The Stupid Friend

Stupid people just suck ass. It’s the most obvious thing in the world to me. Everybody has that “friend” who you keep around because every once in a while they’ll do something that makes them worthy of breathing, but for the most part is just a waste of valuable oxygen.

If you don’t have a stupid friend, you are the stupid friend. Sorry, but at least you’re hearing it from me, instead of someone who cares.

The StupidFriend is the one who likes to get in loud, usually drunken, arguments over inane topics. What the StupidFriend doesn’t realize is that even if they “win” the argument, they’re still the StupidFriend, and they’re just not that smart.

The StupidFriend is the one who when you were in Kindergarten was assigned to the “Red” reading group (Red for “Give up now, you’ll never amount to anything”) with the kid who smelled like curry and old salmon and always leaned a little to the left.

The StupidFriend is the one who would always eat anything during lunchtime, and thought they were gaining legitimate friends in their efforts. “So, if I eat the Cricket & Mystery Meat Stew with the turpentine chaser, I can come to your sleepover?”

The StupidFriend is the one who joined the football team in high school, because he heard “no one got cut”. No one bothered to tell him that being the 4^th string punter who only got half a uniform due to budget constraints would not only not get him a girlfriend, but would only open him up to ridicule in the locker room for his turd-stained tightie-whities.

The StupidFriend is the one who has at various times belonged to the:

Pickup driving, camo wearing, Skoal chewing, Faux Redneck Crowd

Roca Wear styling, 50 Cent playing, Basketball Jonesing, Wigger Crowd (Obviously not applicable to black StupidFriends)

Anime Watching, Sushi Eating, Asian Schoolgirl Porn Watching, Asian-Wannabe Crowd

Jock crowd (see above)

The StupidFriend is the one who could add their opinion to any academic debate, in any class, at any time, and immediately cause a cease in all exchange of thought, instead creating a vacuum of silence in which everyone present feels stupider just for having heard their comment.

The StupidFriend is the one who ran out to rush a frat during their first week of school, because they never did learn the lesson that eating the Cricket Stew was supposed to teach. “Hey! This is like a permanent sleepover!! AWESOME!”

In short, the StupidFriend is a permanent version of ThatGuy. We’re all ThatGuy every once in a while, but the StupidFriend has made a science of the art, and we hate him for it.

Help StupidFriends everywhere, and stop letting them live in ignorance. If you can’t tell them face to face, point them here, and I’ll do it for you.

If you’ve got additions to my (obviously incomplete) list of criteria for The StupidFriend, email them to me at EMS8002@gmail.com I’d like to see a few for the ladies too, since this one is obviously written from the male perspective.

Earn Money Sleeping

I'm working for 24 in Cary today. The day did not start out well.

I walked in the station at about 6:45, because even though we're not required to be there until 7, it absolutely sucks to take a call 15 minutes before you're supposed to go home. Today, it bit me though. I'd barely managed to set my stuff down before the tones went off. I grabbed a radio, and off we went.

The first call of the day was for a 300lb woman with knee pain. She'd had surgery in the first part of January, and got an infection in her incision site. Today, the pain has become "unbearable" (even with 2 oxycodone) and she can hardly survive. At least half of this lady's problems stem directly from the fact that she's a bipolar lardass with hairy legs. Ick. Also, she smelled.

Take her to the hospital, and drop her off. She hurt my back. It should be a law that if you weigh more than 250lbs, you can't call 911 unless you plan on walking your ass out to my truck.

Done with that lady, my partner and I head back to the station, and meet up with the oncoming crew so he can go home. We check the truck off, and head for breakfast. Here, you can find one of the rare benefits to EMS. Some wonderful places decide that emergency personnel in uniform deserve free, or discounted food. These are the best people of all time. I had a great breakfast at Barry's Cafe, and paid $4. That means a lot when you're poor like me.

We made it back to the station, popped in some Family Guy DVDs, and began instructing the students who're riding with us today on the finer points of sleeping on the couch.

Like all good things though, this comes to an end relatively quickly, when we're paged for a "head injury" down the road at an apartment complex attached to one of the nicer neighborhoods in Cary. While we're enroute, we're informed that we'll be met on the scene by law enforcement. You smell that? It's trouble.

Our patient is a 51 year old female, who is out of her freaking gourd insane. The first words out of the CPD officers mouth are "Good luck" followed closely by "She says she was assaulted by the FBI Wednesday night."

Our gal is sitting on the couch, moaning to herself, and is absolutely covered in bruises. True to her (obviously false) story, they do appear to be a few days old. She's quietly moaning-

CrazyLady- "Ohhhhh, who could do this?"
Me- "Ma'am, what's going on?"
CL- "They tied me with poofy string!"

You can imagine how the rest of our conversation went. I check out everything I can think of that could possibly make this lady act crazy (short of her just being crazy) and nothing pans out. There's no family around, and no neighbors. Essentially, we're killing time while we wait for the police officer to get in touch with some member of her famiy. During this time, I'm treated to several courses of psycho babble, all of which involve many fantasies of strange men coming and tying her up.

Me- "Ma'am, did these men hurt you?"
CL- "No! They just tied me in ludicrous positions! With poofy string!"

Word for word. No lie.

Law enforcement finally gets hold of this lady's father, who says that she has a history of psychotic breaks like this, and that we should take her to the hospital. He also says that the bruises came from her. She's used a hammer on herself in the past. He has custody of her 3 sons, all of whom are autistic and bipolar. Honestly now, who can blame this lady for being crazy?

We load her into the truck, and ride her into the hospital. While we're pulling up to the bay, the lady says "Who would do this to themselves? They'd have to be crazy."

I could only reply with "Ma'am, I'd have to agree."

We clear from that call, only to be immediately dispatched to another call at an urgent care office, literally within sight of where we're standing at the ER entrance. We copy the call, mark enroute, and mark onscene, all with the same radio traffic. It's the little pleasures that make life great.

This urgent care office is notorious for abusing the hell out of the EMS system, and the doctors here are officially fucktards, who don't know there ass from a hole in the ground, much less how to treat acute emergencies. I forgive them when I see how cute our patient is.

She's 4 years old, with a history of asthma, and her mom has been unable to control her wheezing all day. She's been getting breathing treatments, and IV steroids, but the docs there didn't think about putting her on oxygen. Whoops. 4 years of medical school, for what?

I end up carrying her from the bed in the room to our stretcher in the hallway, and for 15 seconds, I am this little girl's hero come to life. Try not to let your heart melt when a sick four year old manages a "thank you" as you lay her down. I dare you.

A looooong ride to WakePeds later, and we're done with cutie pie. We head back to the station, and I'm ready to resume lessons with the students.

Unfortunately, Christian, who is one of the funniest people I know, (Today, watching TV "Dude, they're making a show about midgets! Hell Yeah! I love midgets!") is snoring like it's his job on my favorite couch. Undaunted, I proceed to the bedroom, and manage one of the best 2 hour naps of my life. It's slightly ruined when we get a call, but we're quickly cancelled from that, and I decide it was for the best anyway. I don't want to seem sloth-like in my daily re-tellings of my life.

Christian gets back from a call soon after this, and we decide it's time for dinner. (5pm. We didn't eat lunch. Mistake.) Stupidly tempting fate after it was kind enough to let us nap this afternoon, we decide to try for a nice meal at The Olive Garden, rather than the usual quick-meal-that you're-almost-guaranteed-to-be-able-to-eat.

I managed to order a water before the tones went off.

We roar through town again, off to save an "unconscious person". We arrive to find the meanest old patient I've ever had, seated in a chair, asking "Who the hell is that now?" when we walk in the door. I quickly decide that he can be my partner's problem, and I ask his wife all the questions she can answer, to avoid having to deal with him. I probably missed out on some good material for this thing, but I didn't get in trouble for putting my boot to his larynx either.

Since I had little to do with him, I have little to write about, except that he was an asshole, and made me miss my dinner.

We clear up from his bullshit, and we're pulling into the parking lot of Boston Market (note the progression down the food chain as we become more desperate for food) when the next set of tones goes off. Back to the urgent care place we'd already been to once today (they eventually called 3 times) this time for a 14month old male, who's dehydrated, and had a low blood sugar.

The same dumbass doc tells me that they can't treat him here, since they only have D50 (50% dextrose in water) and a kid his age can only take D10 (10% dextrose in water, but you knew that.) I don't bother asking if they didn't teach her enough math in medical school to learn how to dilute a solution, opting instead to take the kid and go to WakePeds. I'm grumpy. I haven't had dinner. Sue me.

An hour later, we make it back to our district, and stop at the first option we see. CookOut, how I love thee. $6 later, I have a chicken sandwich, hushpuppies, onion rings, a coke, and a chocolate cherry shake. There is a God, and he loves me.

Back to the station, and I catch the end of Carolina's domination of Maryland, which makes me a happy boy. Shortly thereafter, we're dispatched to a hemorrhaging call.

We race across town, nearly dying when the teenage girl in front of us decides red lights and a siren behind her mean "Lock the brakes, and sit in the middle of the road." We arrive at the address given by our dispatcher, and knock on the door.

No answer.

Knock some more.

No answer.

Knock REALLY HARD.

*thump thump thump*

There's now a breathless indian man wearing only a towel standing in front of me.

Me- "Did you call 911?"
IM- "No sir."
Me- "You sure?"
IM- "Yes sir."
Me-"Okay."

We walk down to the next apartment, and get the same response from a lady with 2 very large dogs. I don't argue with her. We call central back, and ask them to call the complainant back, and figure out what the hell is going on.

After some calling, and asking around, it turns out that the indian guy's mother-in-law called 911, from Ohio, because her daughter (his wife, apparently estranged) has been unable to contact him all day. I want to call her back to tell her that just because this guy doesn't want to talk to his bitchy ass wife is no excuse to call 911 and say he's bleeding to death, as I almost did die when the Teenage Drama Queen in the Ford Focus flipped her shit and forgot how to drive.

