“Why is this sharps box labelled ‘penis’?” The consultant didn’t look amused. He strode through the ward, ‘penis’ box in hand.
I hid my smile in a cough.
“It’s supposed to say ‘pens’,” the secretary said, sighing.
“You are professionals, adults. This is not acceptable.”
Label torn, the repurposed yellow box continued its duty as a makeshift pen holder until an anarchist stuck a large label on it proclaiming ‘pens’. An hour later the ‘penis’ returned.
Again the consultant strutted and tutted, but this time I laughed aloud; I’d seen him in his office, giggling as he inserted that little ‘i’.