If You See Me On
A Gurney, Call My Attorney
by Roz Warren
and Liz Lowe
I was
protesting on Wall Street when a crazed banker
grabbed my “Corporations are Gonifs“
sign and slammed it down on my head, triggering
a fracas which quickly spun out of control. As I
lay bleeding on the pavement, I told the EMS crew
preparing to load me into an ambulance to take me
to the nearest Democrat Hospital. The last thing
I heard before I passed out was my banker
assailant, bleeding on the sidewalk beside me,
instructing his EMS team that for an elite
professional like himself. only a Republican
Hospital would do.
We must have
gotten swapped, because when I came to, I was
lying on a gurney in a Republican Hospital!
The intake
physician, whose bright white teeth eliminated
the need for conventional lighting, began firing
questions at me. “Do you admit that the
accident was entirely your fault?” “How
much money have you contributed to our
party‘s gubernatorial candidate?”
“Would you sign this petition asserting that
insurance companies are more important than the
Constitution?”
My head was
spinning. As I tried to focus, my eyes went to
the huge Bush/Cheney campaign button pinned to
his lab coat.
“I wear
this for sentimental reasons,” he said.
“You’re
kidding me.“
He sighed.
“The truth is that I just can’t bear to
take it off.”
When he asked
about my insurance coverage. I said I didn’t
have my card with me. “I’ll be glad to
check that nasty bump on your head,“ he
responded. “the moment your insurance
information is in our computer.”
I phoned a
friend and asked her to bring my insurance card
to the hospital. Then I passed out again.
I awoke in a
hospital room. The television on the wall was
blaring Fox news.
A nurse came
in.
“Could
you please change the channel?” I asked.
“No,”
she said cheerfully. “This hospital
only gets one channel. But we‘ll turn the
sound down the minute your dining companion
arrives.”
Another nurse
wheeled a table into the room. It was covered
with an exquisite linen tablecloth and had two
place settings, a covered meal at each. A man
wearing an expensive suit came in. Beaming, he
shook my hand. “Hello -- I’m sure
you recognize me. I’m your party’s
gubernatorial candidate. While we dine,
let’s discuss the issues, shall we?
I’ll uncover your meal and you can see what
you’re getting for your $1,000 political
donation.”
“This is
a fund raiser?” I spluttered. “In a
hospital? I haven’t even been treated yet
and you’re trying to get money out of me?
“What do
you mean -- trying?” He grinned.
“It’s a done deal. We charged your
credit card the moment we got hold of your wallet.”
“That’s
unfair!”
“Unfair?“
He eyed me suspiciously. “We don’t care
about fairness. We’re Republicans.”
“But
I’m a Democrat!”
He backed away.
“Nurse!” he shouted. “This patient
needs immediate attention! She’s ranting!”
A nurse
skidded into the room and thrust a pill at me.
“Swallow this,” she demanded, handing
me a glass of water.
“Will it
cure me?”
“No,
it’s just a sedative. It will quiet you down
so you won’t give us any more trouble.”
“No,
thanks.”
She pulled a
small pink gun from a pocket of her uniform and
leveled it at me.
“Shut up
and take your meds,” she growled.
“Are you
nuts? You’re a nurse! You’re not
supposed to be packing heat.”
“Of
course I am! This is a Republican hospital.
Everyone here is armed.”
“Can you
get away with that?”
“In a
Republican hospital? We’re completely
unregulated! We can get away with anything.”
“I want
to speak to my attorney,“ I said, before I
swallowed the pill and passed out again. When I
awoke, I was being wheeled into the operating
room. My surgeon met me at the doorway.
“Before I
can operate,“ he said, “I need you to
sign this pledge confirming that you won’t
raise taxes.
“But
I’m just an ordinary citizen! I’m not a
politician.“
“Then
refraining from raising taxes will be very easy
for you.”
“I
don’t want to sign.“
He grinned.
“No signature, no surgery.”
As I reached
for the pen, I passed out again.
I woke up on
the sofa in my living room. I’d fallen
asleep watching the news and dreamed the whole
thing. Relieved, I wrote a large check to the
local Democratic candidate, shut off the news,
threw my television out the window, and climbed
into bed. That’s when I noticed my
Republican Hospital wristband.
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