Rant over. In the end, karma is great, running that call meant that I missed the next one, and got to see all of Grey's Anatomy. She hurt George, but I can't really be angry with her. She's just too damn cute. It's the eyes ladies. It's all about the eyes for me.

I'm about ready for bed shortly after midnight, so of course, *deet deet* "Pre-alert, back pain."

It's a no lights and sirens response, but we still drive fast because it's late, and we're tired. We walk in to find out patient sitting in a chair and smiling at us. Supposedly, she's experiencing excrusciating back pain that's making it impossible for her to walk. I ask her to describe the pain, and she says "It's a 10!". Hello drug-seeker. My name is Chris. You will be receiving zero pain medication on the way to the hospital. Thanks for flying "I'm not an idiot" airlines.

This lady is in no distress, at all, and has a UTI. That's about it. She was even sent home from the ED last night with Oxycodone, but no no. She wants the good shit.

Oh, and rememeber how it's impossible for her to walk, due to the pain? Well she forgot, because when we ask if she can walk to the truck, she says "Sure!" and springs to her feet. On the way down the stairs, she hollers back at her sister "Bring my word puzzle book!" 10 out of 10 pain my achin' ass.

Since we're not allowed to refuse patients in Wake county, we're obligated to give her a ride, but I literally check her blood pressure, and then sit and look at her, and there was a lot to look at. She was about 300lbs.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. 300 pounder to 300 pounder. As my day began, so it ends. Goodnight all, I hope there's nothing to add to this in the morning.

Writer's block

I've been sitting here for 5 minutes trying to figure out something to write for 2 reasons. A.) If I don't update this thing regularly, I'll forget about it, slack off, and stop working with it, and B.) I feel an obligation to you, the poor sap with nothing better to do, to entertain you. The bad news is, I can't come up with anything funny, meaningful, or exciting, and I'm too tired to remember a story from the past right now.

I can't even recap my crappy day like I was planning on doing. I'm just too exhausted. I work 24 in Cary tomorrow. Oughta provide some material. I'll see you then.

Too funny not to share

That's all. Have a nice day.

The Days (and Nights) Are Running Together

Jordan flaked on me tonight, but with good reason. He ran one helluva call last night, and didn't manage any sleep.

Puddinhead flaked too, but without any reason. Listen folks, if you want to make me mad, tell me you'll call me back, and then don't do it. It's not a good thing.

I went to campus for a little while before heading out tonight? Why, because I'm a sucker for a pretty girl with a nice smile. In case you hadn't heard, the UNC Dance Marathon is running from 7p tonight, to 7p tomorrow night, and the "dancers" will be on their feet for 24 hours to raise money for the UNC Childrens Hospital. Good cause, here's the plug:
http://www.uncmarathon.org/

Donate some money if you can.

Anyway, that girl whose relationship with me seems to be undefinable is dancing, and asked me to stop by (and bring food too) and I'm not one to deny such a request. Give the people what they want! Especially if it's me.

I spend about an hour talking to her, laughing at the various techniques people have devised to help keep themselves awake, and listen to some terrible music. All in all, I'm really glad I'm not a dancer.

I leave at about 10:30, and I'm ready to head to Pepper's party (See "The Details"). I give Puddinhead a call, as he's been talking all week about how he wants to go out Saturday night. I'd talked to him on my way to Chapel Hill, and he'd said he was going to call me back in "5 minutes". An hour later, I'm calling him back. No answer. I smell a girlfriend.

Whatever. I can fly solo. It's not my first choice, but I'll do it. I head up Airport, and arrive at Pepper's self-described "bombass" party. Honestly, she wasn't kidding, it was a good party. Lots of people, and a good mix too. She was the perfect hostess. Ran around making sure everybody was having a good time, and introduced me to about ninety people. I'm good with names, but I think maybe 2 sank in tonight.

She lives in a very nice house with 5 other girls, not one of whom I found unattractive, but one girl definitely stood above the crowd. She had a great body, and knew exactly what to wear to make it look great. I've seen maybe 2 other people in my life who made a pair of jeans look better. I managed 5 words with her, and felt like I'd actually accomplished something. Sometimes I make myself sad.

I'd only been there for about 30 minutes when I got a call from a friend who was already drunk off his ass (at 11:30) and needed a ride home. I told Pepper I was heading out to pick him up, and I think she thought I was looking to skive off, because she kept worrying about whether or not I was coming back.

I managed to get the drunk ass home, and as long as I was down that way I gave TheRoommate (not technically a roommate anymore, but it's still his name) a call to see if he wanted to join me for the remainder of the party. He was eager, and I went by his dorm to pick him up.

Made it back to the party, and I laughed at Pepper's obvious shock at my return. One day she'll learn not to doubt me. Lots of good looking women around, but most are considerably older, and for the first time in my life, I don't feel like flirting. I can't figure out what was going on, but there was nothing charming about me tonight. I know how arrogant that must sound, and really it is, but anytime I'm out in a social setting, and especially if I'm drinking, I can talk to people. I can make just about anyone like me. I'm just one of those people. Tonight though, my heart's just not in it.

I spend most of my time there talking to TheRoommate and Pepper. Now that I'm home and going back through my mind all the attractive (and theoretically single) women that Pepper introduced me to, I'm beginning to think that this was a serious mistake.

Sometime after 1, TheRoommate and I bounce, thanking Pepper for a truly "bombass" time. I like that word, and plan on using it with reckless abandon for the next few days. Look out world. Also, everyone give Chris a big hand for being incredibly in-control tonight. 2 beers over three hours. Kinda made me wonder why I was even bothering to drink beer instead of Coke, or something like that, but there are some questions that just aren't meant to be answered.

On the way back to his dorm, TheRoommate and I order Pokey Sticks, which if you've ever consumed them you know to be a little piece of Heaven right here on Earth. A half box later, and I'm not feeling so hot. I make the excuses with TheRoommate (who's drunk and barely listening to me anyway) and head out.

Earlier I'd promised MissUndefinable (3 nicknames now. I think I finally hit a good one here though) that I'd return with more food after my night ended, so I went up to TimeOut to grab her some grub. As soon as I walk in, I'm eyeballed by an asshole Chapel Hill PD officer who I don't recognize. I find this funny, since I'm probably the only non-drunk in the whole place, and he's gonna play the intimidation game with me. Jerkoff.

I call MissUndefinable to see what she'd like from this fine establishment (Fried okra and French Fries. No, she's not fat.) and since I can't hear her over the roar of humanity inside this pillar of the culinary arts, I step briefly outside to hear her better. While doing this, I stick my fist in the door, keeping it open, for easier re-entry after the 5 seconds I plan on spending outside.

I suddenly feel a hand pushing my fist out of the door, and look over to see the asshole cop closing the door. I hang up the phone, and go back in the door, literally 5 seconds after I walked out, and give asshole cop the eyeball right back.

I order MissUndefinable's food, and head back out to my car, passing asshole cop in the parking lot. He's walked out to his car to get his jacket, since I made his post so cold. As I pass his car I see a "Duke Alumni" sticker on his car. This confirms my long held belief that anyone associated with Duke in any way, shape, or form is a total douchebag.

MissUndefinable enjoys her food, and I give her shit about having another 16 hours of standing on her feet ahead of her, while I have only a warm and comfortable (though empty of all things warm and female) bed ahead of me. This does not earn me points. She does have an incredible smile though. We talk for another hour, and I head home.

It's late, I'm tired, and I'm not dancing for the kids all night. Another Friday night in the life. UNC Women's basketball game against Duke tomorrow. Go Heels.

Soapbox

I'm not a fan of abortions, I don't like the thought of killing babies.

But if you're still stupid enough to think that banning abortions is a good idea, you too can run a state government:

http://www.cnn.com/2006/POLITICS/02/24/dakota.abortion.ap/index.html

Personally, I'm not a fan of taking 16 year old girls to the hospital with perforated uterine walls and sepsis thanks to their coat hanger attempt. There's a reason doctors do this. It's not something anyone enjoys. No doctor goes to medical school thinking "You know what I'd really like to do with my career..." but they recognize that there's potential for much greater harm if women have nowhere to turn.

This is as political as this blog will get, I promise.

So Here's the Truth

It can end in an instant. Period.

There's a great equalizer in the very nature of our humanity. Every man, woman, and child on Earth can count on one thing. One day, they're going to die. There's no getting around it. No matter what you do, no matter how much money you make, no matter how many great and wonderful things you accomplish, one day you'll be dead and buried just like the crack dealers and soccer moms. We're all gonna be there one day, and it's the same for all of us.

Most people will slip off in their sleep, or die from a prolonged medical condition, but when someone is torn from us by a sudden, traumatic event the pure humanity displayed is enough to make you reevaluate everything in your life.

I questioned whether or not I wanted to tell this story or not, as it's not something that a lot of people can understand. I can put the words out there and do my best to describe the images and feelings, but unless you've been in a situation comparable in some way to this you're just not going to get it. I don't mean that in an arrogant, or negative manner; I just mean that the issues with this story are off the scale of what you're average person deals with.

Anyway, without further ado, here's the story of my first night on the job.

It's Saturday, November 1st, 2003, and I'm a senior in high school. I'm also an "explorer" with Cary EMS. I had managed to arrange my schedule at school so that I could take an EMT class two afternoons a week, and through another guy in the class stumbled across the program.

An Explorer Post is technically run by the Boy Scouts of America, but in our case that meant they got my $5 dues, and didn't have anything else to do with us. Basically, an explorer was there to get some ride time in, and was trained in CPR/First Aid, knew where everything on the truck was, and could help the paramedic or EMT who was working in the back.

