Four AM in the triage window:
Young dude: I need to be seen by a doctor.
Me: Okay, have a seat here while I get some vitals on you. What brings you in to us tonight?
Young dude: I can't tell you.
Let me interject for a moment here. If ever a dude checks into the ER and says he can't tell you what the reason is, scientific polls have determined that 100% of the time it is because his man bits are a)dripping things it shouldn't be, b)swollen to sizes they shouldn't be, or c)a combination of both.
Now let's continue, shall we?
Me: That's fine. You can hang out in the waiting room until you're ready to tell me. Trust me buddy, there's no complaint you can think of that I haven't already heard and I hear a lot, so it doesn't really phase me. I'm here to help you, not judge you for whatever is going on.
Young dude: Okay. I'm here because...[voice gets real quiet]...my junk is, like, dripping out this nasty stuff and it burns.
Me: blah blah boring questions about symptom duration, unprotected sex, previous treatments.
Me: Alright man. Have a seat back in the waiting room and I'll call a tech up here to get you into fast track in a couple of minutes.
Young dude: Thanks, lady. Also, I do have a question. Would you ever go out with a patient? I mean, with me?
Seriously? If you're gonna ask me out, at least ask me out before you tell me your peen is malfunctioning. Because, EW. And also, HELL NO.