watch the storm roll in with the neighbors.

Unless you're in the hospital. Their policy was to get everyone away from the windows and keep them there until the Weather Service cancelled the warning, which could and often does last for hours. The nurses and orderlies dutifully herded and wheeled everyone into an interior hallway. It looked like a M*A*S*H* unit -- IVs all over the place, people with all sorts of bandages, beeping machines and beds lined the hallway. I was doing okay enough to walk, but it was still tremendously uncomfortable.

The cherry on the sundae was the three very loud, very dumb frat boys who talked about stupid shit the entire time. I didn't expect a dissertation on the ramifications of Voltaire's Candide but sweet Christ were they trying. And since one of them worked there, we couldn't really say anything. All I could do was watch the TV as the menacing green blob slowly moved to the east and we were finally allowed to go back to our rooms. It probably lasted a couple of hours, but Dane Cook and Friends made it seem like an eternity.