Since I was in an EMT class at the time, I knew a little bit more than your average explorer, but not a whole lot. We'd had a meeting that morning, and the people who needed to get their CPR certification were having that class in the afternoon. I already had my CPR certification, and having been "cleared" to ride the week before, I'd decided to take advantage, and signed up to ride from 3p-11p.

Right at 3 o'clock, a call came out, and I swear I don't think I've ever had a grin that big spread across my face. I was simultaneously excited, and scared, and happy, and almost sick. I jumped in the back of the truck, and strapped myself in. I swear from the second the siren cut on I knew that I'd found something I was really going to love.

We went down to an apartment complex I've since learned to know (and hate) very well. A girl in her mid-twenties had just broken up with her boyfriend, and decided to take a bottle of Oxycontin to get back at him. She did this with her 4 week old infant lying next to her on the bed.

Unfortunately for this girl, we have a drug that very quickly, and not so nicely, reverses the effects of narcotics. Essentially she went from the greatest high you can imagine to full consciousness and a lot of pain almost instantly.

She puked. Hard.

We took her to the hospital, and cleaned up the truck, and I was ready to go again. I couldn't believe how awesome it really was. Someone actually called 911, we came in, worked some magic, saved the day, and turned around daring the world to give us more. I was 10 feet tall and bulletproof.

A few hours later, just after dinner, we ran another call for a lady with a headache. I don't remember a lot about the call, and wouldn't remember anything at all if it hadn't come on this night, but it was the first call I ran with the crew that I'd be with for tonight's big adventure.

"T" was our paramedic, and she's a helluva medic.(I'm changing names just because these people are working full-time in EMS, and most don't like publicity. Really, she deserves to be recognized, but most media outlets are incredibly gifted at fucking up the lives of emergency personell) She'd been in the field for nearly 10 years already at this point, and while no one's seen it all, she's as close as you could hope for. Her skills are top-notch, and there's no one I would've rather been with on this night. She was great.

The OldMan has been doing EMS nearly as long as I've been alive. He's old, gross, racist, sorta stupid, and would do anything in the world for you. Someone once told me "[TheOldMan] would give you the shirt off his back, no question. You wouldn't want to wear it, but he'd give it to you." I think that describes him perfectly. He also knows the truck better than anyone, knows every road in the county, and has been at this so long that nothing fazes him.

In all honesty, I couldn'tve hoped for a better crew.

We make it back from the headache call, and we're all sitting down to watch a movie. I can still see the room in my mind. I was looking across the room at T when the pre-alert tones went off, and made me jump. It was about 8:45

"Pre-alert- Multi-system trauma. Highway 54 and Nowell Rd."

Immediate adrenaline. I'm pumped. Trauma! Blood! Guts! This is what I signed up for! Making a difference on the side of some road late at night... this is great! I didn't notice at the time, but T looked concerned. Very concerned.

You see, they don't page out calls as "multi-system trauma". Ever. Hearing something like that meant that someone official was already onscene, and knew that whatever patient we were going to get was fubar.

I get up, and try to play it cool as I walk out to the truck. It was really a struggle to keep from running. I get in the truck, and we start down the road, lights and sirens blazing.

T turns to me- "Do you know how to set up an IV?"
Me- "Of course!" (I am, afterall, one badass explorer)
T- "Hang a bag of ringers for me, and don't forget your vest!"

She wanted me to hang an IV of lactated ringers, a fluid used to replace lost blood in trauma patients. She was also reminding me to put on my reflective traffic vest designed to keep me from being plowed over in traffic. Ha.

I hang the bag, and before I can believe it, we're slowing down, and TheOldMan cuts the siren out. I lean to the side, and look between the seats in the cab, and out the front window. I can see it perfectly even now.

There was a line of traffic in the right lane, that seemed to stretch forever. We were in the center of the road, straddling the center line since there was no opposing traffic. There was a State Trooper in his Smoky hat slowly waving us foward toward a line of flares that stretched across the road. As I look past him, I think to myself, "Why are all those blankets in the road?"

TheOldMan parks the truck, and I jump out, vest on, gloves on, ready to go. I go around back to help get the stretcher out, but TheOldMan tells me to follow T. I walk back around to the front of the truck and begin towards T, who's talking to a firefighter.

There's a foot sticking out from one of the blankets. A foot that isn't moving. Nothing under the blanket is moving. It was a white Reebok tennis shoe, with green trim. Tall white socks. A woman's leg. As I continue to pass the blanket, I see dark curly hair on the other side, and what looks like pieces of a really thick egg shell cracked open on the ground, with some grey scrambled eggs next to them. I realize what I'm looking at, and freeze.

I lose all track of time, place, event, everything. It's all gone. I just stare around me. I am in a field of gore, and can't seem to figure out how I got here. The scene is lit up like daylight by several of the fire engines, and this intersection seems enormous.

I'm standing next to one "blanket", and there are another 2 right in front of me. There's a white van with a crushed front end sitting in the middle of the intersection near a dark green SUV. Across the intersection from me, seemingly miles away, two people are performing CPR on a black man, and everytime they do a chest compression, his belly dances in an almost comedic wave. A deep part of my brain thinks "Santa- Bowl full of jelly" and laughs.

I'm shaken out of my reverie by a voice saying "Are you from Cary?"

I have to think, but finally manage a "Yeah!" and begin walking towards the voice. When I discover the source, I rethink my affirmative answer. At the head of a backboard is a lone firefighter who looks to be about my age, and twice as terrified as I am. He again asks if I'm from Cary:

Me-"Yeah"
FF-"This is your patient. We got him backboarded for you, that's all I know."
Me-"Uhhh... hold on."
"T!"
T-"Hey. This is our guy right? You and OldMan get him loaded up, I'm gonna go get the truck set up."
Me-"Okay"

At least, that's what I think I said. It was probably something more like a mumble while I quietly went about crapping my pants. TheOldMan brought the stretcher over, and parked it about 5 feet away. I quietly curse him for leaving it so far away, but I'm not a complainer.

I try to think about what I need to do before we move this guy, and that's when I notice that his left leg has an extra bend in it. He's got an open fracture of both the bones of his lower leg, and there's about an inch of bone that's just missing. His shin has a 90 degree outward turn in its middle. I'd learned that very week that gross deformity gets corrected, so without having much of an option, I took hold of his foot, and straightened his leg on the board.

He screamed. Loudly.

I look at the firefighter, and count to 3. We lift him up, and as I unconsciously take an extra large step, I figure out why OldMan didn't bring the stretcher closer. There was another body between our patient and the stretcher. I'd been kneeling next to him the whole time, and never noticed.

We loaded the stretcher, and I climbed in the back with T. From here, the details are fuzzy, so I'll do my best to stick to what I remember. I put an oxygen mask on the guy, and T asked me to put him on our heart monitor while she started an IV. I put the electrodes on backwards at first, and T had to look up and tell me to switch them.

T gets her first IV, and tells me to switch places with her so she can get one on the other side too. She tells me to do the best I can to dress his wounds, and to try to get some information and vital signs when I get a chance.

I finally look at the guy, and he's covered in blood. His whole body is like one big mass of road rash. Most of his skin actually looks black from coagulated blood and asphalt fragments. Normally we have to cut trauma patient's clothes off, but in his case, almost everything was gone anyway.

I dressed his wounds as best I could, but at this point nothing was really bleeding anymore. He kept grabbing my leg, and even though I felt like a bad person, the thought of getting his blood all over me was still repulsive.

I got a set of vital signs, and T gave the hospital a quick call to let them know what we were bringing in. I did my best to get some info, but our guy had a pretty good head injury, and the best I could get was his name. He couldn't even tell us what car he'd been in.

Before I can believe it, we're pulling into the hospital. I honestly think TheOldMan has driven 120mph the whole way there, but he tells me he never passed 75. Turns out, he's not lying, time literally just flew in the back of that truck.

We bring our patient into the trauma bay at WakeMed, and I have never been so happy to see a group of doctors and nurses in my entire life. There's such a sense of security in handing off a patient to someone who knows more than you do, and is ready and willing to take over, and thank you for a job well done. I'm a little scared of the eventual day when I'm the doctor, and that's no longer an option for me.

Me move him over to the hospital bed, and I spend a minute or two disconnecting our equipment. Across the room they're still performing CPR on the black man from the scene, and a guy who looks to be about my age is screaming in the other bed. I walk out of the bay, and run out of the hospital. I'm desperate for air, and freedom, and escape.

Right about here is when what just happened finally hits me. I look at the back of the truck, and the disaster that iwaits inside, and I just start to shake all over. I think it was mostly the adrenaline wearing off, but my whole body was just taken over by tremors for about 2 minutes. I'm glad no one is there to see.

I pull on a new pair of gloves, and start trying to get the truck back in order. Everytime I think I've gotten everything clean, I'll notice a new spot of blood somewhere. It took me an hour to clean a 5'x7' area. Insane.

T is inside trying to write her paperwork up, and it's no small task. I go and get her a cup of water, and she gives me one of the most heartfelt "thank yous" I've ever received. As I'm walking outside, a medic from another service points out a chunk of flesh that's stuck to the toe of my boot. Cursing, I clean this too.

2 hours after we arrived at the hospital, the paperwork is finally done, and the truck is clean. On the road back to the station, T tells me to call my Dad and tell him that I'm going to be a lot later than usual.

After any major event, like a multi-fatality wreck, or a bad pediatrics call, your service is required to offer something called a "Critical Incident Stress Debriefing" or CISD. T wants me to go to the one being held for this call.

We make it back to the station, and I catch a little bit of the news coverage of the wreck. They don't know much more than I do, and at this point that's not saying much. At about 1am we head to CFD station 2 for the debriefing.

We're in the day room of the station along with all the Cary firefighters who'd been on the call. There's a shrink, and one of CFD's assistant chiefs there.

