I just learned that there used to be a bed where my desk is at work. In fact, the wall I'm against used to be lined with beds, filled with people who had problems that a urologist would be able to fix. Bladder problem? Come on over to my desk.
My cubicle-mate's doctor's father was supposedly killed in a concentration camp in WWII, but just recently they heard an interview with him on the radio--he escaped and had to flee to England. Everyone supposed he was dead, but now they're re-united. I just realized, why didn't the father try to contact them earlier? Maybe the family was all moved. Maybe they were scattered to the ends of the earth, each presuming the other dead, until the BBC brought them back together. I'd ask Ivan myself for the rest of the story, but he's on a lunch break, and this is news that just has to hit the streets right now.
That doctor's nurse was a nurse in this building, on this floor, a urologist's nurse, in fact, for over 35 years, which is how we learned about the fact that my bed used to be a desk. Or the other way around.