Reason Number 501

The last few weeks we were working at Hood Hospital I together, ER BFF and I had a little game we would play when shitty stuff would happen (like, multiple times a day) where we would exchange a knowing look and just say "reason number __" with any random number between one and five hundred, as if we had a real numerical list of the reasons we were getting the hell out of there.
Anyway, fast forward to this weekend, I'm hanging out with a friend that still works there.  She started telling me a story about one of our authentic cray-cray drug seeker frequent flyers coming in the other day. This lady comes in so much and is so nuts that she has a hierarchy of doctors and nurses that she prefers to take care of her, all of whom she knows by name.  I've seen her do it too- she'll run down the list, asking if so-and-so is here tonight and what they're up to, pretending to make conversation, but yeahhh, no one's buying that angle, lady.
So as my friend is taking care of her, she's going through her usual routine, and none of her favorites are on that night.   After she's run down the list, she's all, "Well, how 'bout that one girl? Where is she?  You know, the little one? The young one, with dark hair." Coworker shrugs and mentions this describes several people.  "You know! She's small, and she's a white girl, but she's got a black girl's booty?" So my former coworker is all... "Uh.. Hood Nurse?", and crayzee frequent flyer lady is like "I think so, hold on" and then she digs in her suitcase and pulls out her journal.
Her journal which I guess contains detailed accounts of her numerous ER visits.  Which apparently included me.  AND MY BUTT. Dude.  That shit is scary, and I'm so glad I'm out of there.  Don't get me wrong, it's not like all the patients at my new job are all sunshine and kittens, but at least I'm not aware of any of them describing my ass in their diary.