We proceed to have a 2 hour discussion. It's supposed to be about everyone's feelings, but what it mostly centers on is what happened, and that it's my first night.

The details that emerge are that there was a minor, 2 car accident. Turns out my patient was the driver of one of those vehicles. Several "Good Samaritans" stopped to help the two people involved in this crash. About 2 minutes later, 6 of them were wiped off the face of the Earth by a drunk driver who plowed through the whole scene, and never tapped his brakes.

He killed a nurse, and her husband, while all 3 of their sons watched.
He killed 2 college buddies who'd gotten together for a football game and a good time.
He killed a college student from Campbell who was 6 months older than me.
He killed a man who lived nearby, and after hearing the first crash rode a bike to the scene to see if he could help. It was him I saw CPR being performed on.

It was the nurse whose foot shocked me at the beginning of the call. She and her husband landed in such a way that their hands were touching.

The college student was the body that I never noticed was next to me until I stepped over him.

Everyone at the CISD was very concerned over my well-being, but I didn't understand why. As far as I could tell, I had no reason to be upset. Someone needed help, and I was there. We got him to the hospital alive, and his life was signifigantly better off for my having been involved in it. I felt really, really good. I still do.

I finally made it home at about 4am, and slept easily. No nightmares, no reliving it. I woke up the next morning, and went back to the station to ride for a few hours, just to make sure I could. It didn't bother me a bit. I was ready to keep going. I needed to keep going.

The drunk got a minimum of 8 years in jail. Killed 6 people, and got 8 years in jail.

I don't know if I'll leave this up or not. I still don't think I'm doing it justice.

*Edit*
I remembered today that I did have a little bit of purpose in writing this. The one part of this entire experience that did bother me a little bit, was the knowledge that it could easily have happened to me. If I'd come up on this wreck in my car, I'dve done the same thing that all of those people in the middle of the road did. No concern for my safety, or blocking the road, or marking the scene, or anything. I'd be a greasy stain, and it's still true today.

Just be careful.

*Second Edit*
Fixed some typos, clarified a few points.

Also, it took me 3 months before I drove through that intersection again. I went back one night at about the time the accident occurred, parked my truck, and walked around a little bit. There were still flowers and crosses littering the roadside. Sad little things that didn't really seem memorial enough for 6 lives. The intersection wasn't the sprawling expanse that I remembered, it was tiny. A 2 lane road crossing another 2 lane road. I stood exactly where I had when I'd gotten out of the truck, and couldn't figure out how everyone had fit on the scene.

To this day, I still shiver a little bit when I drive through there. Most of the time I avoid it.

The Details

The night began with the EMT class going over some patient assessment stuff. They'd been over it once already, and remembered it pretty remarkably well. Satisfied that we aren't total screwups, Jordan and I loaded them up into cars, and we were off for our field trip to communications. I almost asked everyone if they'd remembered to get their permission slips signed.

A 20 minute caravan later, we arrive at Emergency Management, and head inside to the training room. SuperJew, my boss/mentor/really cool guy is here tonight, and he gives a quick talk about the monitor, basically letting them see some of the cool toys we get to play with. At one point he mentions that he just got back from a conference for medical directors and emergency managers called "Gathering of the Eagles". EMcNasty (formerly known as E) gains ultimate cool points by asking if it was "Gathering of the Bald Eagles". She doesn't say it loudly enough for SuperJew to hear it, so I have to repeat it loudly. This is a good moment.

The mole queen comes upstairs to talk about telecommunications. She's the mole queen because she's in charge of the mole people, the telecommunicators who work downstairs answering 911 calls and dispatching units, and only rarely see the light of day. She tells the class about all the things they do, and we head downstairs to the communications center.

30 minutes later, after looking at a lot of equipment, and hearing some radio traffic, we're done, and back on the road. We head back to the B-School parking lot, where it doesn't take us long to decide that there's some drinking to be done tonight.

Several of us agree to meet at TopO in about 30 minutes, as several of the ladies, plus Jordan, have to change before we go out. I head to Burger King, because I'm hungry, and not interested in paying $12 for some food at TopO. Jordan changes his shirt and meets me there, and we enjoy some greasy pre-beer food.

We drive up to the Church St. lot, and after parking, head in to TopO. It's now 10pm, and I realize that if I want to avoid being a slobbering mess by midnight, I need to not start drinking now. I order a water, and sit down with Jordan, EMcNasty, and GIKD, who needs a better name than that, since we haven't been out since she got that moniker. It'll work for now though.

They make it through rounds one and two, and we're having a good night. I'm goaded into telling an embarassing story or two, but there's embarassment enough to go around on this night. After we're joined by Pepper, another girl from the class, I decide that 11pm is late enough for me to start drinking, and I go pay $4 for a beer that tastes a helluva lot like Bud Light, but supposedly isn't.

*Edit* I caught flack from Pepper because I left her out of the story. Not true if you read the above paragraph, but here's another mention for you. She came in with a friend named Kenan. That's about all I got. Most of the time she was there was spent doing the things listed in the next paragraph. Sorry Pep, but you're likely to make many, many, more stories if my plans hold up.

GIKD decides she wants a cigarette, and offers me one, but I'm nowhere near drunk enough for that. I do agree to go sit with her while she indulges though. When she's done and we make it back inside, everyone pretty much agrees that we're done with overpriced drinks, and we gather ourselves for a jaunt to another bar.

We make our way to Yeats, and once inside, immediately realize that we've made a terrible mistake.

It's apparently been taken over by pirates for the evening. There's a mixer going on inside, and we just don't belong. Undaunted though, we head to the bar for a round. On the way there I turn to Jordan, because there's something bothering me.

Me- "When did all the sorority girls here turn into fat, ugly, cows?"
J- "I don't know man. What's going on?"
Me- "I think this is an event for Fattie Alpha Tau. Aren't they a sorority?"
J- "Yeah man, that's even a greek letter. Fattie. Haha."

Jordan thinks I'm funny when he's drunk.

Officially stuck in the middle of Greek hell, we decide to numb the pain with pitchers. I buy the first one, and we manage to snag a table almost instantly when some of the fatties (I swear one even had a real peg-leg) waddle to the dance floor to rub against one another in some kind of repressed lesbian fantasy, while the guys around the bar try to block out the image so we can still enjoy girl-on-girl internet porn.

We're halfway through the first pitcher when GIKD gets a call from other friend's who are celebrating a birthday, and leaves us for Bub's. I am incredibly okay with this. My "fuck it all" attitude is working out great.

GIKD is replaced at our table by another girl from the class, who's generally nice, but makes me kind of mad when her first comment of the night is:

Girl- "Ya'll aren't supposed to be here..." (she says this quietly, like she's letting me in on a secret.)
Me- "Why's that?"
Girl- "Because you're not Chi-Psi! This is a mixer for Chi-Psi's and Pi-Phi's!"
Me- "On the list of 'Shit I don't care about', that's about number one. Are those girls out there (referring to the 300 pounder who is about to devour a smaller girl) with you?"
Girl- "Yeah, they're here with me."
Me- "You might want to make them stop dancing. I think it's making the big one hungry, and cannibalism is still illegal in North Carolina."

It took me until this morning to realize that she sat with us for the rest of the night. She didn't really say anything, or do anything, but she sat there.

4 pitchers later, Jordan, EMcNasty and I are hammered, and the lights come up. Somewhere along the way, Jordan got started on the Olympics. Highlights:

"Hey, hey. Have you seen this? Have you seen this in the 'Lympics? They gots skiing, with guns. Skiing with f-ing guns. Crazy man"

"You know what would be cool? Is if they had swimming in the Olympics. That shit would be cold."

"Hey look (pointing at a random bike race on ESPN) It's the Tour De French."

That first comment got our Chief a drunk dial, as it was too funny not to share. After the lights come up, making me fairly angry, we decide to head to TimeOut to help the sobering process. TimeOut twice in one week is a bad idea. Trust me.

A chicken biscuit and a huge Dr. Pepper later, I'm having trouble unlocking the door to get out of the bathroom. I finally manage it on my 5th or 6th try, and the Chapel Hill Police officer on the other side of the door asks if I'm okay. I nod, and head back to my table so that we can continue ripping on the douchebag who's wearing a Ferari jacket.

I walk home with EMcNasty, since she lives close by, and I need another 30 minutes before I can drive. I feel bad when I knock her down (accidentally) on the sidewalk while trying to prevent her from screaming (literally screaming) at Jordan across the main intersection. She cuts her hand, but it was at most half my fault.

I crawl into my bed an hour later, and realize that it's after 4 in the morning, and I am an idiot.

But idiots have a lot of fun.

80's Music and Me, Part Deux

I had a great night.

I sang Creed on the way home.

Details to follow.

That Didn't Work Out At All...

So much for "live" blogging. My lifestyle just doesn't cooperate. After finishing that last post, I went to go lay down for a few minutes, and then 3 calls came out in rapid succession. There are 4 ambulances in the county. This is how my thought process went.

Dispatcher- 1463(the other southside truck) respond to blah blah blah...
Me- Oh thank you God. Maybe I can finally get some sleep. Hehehe. And everyone else is working.
Dispatcher- 1465(my truck) need you to move to the middle for coverage.
Me- God, that just wasn't funny at all.

Orange County works under the philosophy of "System Status Management" which means that if a truck from one area goes out, a truck from another area must rotate in that direction to maintain adequate coverage for the whole system. What this really means, is we spend a lot of time "covering" huge geographic areas, only to have the next call come out 10 feet from where we were.

In this case, we were told to go cover the ambiguous area known as the "middle". (Literally the middle of the whole county) We were the only truck available in a county of 170,00+ people. Were we about to get a call? Oh yes.

