You're Welcome, Bob

A few months ago, I had the dubious pleasure of spending a week in the hospital. (I'm fine, thank you for asking.) I found it very strange how, despite years of pushing patient privacy, when you're in a double room, you get to know so much about your roomie. Between the intentional conversations you have with that person and the unavoidable eavesdropping that occurs, there are no secrets. There is a curtain separating the two beds, but it isn't a curtain of silence. Not by any stretch of the imagination. And no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, you hear everything. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. Hospital personnel aren't all that quiet either, making sure you and the seventeen nearest people hear whatever they have to say. This is a serious problem for me. I have an opinion on just about everything. You may have started picking up on that. Now I was hearing all sorts of things I had answers to and comments about, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to butt in where I wasn't invited. The struggle was intense, but I was successful. Until one evening. Several family members had come to see my roommate. My visitors were gone and I was reading, but I immediately tuned in when one of them said. "I'm Darryl. This is my brother Darryl. And my other brother Darryl. Remember that show? Something about a hotel. Who was that guy?" Being a great fan of the comedian, I couldn't hold back. I called out, "Bob Newhart." There was some laughter and someone said, "Thank you!" "You're welcome." And ... You're welcome, Bob.