I should have said "None"

When I was in college in Wisconsin back in ’65, it happened that right after my birthday at the beginning of November, I started getting sick. At first I thought maybe it was just too much birthday cake or something, but in a few days it developed into a serious stomach ache and then into abdominal pain.

Late one evening my roommate came into our dorm room to find me doubled over and raised the alarm. Eventually our house mother and all the resident assistants were summoned, and it was decided I needed to go to a hospital. Luckily, St. Michael’s was right across the street.

At least four people escorted me over to the hospital where I was deposited into a wheel chair and pushed into the emergency room. A clerk hurriedly quizzed me for personal information -- name, address, birth date, religion, next of kin, insurance, allergies, all that stuff. Then I was whisked away to where nurses took blood and inserted an IV and a doctor poked and prodded.

Everyone thought it was appendicitis, but no test or procedure they tried would confirm it. They decided to wait and see but were afraid to send me back to the dorm, so I was admitted.

The next morning a distinguished-looking gentleman wearing a conservative suit and tie walked into my room and stood at the foot of the bed. He looked as if he wanted me to say something, but I didn't know what, so I just looked back at him.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Should I?”

“Well, you would if you’d been to church.”

Oops. The local Methodist minister visiting all the patients who listed "Methodist” on the admitting form.

He promised not to tell my mom.