We turn around (because of course the call is back in the direction we came from) and head off to this call. It's another one that's near the county line, out in the middle of nowhere, and we're dispatched code 2 (no lights, no sirens). I tell my partner how to get there, then try to sleep for the 25 minutes it's going to take us to respond.

25 (sleepless) minutes later, after taking the dirt fork off the gravel road, we arrive at a very nice house back in the woods. The paramedic has already been on scene for 15 minutes at this point, and has all our information ready for us. This guy had a colonoscopy (camera up the butt) on Tuesday, and has been experiencing excruciating abdominal pain for the last 6 hours.

High points-
A first responder asks- "Do you take any over the counters?" Meaning OTC medications.
Paitent- "Do I have any ovaries???"

I point out the patient's Self-help and "Healing by Energetics" videos to my partner, who is from Hillsborough. If you're from around here, that will explain his response:
Partner- You think that's the problem? He tried to make hisself better with energizers up 'is butt?

Medic- Have your bowel movements been normal?
Patient- Well yes. I had one this morning, and it was normal. Normal color, normal texture.
Me (in my head)- How much time do you spend examining your bowel movements? Gross!

He gets a ride to the hospital.

While at UNC, I'm stopped by a patient in another room. He's a youngish guy, probably a couple of years older than I am, wearing a hospital gown and talking on a cell phone. He stops me and asks, completely coherently "Where am I?"

Me-*confused* UNC...
Guy- Thanks.
*on phone* I'm at UNC.
*to me* Where's that?
Me- Uhhh... Chapel Hill?
Guy- Thanks

Turns out this guy is talking on the phone to his wife who is flying in from Alaska today to pick him up from the hospital. I have no idea how he got there, or what he did to deserve it, but it must've been spectacular.

Guy- *on phone* Honey, I need you to bring me some pants. I don't have any pants.

We clear from the hospital, and start to head to the station so I can pick up my stuff, as it's the end of my shift. We make it about a quarter mile down the road before we're dispatched to the other side of the county to pick up a patient from a doctors office.

That's right folks. Doctors call 911, and they do it all the time. Doctors, are in general, idiots. Especially outside of a hospital. Don't trust them. At least until I'm one, then trust me and give me lots of money.

The dispatcher tells us this is an "adverse drug reaction" and the patient is having "uncontrolled movements". I call bullshit.

We arrive at the doctors office, to find this guy who is wildly flinging his arms and legs around in "uncontrolled" ways. He and his doctor believe this to be a side effect of his medication. I believe this to be a side effect of his multiple psychiatric disorders, and the fact that he is in general a crazy dude.

If you talk to him, or tell him to "concentrate" the movements stop. Ding Ding, we have a winner. Psychogenic folks. If he can control it, it's IN HIS HEAD. Unfortunately, I don't make decisions, I do as I'm told, which means I take this guy to Duke. While in the back he spends most of the time telling our cadet about his time in 'Nam, and how he paid his dues. PTSD anyone?

We give our report to the nurse at Duke, which considering this guy is totally alert, and a good historian, isn't a whole lot. I tell her what we found, what the doctor said, what the guy said, and hand her the paperwork from the doctor's office. She's being kind of a bitch throughout this process, so I eventually just ask her if she needs anything else. She promptly responds "No, I don't need anything else from you." (Emphasis her's.)

Done, I turn to walk out. She starts to fill out her paperwork, then turns to me and says "Hey! Can I get some help with his medications please?" She's still being snide by the way.

Pissed, I stalk over, glare at her, turn to the med list in the paperwork I handed her before her first bitchy comment, hand it to her, and walk out without another word. I don't like being treated like shit.

We clear from Duke, and I make it back to emergency management, and get the hell off of that truck. I head back to the station, and then home, with the intention of typing this out and making dinner.

Instead I get in bed at 7pm, and don't wake up until noon today. This is why we have circadian rhythms.

The Best Laid Plans

So my original plan was to post all of this live through the day, as something of a play-by-play of a day in the life of me while I'm at work. I'm probably overestimating the readability of such a thing, but modesty was never a concept I excelled with.

Unfortunately, for the first 5 hours of my shift, we've been running non-stop, so this is the first chance I've had to write anything down, thus defeating both the "live" nature of my original idea, and the perfect recall I hoped to acheive. Anyway, here goes my best shot:

04:25- I get up from bed. Note- get up, not wake up. That's because I never actually managed to sleep. I laid in bed, talked on AIM, read stupid things on the internet, became irrationally enraged, and did everything I could to make myself fall asleep, and failed miserably.

04:50- Out of the shower, freezing. Into uniform, still freezing, but damn I look good. There's something inherently manly about wearing a duty shirt, and having a radio on your belt.

05:15- Out the door. It's freaking snowing outside. It was 70 degrees 3 days ago. What is wrong with this place?

05:40- I arrive at Orange County Emergency Management. 20 minutes early, because that's just who I am. My pathological fear of being late has turned into compulsive earliness. I sit around looking at other people who seem to be having as much trouble with being up at the ass-crack of dawn as I am. One of the medics, Country, actually falls asleep sitting up. Not slumped over, or bent down on the table, but sitting up straight. I vow to emulate her.

06:00- The daily briefing starts. A lot of information about stuff I don't care about, and that doesn't affect me is discussed. I sit and try to be more like Country.

06:30- Briefing ends, and we head outside to start the truck, and head to our area. We jump in our ambulance, and mosey on down the road.

06:34- Supervisor calls and tells us to come back. The truck we're in is scheduled for maintenance today. Now that would've been something to mention in the briefing.

06:45- New truck, back on the road.

07:00- Make it to Carrboro, and start breakfast. Elmo's does a pretty good egg/biscuit/home fries/country ham breakfast.

07:30- My breakfast is interrupted. I almost got to finish my biscuit.

07:35- Onscene at an apartment complex in Carrboro. 90 year old man having chest pain. He has an extensive list of heart problems, including a potentially faulty pacemaker. He's clutching at his chest and moaning, and is in legitimate pain. We move quickly.

07:40- We're in the truck, on the way to the hospital, and with some relatively minor treatment, this guy is looking a lot better. Oxygen and nitroglycerin will go a long way for a lot of people.

07:50- First patient of the day arrives at UNC, slightly better off having known me. Success.

08:10- I make it back to the station, and start to think about maybe taking a nap.

08:10:37- Second call of the day goes out, and it's in the middle of BFE. If your only experience with Orange Co. is visiting UNC, you never realize how big this county is, or how rural most of it is.

08:30- After 20 minutes of driving, with lights and sirens, we arrive at this house out in God's country. I step out of the truck expecting to hear dueling banjos

08:31- I realize that our patient is crazy.

She's telling us that she's having a stroke. Unfortunately, this is untrue. She's 80 some years old, and totally full of crap, and is ineffectively faking her symptoms. She only remembers to slur her speech sometimes, and she can't keep straight which side of her body is supposed to be weak and/or numb.

She also decides to refuse transport to any hospital we can transport her too, and instead sits around telling us every grievance she can think of against every doctor she's ever met.

-One doctor told her she wasn't having a heart attack, and was instead having a panic attack. She called him a "pisshead".

-She railed against UNC, and everything associated with her for putting her with a "student doctor" and said she didn't need someone who "don't know no more than my dumbass husband" taking care of her. They also made her sit through multiple MRAs (By which she means MRIs).

-She saved her greatest venom for a mysterious "Dr. Steele" at Alamance. This doctor apparently referred her to mental health professionals ("damn shrinks") after her last "stroke".

After 20 minutes of random verbal abuse of various healthcare professionals, we finally manage to talk her into simply letting us help her to her van, where her meek shadow of a man husband is waiting to drive her to Moses Cone, 50 miles away.

09:05- I make it back to Carrboro. As soon as we're within sight of the station, another call goes out.

09:15- We're onscene at a nursing home that's infamous for letting patients die without noticing. We're dispatched to this as a difficulty breathing call, but it turns out that this guy is having trouble breathing because he's having a massive stroke. No muscle tone at all on his left side, he's pulling to the right, unresponsive... totally FUBAR. I hate doing it, but I ask his daughter who's onscene if he had any wishes regarding end of life care. She tells me he's a DNR (Do Not Resuscitate) like she's saying that he takes 2 sugars in his coffee. The staff failed to mention this. Dumbasses.

09:30- Medic arrives, and we head to the truck. IV, o2, and monitor set-up, and we hit the road to the hospital.

09:45- We get to the hospital, and my mouth drops in shock at the mess the medic made in the back of the truck. He blew the IV with the BP cuff, and there is blood everywhere. We take the patient inside, and push him off on the nursing staff. I spend the next 40 minutes cleaning the truck.

10:25- We finally clear the hospital. Head back to the station.

Whenever I add to this I'll try to add in some of the more humorous moments. There've already been plenty today, but I'm exhausted.

Well now,

I'm irrationally angry right now.

After being up late last night, I slept a good portion of the day, and will thus be wide awake all night. Unfortunately, I agreed to work tomorrow, and have to be up at about 4:45. For people taking notes, that's about 3 1/2 hours from now, but I don't think that's what's bothering me.

I'm receiving mixed signals like nobody's business from a million different places, and it's confusing and frustrating, and debilitating, all at the same time, but I don't think that's what's bothering me.

I'm pissing off everyone I'm talking to, and I don't care, but I don't think that's what's bothering me.

My good friend has joined the sexual world with the help of her boyfriend (Who I don't trust, the fact that I've never met him notwithstanding) and it's leaving me feeling a pang or two of jealousy, but I don't think that's what's bothering me.

My mother is a huge bitch with some serious issues, not the least of which is the manner in which she relates to her children, but I don't think that's what's bothering me.

There is however, SOMETHING bothering me, and I'd really like to know what it is. If you want to play shrink, let me know.

Grey's Anatomy

Comes on tonight, and I have to admit it's my guilty pleasure. It also makes me miserably introspective. It also convinces me that I'm a big girl.

