Code 3 for the fall.
We arrive at a small restaurant in a strip mall. I can sense the drama before I even close the ambulance door. A woman is lying on the floor – as if it’s not dramatic enough – right next to a large yellow “Wet Floor” sign, while the other patrons are mostly trying to mind their own business, almost always an indication that nothing really happened. She tells me she slipped on some “sauce” on the floor and she’s “really hurtin’.”
Apparently she is the only one who is going with that version of events. The restaurant staff actually tells me that she comes in every day begging for money, and today she was sitting at a table before lowering herself to the floor as the sirens approached. They tell me a witness even left his phone number to back their version up. Not a single patron butts in to refute the staff’s claims, and believe me, this is the sort of neighborhood where someone would butt in without being asked.
“Get on the gurney. What hospital?”