A man wakes up and finds himself lying alone in a hospital room. The beeping of machines, the sterile smell, and the faint hum of fluorescent lights tell him one thing: this definitely isn’t his bedroom. He has no recollection of how he got there, no memory of the night before—just a throbbing headache and a hospital gown that doesn’t close properly in the back.
While trying to recall whether he had been hit by a bus or just lost a wrestling match with a vending machine, the bedside phone rings.
He answers it cautiously. “Hello?”
A serious voice on the other end says, “Mr. Thompson, this is Dr. Grant. We have your test results. Are you sitting down?”
The man looks around at the hospital bed he’s very much lying in and replies, “I’d say I’m sufficiently horizontal.”
There’s a pause. Then the doctor says, “Well, I have some good news, and some confusing news.”
The man gulps. “Hit me with the good news.”
“The good news is—you’re alive.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” the man says. “What’s the confusing news?”
The doctor clears his throat. “We’re not sure why.”
“…Excuse me?”
“You see, you came in unconscious, wallet missing, wearing one shoe, and holding a frozen waffle.”
“A frozen what?”
“A waffle. Still frozen. Solid as a rock. MRI picked it up right away.”
The man rubs his forehead. “I don’t even own frozen waffles.”
“Exactly,” the doctor says. “And your test results are… remarkable. Your cholesterol is perfect. Your blood pressure? Ideal. In fact, you’re the healthiest patient we’ve seen all week.”
The man is now thoroughly baffled. “So why am I in the hospital?”
“Well, that’s the mystery. No bruises, no injuries, no signs of trauma—except for a mild concussion and a dent in your forehead in the exact shape of a waffle.”
“So… I was assaulted with breakfast food?”
“Possibly. Or you tripped and landed head-first into someone’s brunch. Hard to say. But here’s where it gets weirder—your emergency contact is listed as ‘The Waffle King.’”
The man blinks. “The what?”
“Yes, we assumed it was a mistake. Until five minutes ago, when a man wearing a golden syrup crown tried to visit you, carrying a tray of pancakes. Security stopped him. He shouted, ‘THE PROPHECY IS TRUE!’ and ran off.”
The man stares at the ceiling. “I think I need stronger meds.”
“Or fewer carbs,” the doctor replies.
After a long pause, the man sighs, “So what happens now?”
“We’d like to keep you for observation,” the doctor says. “Mostly to see if any more breakfast-related phenomena occur. Also, someone just dropped off a toaster with your name on it.”
“Was it plugged in?”
“No, but it had a note: ‘Next time, go with toast.’”
The man groans. “This is the weirdest Tuesday ever.”
The doctor chuckles. “Actually, it’s Friday.”
The man faints.
