You’ve been here since 23:00 last night. The event opens at 10:00. You’ve been rather excited, and somewhere along the line you forgot that you need to eat, drink, sleep, you know, the important things.
So it’s 11:00, the event’s just starting, and you’ve probably not eaten for 17 hours. In that time you tell me that you’ve had a bottle of water to drink, perhaps two. In 17 hours, when you haven’t slept, or had any real shelter.
Now you’re in my post, lying on my bed, complaining that you’re feeling faint. I’m not particularly worried. You look a little pale, but aren’t showing worrying symptoms of hypoglycemia. I can’t do a BM (an invasive technique, so out of my repertoire), but I’d guess your blood sugar isn’t too low. Just enough to make you feel a little grotty.
Except you won’t listen to me. Because you want to go see the show, and you don’t want to hear ‘go take a break, grab something to eat, and then see how you feel’.
I scowl, I advise, I try to persuade, but I get nowhere. You want to go back in to the crowd.
I can’t really stop you. You seem to understand what’s going on, and what’s going to happen, so I have no grounds to over-rule you.
As I leave, I say “See you in a couple of hours.” You look at me. “When you faint, and get brought back here. Though you won’t be here for long. You’ll be going to hospital soon after. End of your day here.” You stand in the door, looking at me. “Go get something to eat.” You pause a second more, and then walk out.
I didn’t bump in to you again. I wonder if you listened.