Medical Center.
"No way, that's nuts, right?"
Liz stared, jaw dropped. "They're coming in before they've even graduated?"
"What'd you expect?" Adam chuckled. "Nurses who've already graduated and started working are almost all in the union. When the union calls a strike, no member's gonna drag their feet. And the ones with jobs? They're too busy to help out anyway. Only the non-union stragglers or nursing students who haven't graduated have the time to pitch in."
"This is a total mess," Christina groaned. "Those students—can they even understand our orders?"
"Up to you if you trust 'em," Adam teased, glancing at her. "What, you think carrying a bedpan takes a PhD or something?" 😏
"…" Christina froze, speechless.
Sure, nurses can't compare to doctors who grind through four years of school plus more, but their skills still come from real training. It's not a job just anyone can do—people could die!
"Damn it!" Liz rubbed her temples. "So we're stuck babysitting temp nurses now?"
"Pretty much," Adam sighed. "And even then, there aren't enough of them. A lot of stuff's gonna fall on us. Remember when Dr. Bailey made you do rectal exams as punishment and you thought she was torturing you? Well, today's gonna be dirtier and more exhausting than that. Here, take these."
"Masks?" Liz grabbed one.
"Better safe than sorry," Adam grinned. "Blocks sprays and smells—trust me, you'll thank me later. Oh, where's George?"
"He's still outside, hovering by the picket line, too scared to cross," Christina snorted. "Wimp!"
"Hey, don't rag on George like that," Liz shot back, defending her bestie. "His dad's a truck driver, and his mom's a teacher. If someone snapped a pic of him crossing the line, they'd be so pissed they'd pee on his grave after he's gone."
"Pfft!" Adam nearly choked laughing.
In the U.S., truck drivers and teachers have massive unions—serious heavyweights. The teachers' union? They've got enough clout to stare down presidents and sway elections. Truck drivers aren't far behind either. That job's one of the six most dangerous gigs in the country—right up there with firefighters and cops—so their union's tight as hell.
Like in Fast and Furious, when Vin Diesel's crew kept jacking fuel from truckers? They pissed off the union, and next thing you know, every driver's locked and loaded. When Diesel tried again, they opened fire—nearly blew his whole squad away.
Oh, and George? Irish kid. The Irish trucker union? Straight-up mafia vibes. No wonder his dad's all-in on that loyalty!
"He's overthinking it," Adam laughed. "What, his parents are gonna outlive him and curse his tombstone? That's just tempting fate!"
"Exactly!" Liz nodded. She'd stick up for her buddy, but that didn't mean she agreed with his antics. "I got pelted coming in, and he's still out there acting like—oh, crap!"
Right then, George strolled in, holding a sign that read, "I'm a Nurse and I'm Proud!"
"What the hell, George?!" Liz yelled at him.
"My mom held the picket line for 48 days during the 1990 teachers' strike!" George marched over, half-explaining to them, half-psyching himself up. "I'm a union guy!"
"Then why are you inside?" Adam asked, curious. "If you're backing the nurses' protest, you're supposed to stay out there, not mess with hospital ops."
"My soul's not really here," George mumbled, covering his ears like that made it okay. "Olivia and the others have patients who need special care. They hate leaving them hanging, even if they have to strike."
"Olivia! I knew it—she put you up to this!" Liz exploded. "She threw a donut at me and yelled at me to carry my own bedpan. George, how can you be pals with someone who treats me like that?!"
"You called her out too—told her to enjoy her 'sweet poison,'" George countered, trying to calm her. "And she didn't push me into this. I wanted to."
"You're not scared of getting fired?" Adam warned. "You're the only doctor sticking your neck out—and an intern at that. Watch out, they might make an example of you."
George's face twitched. Yeah, he was scared.
"Eva Jenkins in Pediatric Room 4114 needs her meds changed. She freaks out easy, but singing the alphabet song or a lullaby calms her down. O'Brien in 2412—if you don't check on her every hour, she panics. And the patient in 2923—"
"Stop!" Adam cut him off. "What are you doing?"
"I can't stay. These are patients the nurses have to specially look after—I'm handing them off to you guys…" George rushed out. "Wait, where are you going?"
"Catch you later!"
"Got stuff to do!"
Adam and Christina bolted, tossing out excuses.
No way in hell were they taking on that list—boring, time-sucking grunt work? Nope! 😅
"Liz?" George turned to his last hope with a sheepish grin. "You're my real friend, right? Can you help with these patients?"
"You want me to help?" Liz smirked.
"Yes!" George nodded eagerly, glancing around nervously for the surgical chief.
"Dream on!" Liz snapped. "I told you to come in with me, but no—you teamed up with Olivia. Now you want me to finish her jobs? Go to hell!"
Adam passed a room.
"Langley, Langley, is that you?"
An old woman with gray hair lay in bed, staring at the open door, calling out weakly.
"You okay, ma'am?" Adam glanced down the empty, nurse-less hall and stepped inside.
"Langley, Langley…" Her breathing sped up, repeating the name.
Something was off. Adam reached for her chart—nothing. The strike had screwed up handoffs; no one knew this dying woman was even here.
"OMG! Is she dying?!"
A super-young temp nurse burst in, saw the scene, and froze in panic.
"Get me a 7.5 tube—I need to intubate her!" Adam barked. The kid just stood there, dazed. Muttering a curse, he dashed out, grabbed the gear himself, and raced back to intubate the old woman who'd stopped breathing.
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