In which I am a royal pain

Something that happened over the weekend:
I was at a party, talking with a friend of a friend of a friend, trying to avoid the playlist from hell. So we were on the porch of the house, one of those stately victorians which college students were living in, but which they had not yet totally ruined. Across the porch a couple demi-hipsters were leaning against the railing, smoking. Then suddenly, there was a thud. Beardy hipster was no longer visible. Physics told me that he must have done a backflip over the low railing. Not good.

I kicked into "I have no medical training, but I have many uncles who are doctors, and I've watched six episodes of House" mode.
"do you have I flashlight?" I asked his friend.
"yeah" he said, handing me a swiss army knife. I did what's known in the medical community as 'futzing', because damned if I knew how a knife was also a flashlight.
"press the side" the friend said. The light came on. Of course. I did the little 'follow the finger' game, which I've seen eye doctors do, and which must also have some valid diagnostic value. Beardyman's eyes moved, so that was good. He didn't have... eye paralysis.

I decided to do mental testing, because I had more of a clue how to do that. "do you know what day it is?" I asked my 'patient'.
"Hang on, it's maybe the 12th. Valentines is the fourteenth". I wasn't 100% sure which day it was either, but I was doing the same mental calculations. Either he was fine, or I was doing about as well as a guy who'd just hit his head falling from a porch. I took the option that was less insulting to me.
"do you know what day of the week it is?" I asked. I knew the answer to that one. So did he. I "discharged" him from my care.

And that's why smoking is hazardous to your health: Because you might wind up with me as your doctor when you fall off a porch.