"What is your relationship?" the receptionist asked, all typing fingers and harried eyes.
"He's a close family friend," she replied, having decided she couldn't claim to be a relative without proof. "He's like a father to me."
"Hm," the hospital worker replied, overworked eyes softening slightly. "How old are you?"
"Nineteen," she replied truthfully.
"Okay, hon. Let me see your driver's license and I'll see what I can do. I can't promise access to ICU, but—"
"I understand," she said, and whisked her license out of the purse she had from home. "Thank you for trying." She waited for a minute, trying not to fidget as the receptionist frowned and typed what sounded like a small novel into the computer.
"Look, hon," the worker said in a no-nonsense voice. "I can't let you in with a fake ID. An officer should be here in a minute or two. You can straighten things up with him or her, and then we'll see about seeing your friend. I promise we'll take the best possible care of him."
"I—I need to use the restroom."
"Sweetie, we can help. Running away isn't the answer."
Yeah, but she could try.
Hospitals are public places, but it's harder when you're trying to see someone in surgery. Or maybe that's a different-universe thing. Certainly a funny driver's license is likely to throw up some red flags, especially when the driver isn't in the system. (Insert rant about certain American states changing their licenses' formats here.)
~7.24.15