14 nóvember 2006

Fyndin stuttsaga

Hef ekki tékkað á Clevenger í dálítinn tíma, og á eftir að lesa Dermaphoria.. en þetta fannst mér helvíti gott.
I know a bloke who knows a bloke who knows a bloke. Now I know this bloke. This is a bloke I know. First hand actually, not thrice removed but I just love that line from Sexy Beast. Bloke stops into a hospital walk-in clinic last week, to check out some nagging ear pain. The examination proceeds and includes several dark and suspect hmms from the doctor.

Bloke says, I don’t think I could live without my hearing.

Doctor leaves the room, saying he’ll return shortly with a diagnosis.

Doctor does not return. Instead, two of San Francisco’s finest enter, knowing jack about a diagnosis. What they do know is how to enforce a Code 5150, which includes a) how to use handcuffs and b) the directions to the hospital’s psych wing and a vacant padded room therein. The Men in Blue demonstrate both to Bloke, who is placed under suicide watch for six hours after they confiscate his keys, shoelaces and well, pretty much everything.

You read that right. A six hour suicide watch in a padded room because of a sarcastic remark made under his breath.

The punchline: Bloke came prepared to wait, in or out of a padded cell, for his turn on the tissue paper. So he’d brought something to read and, in spite of doctor’s overreaction, the powers that be let him hang onto his book while they assessed his mental condition. The book? Yeah… The Contortionist’s Handbook.

My buddy is detained in the psych wing of a hospital for a suicide watch while reading a book about a guy detained in the psych wing of a hospital for a suicide watch.

I can’t make this stuff up.


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