We’re on scene restraining a very combative asshole to the longboard, in addition to the usual immobilization. His injuries clearly meet trauma center criteria. Between the cops, the firefighters and us, it’s taking a lot of manpower and time.
Without warning, my partner steps back and pulls his portable radio out.
“M17, we’re transporting to the trauma center.”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Well, we have 10 minutes on scene for trauma patients, right? We’re over 10.”
“Are you a fucking idiot? Do we look like we’re done here?”
“It’s the rule, right? Ten minutes, load and go.”
“We leave when we’re fucking done with packaging and we’re fucking ready to leave. We’re not done tying his ass down. Yeah, let’s not finish that part of our work. It’s cool; I’ll just swat his free arm away while I start lines. So, what – now we’re going to have a 20-minute transport time because you put us transporting before we’re even off the ground? Are you going to tell them you got lost driving to the hospital 10 minutes away? Are you going to put us at the hospital while we’re still on the fucking freeway? You just fucked up all my times! Do you even think?”