Picture, if you will, the Emergency Department of Auckland Hospital and the line of people waiting to have their turn at the reception window to be triaged.
Picture, let’s say, one person with a gashed hand bleeding into a wadded towel, another with their leg broken, another reeling from the combination of pills they’ve taken, and a man in a suit with a migraine.
Picture, now, the gashed, broken-legged and reeling patients standing quietly. And, waiting not so quietly, last in line, the man in the suit with the headache. Behold him sighing loudly, theatrically checking his watch, making loud phone calls to his wife and the office to report on the hopeless state of things at the hopeless hospital.
