At Death’s (Garage) Door

, , , | Right | June 6, 2017

(I am the idiot here. I am currently working in the intensive care unit of the hospital, so we often have the sad duty of taking care of patients until death. When death happens, we call professionals who handle approaching family to ask about donating organs. I’m responsible for this tonight. We’re pretty informal with each other’s departments.)

Me: “Hey, this is [My Name] from [Hospital]. An 88-year-old man died a few minutes ago. Ready for his info?”

Employee: “You… what?! What happened?”

Me: “Uh, it was his time? He was quite old.”

Employee: “Wait, why are you calling?”

Me: “This isn’t the organ procurement department… is it?”

Employee: “They have that? Jesus, no. This is the help line for [Garage Door Company]. I thought one of our doors had crushed someone!”

Me: *checking what I’d dialed* “Oh, shoot, I switched the last two digits around when I dialed. Sorry for the heart attack I just gave you!”

(Seriously, I’m sorry. And the man’s family did decide to donate! )

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