Hospitals Suck. Just Stitch It Up Yourself.

Over the summer, I have done some of the most exciting things I could ever imagine. I sleep, I eat, and I text and call people. Oh yeah, it's a party. But for the fourth of July, I decided to make contact with the people whom I like to refer to as my best friends, and hang out with em.
TIME: Pre-fourth of July/and hour before my friends dogs birthday. Otherwise stated as July 3: Me, Sully, and Mrs. Sully are in the car, dropping off Mrs. Sully's friend at the train station. After a scare with a large spider crawling all over Sully, Mrs. Sully gets a call on her fancy new Voyager. Cod (Sully's brother): "Driss, I just want your opinion. I have a gash in my knee, it's not even that bad, but do you think I should get stitches?". He sounds totally cool, like he's asking "what's for dinner?". We get there and I'm like "HELLO!?!?? There is a giant hole in your knee!" So, we drive to the hospital, I meet Cod's friend Greg, and bottom line is, we land ourselves at the hospital for five hours. We get in there and Cod's like "yeah, um, I'm fine, but I ripped my knee open and I think I need stitches." Okay, when it's 11:00PM and everyone wants to leave, at least act like you're in some kind of pain to hurry it up a bit. But it's a little too late for this bright kid. So we sit and wait for two hours before they can take him in. Some lady gave us a dollar to go buy a Butterfinger out of the vending machine, though. She really liked us. She gave me a ton of rings that she was wearing just because I gave her my dinky little "Pay It Foward" bracelet. BALLIN! So Cod finally goes in. We have been waiting since 11. It is now 1AM. Happy friggen' Fourth of July! Greg, Cod and Mrs. Sully are in the operation room thingy, and Sully and I are running laps around waiting patinets. It was the hackin longest five hours EVER. Oh my god, I would have sewed it up myself if I had known we'd be there for a century.