I can seriously sit and watch that show, and (barring the ridiculousness of the "medicine" they depict) get totally lost in a world that I can really identify with. Sleeping with co-workers, getting dumped for someone else, random hookups that come back to haunt you, and most of all, falling incredibly hard for someone, just to be a little disappointed, but no less in love with them.

Here you go:

Dr. Meredith Grey: Okay, here it is, your choice... it's simple, her or me, and I'm sure she is really great. But Derek, I love you, in a really, really big pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. So pick me, choose me, love me.

Pathetic right? Who wants to beg for someone to love them?

Me.

And Meredith.

I'm a Bad Influence

Out tonight.

Started out trying to get Chinese food with Jordan, because I was straight-up craving some pot stickers, but the chinese restaraunt on Jones Ferry closes at like 9pm. Bastards.

After my grease fix fell through, we went into Food Kitty and got some cheap beer, then he went over to Yeates' while I went to E's house to pick her up. (You didn't miss anything, E's new.) We sat and watched the Olympics for a bit, before E called GIKD (Who she's also friends with) and talked her into coming out. She also told GIKD to come over to her house without mentioning that I was there. In my neurotic mind, I really believe that GIKD would've refused had she known, but I'm just like that.

So GIKD arrives, and after an awkward moment or two, we're off to the first party of the night. It's being thrown by a guy in the class I'm teaching, and Jordan and Puddinhead are supposed to meet us there. GIKD follows me over there, and E rides with me. We arrive at the apartment complex where this party is, but the buildings are seemingly unmarked. After wandering around in the cold for about 15 minutes, we finally find the "party".

We walk in, and E turns to me and goes "Can we leave?"

The guy throwing the party is a really nice guy, and I'm sure it was a great party if you actually knew someone there, but as pimped out as I felt walking in with 2 very attractive girls, it wasn't working for me either. We found ourselves a corner, monopolized some of the only chairs in the place, and basically kept to ourselves for about 20 minutes while people we didn't know played Beer Pong and made drinks in the kitchen. Somewhere in there, Puddinhead arrived, and seemed like he was ready to really throw down. I promised myself to treat the guy to a better time than this though. He'd had a rough week.

After about 20 minutes, GIKD made her excuses and bounced. She'd worked all day, but some part of me still saw this as the final note in the sad little song we've been almost playing. The simple fact is folks, I'm not willing to work all that hard. Either you're interested, or you're not. I don't chase.

Anyway, not long after this, Jordan calls, and tells us he's wandering around in the parking lot, and can't find us. E gives me the high sign, and I tell him to just wait outside for us. We try to slip out quietly, but got kinda cornered by the host, and said something about going to find Jordan (true) and maybe meeting up later at a bar (Could've been true).

We run outside, giggling a little bit because E carried out the same case of beer we carried in with us (Oh we're classy) and proceed to look for Jordan. We make it all the way back to my truck without spotting him, but don't really care. I jump inside and start the heater before calling him. Did I mention it was cold outside? He heads back over to us, and we discuss our plans.

Jordan suggests another party that he knows of, and E suggests the bar scene. I take care of my man, and remind her that Puddinhead is not "of age" and doesn't have a plastic card saying otherwise either. Tangent- If I had the equipment, I'd sell some serious fake IDs at UNC, and make a ton of cash. Any venture-capitalists out there? It is eventually decided that we will meander back to E's house, drink there for a while, and then head to this other party.

We make it back to the crib, (She has a moat around her house. No lie) and watch some quality Olympic coverage. I make fun of Apolo Anton Ohno's facial hair, and E doesn't appreciate it because she's a fan. I take this as a sign, and proceed to make fun of anyone who goes by 3 names. She suggests that it's something like Sarah Jessica Parker's (PS, hate her too) situation, where there was another famous woman named Sarah Parker. I dare E to find me one other Apolo Ohno. She takes my point.

Shortly thereafter, Jordan announces he "needs some bread or something" as he had a couple of beverages at Yeates' when he stopped in to say hello to friends, and is now feeling a little lightheaded. It is quickly decided that a trip to Time Out is in order. E squeals with delight. She's a fan of Time Out.

Let me caution you against ever eating at Time Out while sober. It's not a good experience at all. However, when you've had a few beverages of the alcoholic variety, there are very few things as nice as a chicken biscuit that a nice hispanic man wraps in aluminum foil for you. Jordan looks steadier after some Okra and Mac n' cheese, and we're joined by his little sister, whose company I really enjoy. E asked me tonight why I hadn't tried to hook up with her, and I was kinda taken aback. I mean, you just don't hook up with your friend's sister. That's required for being a halfway decent person. Additionally, Jordan is smart enough to just tell his sister what kind of person I really am. She'd have nothing to do with me.

We leave from Time Out, and head to the next party. I'm assaulted at the door by a large black man with the biggest mouth I've ever seen, and a very pronounced lisp. He spent most of the night proclaiming "Ashley Something-or-other is a ho! She got a dick in her mouf!" But did take a break for 2 minutes to introduce himself to all of us. Turns out he's a politician, and just won some campus office. I'd vote for him.

We head inside the party, and while not great, it does outstrip the last one by a good bit. There are women here, and actual music playing. Our little crew heads for the beer pong table, and watches a couple of matches before Jordan and E get destroyed, followed closely by Puddinhead and me. I'm a miserable failure.

At 2am we finally realize that we're out well past when we should've gone home, and make our way back to our cars. Along this path, we decide we're not really done in, and are all craving a burrito. Qdoba it is!

We walk into Qdoba, which was apparently named the official afterparty location for every frat and sorority on campus when I wasn't looking, and I'm immediately assualted with a hug from someone who smells more like beer than I do. My partner, SweetCheeks is here, along with Cancro, and a couple of the cute girls from Lucy's last week.(See: 80's music and me) Hugs are shared, introductions are made, and burritos are ordered. SweetCheeks thinks it is the funniest thing ever when I tell the girl to make my burrito however she wants, as long as it tastes good. He proceeds to tell her to make it as spicy as possible, but she thinks I'm cuter than he is, and doesn't listen. I warn him to stay off the sneeze-guard when I see the Chapel Hill police officer eyeing us.

We get our burritos, sit down, and immediately become "That Table". Loud, obnoxious, and incredibly fun to be a part of. SweetCheeks gives E an impromptu lesson on the geography of Orange County, Cancro flirts with any attractive woman he doesn't know, and I throw things at Jordan and remind Puddinhead that he has to be at work in 3 and a half hours. Eventually one of the other incredibly attractive girls (She might have the prettiest smile of all time) from the class arrives, and sits and talks with me for a while. I enjoy trying to flirt, but knowing that it's a futile effort puts a slight damper on my usually charming (not to mention modest) persona. She's older and wiser than me, and that eliminates me from romantic contention. At least I think so anyway.

We call it an evening after SweetCheeks finishes everyone's food, and head home. Puddinhead starts work at 6am, and I dropped him off at the door to his dorm at 2:56am. Before tonight, I don't know if the guy had ever had a serious night of out on the town ridiculousness. While we were sitting at the table, he literally mumbled to himself "Just eat the burrito [Puddinhead]"

That is why I'm a bad influence, and it's also why I'm proud of myself.

Goodnight (morning)

Psycho Jesus- Part 1

This merits a "Part 1" designation because there have been multiple Psycho Jesus-es in my career, and there's little or no chance I'll go without seeing another one. Psycho Jesus calls are some of my favorite calls to run. Honestly any kind of psychiatric call is great, there's always the possibility of serious hilarity, and crazy people are fun to listen to.

One of my first Psycho Jesus calls came in Cary shortly after I'd started working there. It was early on a Friday morning, and while most people were driving to work, our patient decided that today would be the day that he would reveal his true identity to the messiah-seeking world, and he'd begin his ministry.

PJ is in his early twenties, hispanic, about 5' 6" tall, and is standing in the middle of a lake in his tightie-whities screaming at the Cary Fire Department. I didn't know Jesus was allowed to curse, but this version was not only inventive in his invectives, he had bilingualism working in his favor.

CFD- Sir! Come to the shore or we will come and get you!
PJ- Cierre tu boca! (close your mouth) Cockgobbling whore. Your hat looks stupid and you are disrespecting the LORD.

Right around now is when I expect one of the guys off of Rescue 4 to wade out there and knock the bejeezus out of this guy. In case your mom never told you, it's a bad idea to make fun of a firefighters helmet. At least to his face. Instead of biting the bullet and getting their feet wet though, I hear the lieutenant from the engine calling for a boat. A freaking boat.

In case you missed it, Psycho Jesus is STANDING in the MIDDLE of the "lake". With water barely reaching his knees. There is no need for a boat, in any way, shape, or form. These guys even have waterproof boots on, that would probably keep them totally dry. Never underestimate the desire of a firefighter to play with their toys. Thanks Department of Homeland Security.

PJ- I am not afraid of you tall man! Pendejo!

I threw that in about where PJ said it chronologically to the story. A lot of crazy people absolutely hate me, and they usually throw my height into their explanation of why.

When we're told that there's a 30 minute ETA for the boat and its crew to arrive, my partner starts to get this crazy look in his eye. I've known this guy for about a year at this point, and his sense of "things I should and should not do" has been skewed by working in this field for many, many years. I see this look in his eye, and our next exchange went something like this:

Me- No.
Partner- Yes. Come on, do you want to wait 30 minutes? I'm hungry.
Me-No. (Still meaning "No, don't do this dumbass")
Partner-(Taking my "no" to be a reply to his question about waiting) Alright! I'm going in!
Me- Fuck.

My partner plops down on the ground like a three year old, and begins to take off his boots, and socks, and then rolls his pants up above his knees. The whole effect looked like a mildly-retarded Huck Finn with a mustache and a stethoscope around his neck.

