Molested | On Train

The ED crew exchanges a look. A look that says: We are off the clock. We have not slept. We are wearing compression socks with crocs.

This is the premier ED train game. It requires two or more exhausted clinicians. “Would you rather deal with a weekend drunk who claims he’s the King of England, or a hypochondriac who has Googled ‘exploding head syndrome’?” “The King. At least he stays still for the IV.” The game escalates until someone mentions "rectal foreign body removal," at which point everyone groans and the game ends.

Twenty minutes later, they return to their seats. The ambulance is waiting at the next station. The adrenaline wears off, leaving only exhaustion.

On an ED commuter train, there is an unspoken rule: Do not wake the sleeping nurse. You will see them upright, coffee cup balanced on a knee, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. They are not actually asleep. They are triage-napping —a state where the body rests, but the ears remain tuned for the specific pitch of a cardiac alarm or a violent outburst. If the train conductor makes an announcement that sounds even remotely like a code blue, they will wake up running. Entertainment: Gallows Humor at 70 MPH Because ED professionals deal with the absolute worst of humanity’s physical plant, their entertainment is… specific. You will never hear an ED crew listen to soft jazz or watch romantic comedies on their phones. Instead, the train carriage becomes a live studio for dark comedy.

The reply comes instantly: “Did you chart it?” When the train finally pulls into the home station at 8:15 PM, the ED crew gathers their bags. They look nothing like the heroes on primetime medical dramas. Their hair is flat. Their eyes are heavy. Their conversations are grotesque.