You really can’t pull one over on a nurse—especially one who knows how to hold a grudge and has access to medical-grade tape.
The motorcycle patrolman learned that lesson the hard way.
It began innocently enough. He was rushed to the hospital late one night with a raging case of appendicitis. Sirens, flashing lights, concerned doctors—the whole emergency-room drama. Surgery went smoothly. The appendix was removed, and the medical team assured him everything had gone perfectly. Textbook procedure. No complications. Recovery should be quick.
But the next morning, something felt… off.
It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t nausea. It was a strange, persistent sensation across his chest, like something was tugging every time he shifted in bed. A faint pulling, almost as if someone were playing with his chest hair.
At first, he dismissed it—post-surgery weirdness, he figured. Hospitals are full of strange sensations. But as the hours passed, it didn’t stop. Every breath, every movement, felt like his chest hairs were being gently but relentlessly yanked.
His mind started racing.
Had the doctors done another procedure without telling him? Some experimental device? Hidden stitches? Something gone wrong internally? He imagined worst-case scenarios.
Finally, curiosity and anxiety won.
With some effort, he pulled down his hospital gown just enough to see the source.
He froze.
Three wide strips of industrial-strength adhesive tape were firmly stuck across his very hairy chest. And written in bold black marker were the words:
“GET WELL QUICK… FROM THE NURSE YOU GAVE A TICKET TO LAST WEEK.”
The realization hit harder than any anesthesia.
A week earlier, he had pulled over a speeding car near the hospital. The driver—a nurse finishing a brutal shift—had begged for leniency. He didn’t budge. Ticket written. No mercy.
Nurses, it turns out, have long memories. And access.
The laughter echoing from the nurses’ station when he rang the call button confirmed it. Justice had been served—medical style.
But if that story proves you should never underestimate a nurse, the next one proves you should never underestimate an old man—especially a bored one.
In a quiet rural town, a retired farmer found himself with too much free time. After decades of waking before dawn, tending the land, and working until his bones ached, retirement felt less like freedom and more like slow torture.
So he opened a medical clinic.
No medical degree. No modern equipment. Just a sign on the door:
“GET TREATED FOR $500 — IF NOT CURED, GET $1,000 BACK.”
The sign alone caused a stir. Locals whispered. Doctors scoffed. One young physician, Dr. Young, was convinced the old man was a scammer.
Dr. Young saw an opportunity. Confident in his medical training and certain he’d walk away $1,000 richer, he visited the clinic.
“I’ve lost my sense of taste,” he announced. “Nothing tastes like anything anymore.”
The old man didn’t flinch.
“Nurse,” he said calmly, “medicine from box twenty-two. Three drops in the patient’s mouth.”
Dr. Young obeyed—and immediately recoiled.
“AAAGH! That’s gasoline!”
The old man smiled. “Congratulations. You’ve got your taste back. That’ll be five hundred dollars.”
Dr. Young, furious but determined, returned a few days later.
“This time,” he said, “I’ve lost my memory. I can’t remember anything.”
The old man nodded.
“Nurse, box twenty-two. Three drops.”
Dr. Young jumped back. “Oh no you don’t! That’s gasoline!”
“Congratulations! Your memory is back. Five hundred dollars,” the old man said.
Now down a thousand dollars, Dr. Young was humiliated—but he wasn’t finished.
A few days later, he tried again.
“My eyesight is failing,” he said dramatically. “I can barely see.”
The old man frowned. “Hmm. That’s unfortunate. I don’t have medicine for that.” He handed over cash.
“One thousand dollars back,” he said.
Dr. Young counted it—and realized it was only five hundred.
“This is only five hundred dollars!”
The old man leaned back, grinning. “Congratulations! Your vision is back. That’ll be five hundred.”
The nurse nearly choked with laughter.
Sometimes wisdom doesn’t come from textbooks, and revenge doesn’t come from shouting. Sometimes it comes from patience, timing, and knowing exactly when to smile.
Between the nurse with the marker and the old farmer with the fake clinic, one truth stands out: experience beats arrogance every time. Authority, education, and confidence don’t matter—underestimate the wrong person, and you’ll pay.
Usually in cash. Sometimes with tape. And always with your pride.