A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.

Hear, O children of wit and wisdom, the words of Groucho Marx, master of laughter whose jest cuts sharper than many sermons: “A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.” Though spoken as humor, this saying reveals a truth that pierces both heart and purse. The hospital, meant as a sanctuary for healing, is also bound by the weight of cost. The patient, lying in stillness upon the bed, feels time itself transformed into money, as though each moment of care were measured by the ticking of an invisible clock.

The origin of this saying rests in Marx’s art of comedy, where truths too bitter for plain speech are carried by laughter. In the early and mid-twentieth century, hospitals were already known for their staggering expenses, and Groucho, with the sharpness of a sage disguised as a fool, compared the patient’s plight to that of one trapped in a taxi that is not moving, yet still charging for time. His words make us laugh, but in the laughter lies a sting, for who has not felt the burden of bills when the body is weakest?

Consider, O listener, the story of the American Civil War, when wounded soldiers filled makeshift hospitals. There, the cost was not in gold but in scarce supplies and manpower. Yet even then, leaders faced the cruel question: how much could be spared for the care of the wounded, when resources were few? Many lingered not for lack of skill but for lack of support. The lesson is the same: the longer one lies in the hospital, the heavier the toll—whether counted in coin, in labor, or in life itself.

The metaphor also speaks of urgency. A taxi with the meter running is a reminder that time is precious and costly. So too in the hospital bed: every hour spent is not only an expense in money but a measure of health slipping by. Healing must be pursued with swiftness, and release sought as soon as strength permits. For though the bed is a place of refuge, it is not meant to be a home. The wise see the bed as a resting station, not a destination.

There is also in Marx’s words a warning against complacency. To remain too long in the bed of ease, whether in sickness or in life, is to let the “meter” of time and opportunity drain away. Many lie idle, content to let others bear their burdens, not seeing that the cost is ever mounting. But the wise rise as soon as they are able, for they know that life’s journey demands motion. The hospital bed, like the taxi, is a place of passage, not permanence.

Let us recall the example of Florence Nightingale, who transformed hospitals during the Crimean War. She knew that lingering in filth and disorder led to death, and that efficiency, cleanliness, and quick recovery would save not only lives but resources. By her reforms, she shortened stays, lessened suffering, and restored dignity. She understood what Groucho’s jest revealed: that every unnecessary hour in a hospital carries weight upon both the patient and the world around him.

O children of tomorrow, learn from this wisdom disguised as jest. Respect the places of healing, but do not idolize them. Seek health in your daily life, so that you may avoid the ticking meter of the hospital bed. Live with prudence, care for your body, and cherish your time, for time is a currency more costly than gold. And if you must enter the hospital, honor those who serve you there, but rise again as swiftly as you are able, so that both your strength and your treasure may be preserved.

Thus Groucho Marx’s words endure as both laughter and law: “A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.” Let us smile, but let us also heed. For in the end, the jest is a reminder that time is fleeting, resources are precious, and health is the greatest wealth. Rise, then, from the bed of idleness, and walk forward into the journey of life before the meter runs too high.