The Lost Key

Withstanding the usual spectrum of complaints, selective deafness, and convenient delusions, I helped a couple of patients change back out of their pyjamas and assured them that they would be back in bed by 7.00p.m., if that’s what they wanted. I then went to see how my colleague was getting on and found him kneeling behind a bed.
“Oh, I’m awfully sorry” I said facetiously “It must be terribly frustrating living alone. I quite understand.”
“Bog off” he replied graciously. “I’ve just found a bunch of house keys and a dried up orange under this bed.”
“No sign of your lunch box then?” I laughed.
We had quite a few ‘magpies’ on the unit, and it wasn’t unusual to find hoards of newspapers, pens, food, and other peoples clothes tucked away in bizarre places. Car keys and house keys did occasionally ‘relocate’ themselves around the premises, and once or twice staff had needed to use the services of locksmiths and breakdown recovery organisations, only to discover the missing keys somewhere on the unit the following day. I stopped laughing, though, when I discovered that the keys under the bed were mine.


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