I guess your “emergency” is over

Friday night.

Some drunk, attention-seeking, middle-aged fat woman is prone on the bathroom floor with her drunk, middle-aged boyfriend sitting beside her.

She is totally hamming it up. He speaks broken English.

We’re not impressed.

“It’s OK.”

I try to be reassuring. Wrong move apparently. Something must be lost in translation.


He thinks I’m dismissing his concern. Which I am as well. But he’s supposed to focus on my reassurance, which he doesn’t. He doesn’t catch on to the fact that I’m trying to placate him by reassuring him that his girlfriend is full of shit.

We take vitals, do her fingerstick and put her on the monitor.


Fuck me. Here we go.

Do we look like we’re standing around with our thumbs up our butts? I guess it’s that usual idea that we’re just supposed to rush her to the hospital or something.

He becomes a real asshole. Cops show up. They’re cool; they mostly stand around and usually people stop misbehaving so badly.

Ten minutes later…

“It’s OK. I put her in bed.”

What the hell? You just got done screaming at us for not moving fast enough and now you don’t need us?

“Nope. You don’t call us out here for a drunk person and expect us to leave her here, especially with you. She’s going to the hospital. You don’t want us here? Don’t call us next time.”

“No, no, it’s OK. She don’t want to go to hospital.”

“She doesn’t even answer any questions, and you don’t get to decide.”

She is loaded in the ambulance. He tries to climb into the back with her. The EMT lifts his arm up sideways across his body, blocking his path.

“No. You ride up front, and you WILL behave, or I will throw you out of the rig.”

2 thoughts on “I guess your “emergency” is over”

  1. Too bad you had to take the boyfriend.
    The best part of a call like this for me is telling the idiot family they have to find their own way to the hospital.

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