The methadonian who had been snoring away for four hours finally awoke and was discharged--after stating that he had been asleep through his methadone clinic appointment and therefore didn't have any methadone for the weekend, so could we please give him some. (It's more likely that he took all his methadone for the weekend in advance, and no way were we going to give him any more.)
I amusedly watched him get his things together, nodding off a few times as he did so. Then, without skipping a beat, he carefully folded his patient gown and put it in his bag. Then he added the nonrebreather mask that had been on his face. Then he folded the sheet from the bed and stuffed that in there too. He was about to add the ambu-bag from above the bed when I casually said, "Dude, whatcha doin'?"
He looked at me dopily for a minute. "Uh...I really like souvenirs," he said. "I'm an industrial artist and I like to use things I find in my artwork."
I smiled and said, "Nice try." I took all the stuff back. "Sorry! We don't give out doggie bags at our hospital."
(admittedly, I could have let him have the nonrebreather; those are one-use only. But I wasn't feeling very charitable.)