My partner starts wading out into the lake, ignoring the firefighters cries of "Hey man, we got a boat comin'!" I have to admit it, he cut a dashing figure slogging through the mud and shallow water out in the middle of this suburban lake. Of course, my vision might've been clouded by the tears that are now pouring down my face from laughing at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

The entire time he's wading out there, PJ has his arms raised in benediction, and is praying for his father, who he calls "Dad" to deliver him from this "Evil-ass motherfucker" who's coming to "get him".

PJ- Dad! The bad man is coming and I told you to smite him! If you won't do it I will!
Partner- Easy guy. I'm not here to hurt you; we're here to help you.
PJ- *Spanish above and beyond what I can understand*... and I fucked your mom.
Partner- Listen man, this can be real easy. I just need you to walk back to shore with me.
PJ- I am not a man! I'm the son of God! Dad, smite this fool, or I swear I'm going to!
Partner- (Taking a step towards PJ, and putting his hand on his shoulder) Let's just go get dry and-

He was cut off because that's when PJ decided to "smite" him. Smiting involved making a diving tackle at his waist, and knocking them both into the water. My partner came up spluttering, and immediately used his greater size to throw PJ into a headlock and begin dragging him to shore. 2 Cary police officers, myself, and engine company, and a rescue truck company all watched in stunned silence. I snapped out of my reverie long enough to call our Chief on the radio and have him come to the scene in his vehicle, since I was going to need a dry partner to help me transport this patient to the hospital.

My partner got the guy to shore, and promptly delivered him to the loving arms of the Cary police officers, who threw the guy on the ground, cuffed him, and searched him. The guy was wearing (now see-thru) tightie whities, and nothing else, but they searched him.

We tied the guy to our stretcher, and put him in the truck just as our Chief was pulling up. He took one look at my partner, and just shook his head. We'd receive 3 different emails over the next week carefully defining the role of EMS personnel on scenes like this.

The Chief went around to the front of the truck to drive, my partner toweled off and drove the Chief's vehicle back to the station. I talked to PJ in the back, and continued to tell him that even though he wasn't afraid of me (Tall Man) I still had to check his blood pressure.

As we were pulling out of the scene, I saw the CFD boat team pulling up. They just started laughing when they looked at my partner.

Real Quick

Keith Urban puts on a great show, especially when your "job" lets you stand 10 feet from the stage and sing loudly with all the songs.

I plan on getting inappropriately drunk, very soon.

I'm exhausted.

So In Review

It wasn't really a long night, but everything I had to do was spaced in the most inconvenient way.

I was on my way to Chapel Hill anyway when I got a call from my semi-permanent partner, hereafter referred to as SweetCheeks , asking me where I was. I told him I was on my way into town and that I was about 15minutes out, and he replied "Good, the chiller plant on campus is burning down, and we're doing rehab. Get here ASAP."

Brilliant. My plans for getting my paycheck, and thus increasing my available funds from $0.00 were just officially shot to shit. I respond to the station, and pick up the squad truck, because the ambulance had already responded to the scene. From the way it sounded on the radio I was expecting to arrive onscene and see rolling flames, and a building in danger of collapse.

Instead I got a few stray wisps of smoke, and that nasty burned plastic smell. Apparently early on it was an impressive fire, but by the time we made it there and managed to set up rehab, CHFD had it essentially out. There were plenty of news cameras still around though, and I think my ass might've made Channel 13's coverage when I was reaching in the truck for the O2 cylinder. My fifteen minutes of fame aren't doing much for me.

We did get some pretty decent pictures though, and if I get hold of them, and can figure out how to post them on here, I'll do just that.

Anyway, once the FD cleared us from the scene, we grabbed some dinner at the Chinese Super Buffet, and headed over to the EMT class. 2 solid hours of acting like I know what I'm talking about later, and SweetCheeks is off the truck to go have fun and get drunk at a charity benefit, and Jordan and I get to work together for the rest of the night.

We head over to station 2 briefly to harass KillerMiller who's working there for the evening, and then drive up to Franklin St. to sit and watch girls walk by with one of the medics. There are certain advantages to this job. I'll also point out that we were joined by 3 CHPD officers, and a fire truck, and all of us were there for the same reason. God bless the women of Chapel Hill.

After about 30 minutes of solid salivatory goodness, we're called to an assault near the county line where some 16 year old got his ass beat.

Supposedly this was an arranged fight, and our boy definitely got the worst of it. He's a little shaky on where he is, and how he got there, and can't remember what holiday we had this past week.

Here's the best part though: After I get out of the truck, I hear one of this idiot's friends go "Hey man! Remember me?"

This kid recognizes me because not even two weeks ago he'd stood by the side of Seawell School Rd. with me, and watched the FD cut that kid out of the car. I quickly tell this guy that we've got to stop meeting like this.

We take our wannabe Muhammad Ali into UNC, and manage to clear up relatively quickly after we're told in no uncertain terms to dump him in the waiting room, and they'll deal with him when they can.

We make it back to the apartment, and I head to bed. I don't know what the problem is, but lately I can't sleep at all when I'm on duty. Usually I'm out like a light as soon as my head hits the pillow. My body used to recognize that sleep while working was precious, and meant to be treasured, but as smart as it used to be, my body's looking to compete for gold at the Special Olympics now.

I lie in bed and look at the ceiling for about an hour and a half, before 3 calls go out back to back in the county, thus leaving us the only truck available for a population of about 170,000 people. At that point I stopped trying to fall asleep and just waited. Like a tiger.

Sure enough, about 10 minutes later we're dispatched to a seizure call just up the street, in the not so nice area that sits between N. Columbia St. and Carrboro. It's always nice to walk into a house and have your nostrils greeted with some combination of human excrement, B.O., cheap cigarettes, and the dregs of about 10 Forties of King Cobra.

Our medic is talking to the girl who had the seizure, so being the proactive EMT that I am, I decide I'll get his demographic information for him. I turn to the guy sitting next to her on the couch, and ask him if I can get some information from him.

He looks at me like I'm crazy. I take this as my sign to proceed.

Me- What's her name?
Guy- Mumble
Me- (Thinking I'm really smart) How does she spell that?
Guy- (Suddenly very agitated, and now obviously drunk and high) Man! You don't know how to spell "Crista"?!?

Note that I spelled "Crista" without an "h". Crista wasn't this girl's real name (HIPPA remember?) But she had a name that I would've spelled with and "h" that she didn't. That's why I ask asshole, not because I'm stupid. Jesus. The next time some dumbass who spent his night drinking forties and smoking crack acts like I'm stupid, I'm gonna hurt somebody.

*note- the girl herself actually spelled her name for me. I really don't think homeboy could've done it himself*

Guy- Man, ya'll mothafuckas is stupid.

I give up on information, after dutifully writing down "Crista" on my handy notebook and we help the girl to our stretcher outside. After we load her in the truck, here comes the asshole again.

Guy- 'Ey, 'Ey-yo Crista? You wants me to go wit you to tha hospital?
Crista- If you want to, I mean, I don't know
Guy- (Agitated) Dammit ho, does you wants me to go or not?
Crista- Yeah, I want you to go.
Guy- Aight den.

No lie, that was the exhange. I close the back doors, and tell Guy that we'll be going to UNC.

Guy- Yeah, I know how ya'll muthafuckas be operatin'. You all some sorry bitches.
Me- Alright! Well you have a great night!

Lesson learned. Don't ask people to spell shit when they're drunk, high, and live in the hood.

We cleared from the hospital just in time to get up, gather our stuff, and go back to the station for the end of our shift.

On the bright side, I get to go to the Keith Urban concert for free tonight. There's a few perks.

For now, goodnight.

Working Tonight

This time with Jordan, which should make for an interesting night. The last time we worked together we found ourselves in some questionable situations to say the least. Like when we went down North Graham St. at 1:30 in the morning and found it packed with people who looked to be up to no good.

It seems to be a running theme in my continuing pursuit of this career that I'll be placed in situations that would make any normal person uncomfortable, but that leave me scratching my head and wondering just what the hell is going on.

One such case is "Chris Goes to the Spooky Spider House"

I'm working in Cary with a medic, who for a little bit of a backstory is absolutely terrified of arachnids. He will literally freak out and run away if he comes in contact with a spider.

We're dispatched to a "medical nature unknown" which immediately makes me think cardiac arrest, because that's just what seems to happen when I go on these calls. We don't get any first responders on the call, but Wake Co. Sherriff's Office is dispatched to check in with us. When we pull up, there's literally 1o SO cars parked out in front of this house, lit up like the 4th of July.

This house is huge, and dark, and set well back from the road in the middle of some creepy looking pine trees. It's dark, and cloudy, and there's no moon. Literally the only light is coming from all the strobes on these various vehicles.

As we start to walk up to the house, we're met by a deputy who tells me to take the stretcher to the front door, and my partner to follow him. He says that the stretcher won't fit through the way they're going, and that our patient is closer to the other door. My partner shoots me a "What the fuck?" look, but follows the deputy, leaving me to lug all our equipment to the front door of this house. In the dark. Across a spooky wooded area.

I finally manage to lug all the stuff over to the front porch, and go to open the door. Turns out, it's locked. I spend a minute or two banging on the door before I get pissed, and a little bit freaked out. There is absolutely no one around, and I have no idea what's going on. I start to walk back towards the door my partner went in, and after making it about halfway, I hear the front door open. I turn around and start to head back.

Unfortunately the deputy opening the door decided no one was there, and closed and re-locked the door. I hung my head for a moment, before resuming my physical assault on the door. A minute later a frazzled looking deputy opened the door and let me in.

Let me re-emphasize how huge this house is. I entered into a hallway that wouldn't look out of place in a hotel. There were tons of doors leading off either side of the hallway, all of which were half-open, and looked in on equally creepy, darkened rooms. Way down at the end of the hall there's one light burning, and I hear my partner yell for me to just bring the heart monitor down there.

