It was a Friday night, and the full moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the nursing home. Somehow, all the medications had mysteriously vanished. Maybe someone hid them for a laugh. Maybe they just sprouted wings and flew away. But by Saturday morning, it was clear something was off.

 

First up was old Mr. Jenkins, who typically struggled to remember his own name. He thought he was Winston Churchill. Picture him, marching down the hall, barking orders at the staff like he was leading the charge during World War II, waving a soup ladle like it was a cigar. “Onward, my Allies!” he shouted, sending nurses scurrying in a mix of confusion and suppressed laughter.

 

Then there was sweet Mrs. Bailey, the quietest resident you could ever meet. Suddenly, she’d transformed into Beyoncé. She took over the rec room, belting out “Single Ladies” with a swagger that would make the real Queen Bey proud. The staff tried to coax her back to reality, but who wants to mess with a 90-year-old diva during a full moon? This was her stage now, and everyone else was just background dancers.

 

As Saturday night rolled around, the place felt more like a circus than a nursing home. The lights flickered like they were auditioning for a horror movie, the TV blared an endless rerun of Matlock, and three residents were locked in a heated poker game using Monopoly money. Accusations of cheating flew across the table like confetti. And when Nurse Linda found Mr. Thompson hoarding cookies in the pantry, it was clear he was preparing for the apocalypse—zombie or not.

 

By Sunday, the lines blurred. Who was a patient and who was a nurse? Frank, the night-shift guy, had joined in on the fun, howling at the moon like a wolf. Was he kidding or just caught up in the moment? It was hard to tell.

 

When Monday rolled around, the missing meds were found, hidden in plain sight, of course. As we gathered for our morning meeting, we all agreed on one thing: for the next full moon, we’d stock up on everything—extra meds, extra coffee, and maybe a straightjacket or two for good measure. After all, you never know what the moon might bring.