I just came back from picking up a friend of mine and his girlfriend at the Mercy Hospital Emergency Room. He has a severe hernia and had been there since 11 a.m.; it was 6:30 p.m. when they climbed into my car.
"You'll never guess who was in the emergency room when I was," he said.
"Morgan?" I said, naming a friend who is missing in action.
"Way higher than that," he said.
"OK, who?" I said.
"Really? What was he doing there?"
"Some minor accident on his movie set. Didn't really seem hurt. He had his own doctor with him. The nurses were all giggling."
"Yeah, one nurse said, "I'm all set, I touched his feet!' I don't like feet though, so that didn't do anything for me," my friend's girlfriend said.
"And how long was he actually in the emergency room?"
"He was in and out in about an hour and a half."
"Mel Gibson at Mercy," I pondered. "Oh, wait, I get it-- Mel Gibson's a Catholic."
"Yeah, and I'd gone outside to smoke a cigarette while I was waiting, and he came out, surrounded by five people, and got in the passenger seat of his stretch SUV. He looked right at me," my friend said.
"You know he's an anti-Semite"-- my friend looks at me blankly-- "someone prejudiced against Jews."
"Really?" my friend said, a bit crestfallen
"Yeah, when he was stopped for drunk driving a few years ago, he said the Jews were responsible for all the wars in the world. Called a female cop sugar-tits, too."
"Well, I certainly pick the exciting times to come to Mercy. The last time I was here, people were standing in the parking lot, looking at that window that was supposed to look like the Virgin Mary."
"Mel Gibson...the Virgin Mary....hmm."
"Man, I'm tired," my friend said. "Thanks for dropping me home."
"No problem," I said.