I turn to the deputy and ask if it's safe, and he just nods his assent. I'm pretty sure he had a such a large wad of Skoal in his mouth that would've made it hard to use words. I grab the monitor off the stretcher, and walk down this hallway, all the while imagining something terrible is going to jump out and grab me. Mind you, this is before I have any idea what's actually going on.

I get down to the lone lit room, and turn the corner, and almost shit my pants.

There's a woman, or what used to be a woman, sitting in a kitchen chair. There is blood everywhere and I can't even tell where it came from, because she's covered in it. Creepier than all that, are the paw prints all over the room where her many cats apparently walked in her blood, and then walked around the room.

I freeze, and avoid touching anything. This has "Crime scene" and "Chris goes to court" written all over it. My partner shoots me another "What the hell?" look, and proceeds to put the monitor on the lady, confirming what we already know. She's dead as your first goldfish that got sucked into the tank filter.

About now is when it hits me that this woman was probably killed. Murdered. By another person. Who could be anywhere. Including INSIDE THE SPOOKY SPIDER HOUSE THAT I JUST WALKED THROUGH AND STOOD ALONE OUTSIDE OF!

Needless to say, I was not happy with the deputy who'd told me to go hang out in front of the house by myself, or the deputy who let me walk along the dark, scary, and obviously unsecured hallway.

My partner and I both walked out to the truck without saying a word, and then proceeded to freak out as we pulled away. The story was even worse for my partner, because as soon as he turned and saw the dead lady in the room, he ran straight into a spiderweb. Thus it did become the Spooky Spider House.

I never found out what happened to the lady, but since I didn't have to go to court, I'm going to assume it wasn't murder. This is the kind of thing I have floating around in my head though, so if you ever think I'm acting funny, make allowances.

Don't Call It Optimism

But while eating (Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Deli Turkey. Seperate of course) a few minutes ago, I suddenly realized that none of this matters.

If GIKD decided tomorrow that I'm not worth her time, so what? There might not be a million other girls interested in me, but last time I checked there were slightly more women than men on Earth. I like those odds.

In short, I pledge to devote my time to having as much fun as humanly possible. I plan to drink, flirt, break things, and cause all sorts of trouble in my reckless pursuit of meaningless bacchanalia. (Special thanks to Powerhawk for a great word.)

In other news, I'm sick as all hell, but that won't stop me from working tomorrow night. I always worry a little bit that I'm going to cough while I'm in a nursing home and give someone's grandma her last case of pneumonia. Does that make me a bad person, or a good person?

I really hate nursing homes too. I want to emphasize very clearly just how much they suck. These people's family just literally throw them in a home, and forget about them, and it's sad. Most of the time they just pedal around in their wheelchairs and block up the hallways. Every now and then you get one guy who just yells "help!" incessantly. I used to go and see what was wrong, until I figured out it was always the same thing, and that's the fact that his mind is turning into pudding.

Only one guy has ever made me legitimately sad. I was taking him back to his nursing home from the hospital with a transport company I worked for, and the guy was totally coherent, and very sharp, just physically old. He'd been a journalist for years, and had all kinds of incredible stories about the places he'd been, and the things he'd seen. When we got to his apartment at the nursing home, it was amazing. It was filled with all sorts of things he'd picked up on his travels, carved figurines from Africa, a handmade blanket (he said it was for Yak, but I'dve slept under it.) from Mongolia, just unbelievable things. And TONS of pictures. This guy had real photographic talent. One of his pictures was on the cover of Time in the 70s, and he'd been published in National Geographic too.

All the same, he quietly, and without really complaining, mentioned that his family never visits, and the only people he gets to tell his stories to are the nurse's aides at the home, and they don't really care. I truly felt bad for the guy.

I'm working 3 weeks later, and we're paged to the nursing home for a cardiac arrest.

You guessed it.

We didn't even work the code. He'd died in his sleep, and was dead-dead when we got there. All I could think about was his good-for-nothing family taking all of his treasures and either packing them away in a box, or selling them on eBay.

Man, this piece on optimism turned into a real downer. See what happens when you let me ramble? I'll be funny next time.

Repetition Breeds Familiarity

3am and I'm wide awake, even after self medicating with a beer and 2 Nyquil. Story time? Sure kids.

Here for your reading pleasure, is "Chris Gets Hit On By The Crazy Girl"

Paged to an unconscious person in Cary. I'm working with a paramedic and an intermediate, and at this point I'm still an explorer. Our chief checks enroute behind us, and the fire department is coming too. Long story short, when we get to this tiny house at the north end of Academy St. there's about a million people inside, and I just stay outside talking to the mother to get the information we need.

Our patient is a 40 year old woman who is develomentally delayed, has a history of multiple psychiatric disorders, and lives at home with her 65 year old mother who can't seem to make sure that her daughter takes her meds. I finish getting the demographics we need, and head inside.

After pushing my way through 4 or 5 burly firemen, I finally make it to the back bedroom of the house where our patient is. Our chief is yelling at this girl, trying to get her to wake up. (He likes to yell at unconscious patients. If they can't hear, dammit he's going to MAKE them hear.) Apparently they've been trying everything they can for the last 5 minutes to get some sort of response from her, but nothing's worked. This girl has been through the system and knows how the game is played. She held her breath for the ammonia cap, gritted her teeth through the sternal rub, and smacked herself in the face with the hand-drop test. Championship work in my book.

Unfortunately, the minute I walk into the room she sits bolt upright, looks me right in the eye and says "Heeeeyyyy" in what I can only assume she thought was a seductive tone. According to my partners, I immediately went pale.

Me- Umm hi. What's going on?
Crazy Girl- I don't know who all these people are. I was just sleeping. What's going on?
Chief- We were called her because your mom couldn't wake you up.

CG makes no notice of Chief, and continues looking right at me. She then repeats her question:
CG- What's going on?

I repeat word for word what the Chief said, difference being, it came from me. This time she responds with:
CG- Oh... that's really weird. Don't you think?
Me- Yeah, pretty strange. So what's say we go to the hospital and get you checked out, does that sound like a good idea?
CG- Can't you just check me out here? I just want to go back to sleep. You can stay for that too if you want.

I think about here is where I want to describe this woman. She's probably around 4' 11", and 150lbs. Stringy black hair, bug eyed, buck teeth, and smells like 4 week old yeti milk. If there's something I'd like less than to sleep with her, I can't figure out what it is.

Me- Let's just go to the hospital. I'll check you out in the back of the truck.
CG- Okay big fella.
I wish I was kidding. She called me big fella. In front of my chief, and a CFD engine company. I wanted to die.

We get her in the back of the truck, and my partner goes to start an IV. She FLIPS. Goes absolutely batshit. Tells him to keep his rapist hands off of her, and that's she's a one man woman. When my partner, who is by now choking back laughter asks her which man she's holding out for, she doesn't say anything, but just turns and stared at me with her bug eyed, buck toothed face.

I can see that it's coming down to me to get anything accomplished, so I swallow my pride (The little bit I have left at this point) and say:

Me- Sweetheart (gulp) we've got to start an IV, and I'm not allowed to do it. It has to be my partner, but I promise it's okay with me. Can he go ahead and do that?
CG- Are you sure you won't get jealous?
Me- Oh yes. I'm positive.

At this point, I can actually hear loud peals of laughter from the front of the truck where my other partner is listening to all of this.

She agrees to the IV, but tells me that I have to hold her hand while he does it. I quickly pull on a pair of gloves, and offer my hand. She proceeds to slowly stroke my palm while my partner starts the IV. I can only assume she though this was sexy, really it made me want to retch when I remembered something about certain bacteria being able to penetrate small holes in latex gloves.

My partner finishes the IV, (after making smoochie faces at me from behind CG's back while she's not looking) and I quickly pull my hand away. She casually lets her hand drop to my thigh, and then quickly begins progressing up to my crotch. I bolt up, and begin to move to the airway seat that's right behind the patient, but my asshole partner beats me there, and says "Sorry man, gotta do the call in. You understand?" and proceeds to laugh his ass off.

The two remaining seats in the back are both well withing arms (and grabbing) reach of CG, and I want to avoid being molested at all costs. I'm going to be honest here, and let all of you know that at 17, I was a relatively sexually inexperienced individual, and I didn't want the first female contact my genitals had to be with this offspring of Bigfoot and a wolverine.

I ended up standing above and behind her for the rest of the 7 mile ride to the hospital. With traffic and other delays, this meant 15 minutes of folding my 6 and a half foot tall frame into the 5 feet of standing room in the back of the truck. In short (pun intended) I was wedged, incredibly uncomfortably between the floor and ceiling of a moving vehicle while my worst nightmare come to life in "female" form tried to play grab-ass.

We finally arrived at the hospital, and I had to spend another 15 minutes convincing my new romance that I had to go back to work, but sure I'd come visit real soon, and she just needed to take the medicine that the nice nurses were giving her.

I walked out of that room knowing that the rest of my day was going to be miserable, and I was right. I caught hell for the rest of the night about hitting on patients, whether or not I'd made good use of the bed in the back of the truck, and how I liked getting felt up by someone old enough to be my mother. Nothing says "we care" like your coworkers making you want to crawl in a hole in the ground.

The best part of the story? At work the next week, she called again. This time from the police station. When central came back with our extra informatin about the call they said: (on a recorded radio frequency)

"Patient states that she feels the same way she did last week when the cute EMT came and helped her. Patient requests the same personnel"

Now there's no way for the girl to have known that I was working again, but I was, and one of my partners was even the same. I didn't know it was her for sure until we pulled up onscene, and she came running out of the bushes like a hippo to water as soon as I stepped out of the truck.

My partner had to lean against the hood of the truck to keep from collapsing in peals of laughter.