A few days ago, my boss, Sheila, called me into her office.
SHEILA: You were missing Thursday and Friday. Where were you?
ME: I had an emergency.
SHEILA: And you didn't feel like you had to call us to let us know?
ME: It was an emergency. How was I supposed to call you? It was urgent.
SHEILA: Most people would have called, Eric.
ME: Well, I guess most people don't take emergencies seriously. If they did, we wouldn't have all these world disasters like hurricanes and foggy marshes and stuff.
SHEILA: This had nothing to do with the last Harry Potter book coming out, did it?
I looked down at the floor then, blushing.
ME: This is a privacy issue.
I looked back up, avoiding Sheila's gaze.
ME: It's like if I had a private telephone number. I'd keep it private because I wouldn't people like you calling me.
SHEILA: Well, then, I'll need a doctor's note.
ME: That was the emergency. My doctor died. Who's going to write the note now? You tell me.
SHEILA: How close were you to your doctor?
ME: Not so much. I just wanted to hear the will being read. I followed his family all over, for two days, but they never read a thing. I'm owed my inheritance.
SHEILA: For what? You were just his patient.
ME: I'm the patient who asked the most questions. And I'd call him before every meal to tell him what I was about to eat and to ask if it was okay for me to eat it. That man owes me.
SHEILA: You can get back to your desk now.
ME: Sheila, my doctor didn't really die.
SHEILA: I know.
ME: But after talking to you, I'm hiring a lawyer and I'm suing my doctor for everything he's got.