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.
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.
posted by C at 7:30 AM
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