A Tragedy and Farce in One Act.
(Curtain rises to reveal a triage desk in a busy Toronto-area Emergency Department.)
Boyfriend: (suavely) You’ll take my health card? I mean, she’s my fiancée.
Triage Nurse: (head down, writing) No. I need her health card.
Boyfriend: (the same) And then she drank, like, eight shooters in a row. . .
Very Drunk Hysterical Woman: (to Boyfriend) You’re a [expletive] [expletive] sucker. And I hate you.
Boyfriend: And when I told her she was drinking too much, she got mad and put her hand through the glass.
Very Drunk Hysterical Woman: (to Boyfriend, screaming) You [expletive] [expletive] sucker. (At top of her lungs) I hate you!
Boyfriend: (unperturbed) She loves me. We’re getting married in May.
Triage Nurse: (still writing) Right.
Boyfriend: And yeah, can we get a pregnancy test too?