ED Tee

Deep in the ER, beyond the broken wheelchairs and sticky floors, lurks a monster the nurses fear more than death itself: the Frequent-Flyer. No matter how many times they discharge it, this beast always slithers back in, clutching a Mountain Dew in one hand and a chart thicker than the Bible in the other. Its voice is a banshee wail: “My pain is a ten out of ten… and I need Dilaudid!” This fiend is immortal. It feeds on attention, consumes snacks from the supply cart, and multiplies in triage when the waiting room is already at capacity. Administrators pretend it’s “patient satisfaction,” but the nurses know better — it’s a demon bound to the hospital forever. They’ve tried everything: holy water (aka chlorhexidine wipes), silver bullets (Toradol), even exorcism by psych consult. Nothing works. But the ER nurses have their own weapons. Sarcasm sharper than scalpels. A discharge packet wielded like a holy scroll and a mother fucking bus voucher. “Your ride is here.” Every shift, they ba