Bond. . . James Bond

*With a dude complaining of chest pain (in English accent) who is definitely schizophrenic and possibly manic*

This was not my patient

NurseHubba: Sir, your name is not James Bond.  Please tell me your real name.

Not James Bond: Bond. . . James Bond.

NurseHubba: Sir, stop that.  Remember that conversation with the cops you had just now?  This is real life.  What's your name?

Not James Bond: Eric Jones (pt gave real name, but obviously, this isn't it)

NurseHubba: Thank you.  Mr. Jones, what brings you in today?

Not James Bond: I'm 91 years old and I'm having chest pains.

*Dammit.  I need to get him back on track!*

NurseHubba: Ok, you're having chest pains.  But you are not 91 years old.

Not James Bond: No. . . no, I'm not.

Finally got him triaged, settled in, and evaluated.  Not sure if he ever really was having chest pains, but he was in his 50s. . . not 90s.  Ended up discharged by the awesome Dr. Discharge.  Also, we had to continuously corral him back into his room.  Every time we had to go help another patient and we'd disappear from his view, he'd start yelling, "NurseHubba!  NurseHubba!  I can't see you, NurseHubba!"

It took about a 20 minute stand off with police in the lobby to get this guy calmed down enough to come to the back.  The guy originally came in with an empty bottle of wine and a hand held work light that he was waving at people like a metal detector wand.  Also, he tried to pull the fire alarm and steal an O2 tank and a fire extinguisher.

Did I mention that the only thing he was wearing was a knee length skirt?

I love my job.  Never know what the hell is gonna walk through that door. . .