Cliché

“Medic Eighteen, a motor vehicle crash with injuries reported. Possible entrapment.”

“Ten-four. We’re enroute.”

The MDT gives us a location well known for collisions, a windy road which goes around a good-sized lake. This stretch of road is hilly as well, with lanes that were designed for cars traveling much lower than the posted speed limit of 50 miles per hour. It’s fairly rural, with only a few houses, which are all a great distance apart.

It’s about a 15 minute drive from our station.

“Medic Eighteen, State Patrol is on scene, advising one vehicle is a Sheriff Deputy, and a pickup truck.”

I don’t like the sound of this. Neither does my partner.

“Ten-four, we are about seven minutes out.”

We debate calling for a helicopter, since the closest trauma center is easily a 45 minute drive. We decide to wait until we get there. The helicopter base is only a 5 minute flight away from the scene. It’s an area the flight crews know well.

“Eighteen, Trooper advises complaints only on the driver of the truck. Negative injuries on the Deputy.”

“Received. Two out.”

Good thing we decided to wait on the bird.

We arrive on scene just as the volunteer firefighters arrive from the other side of the accident. Lots of pretty colored lights bounce off the damp pavement and leafless trees.

We see serious damage to both cars. It appears that the pickup truck crossed the center line in the middle of the curve, and struck the rear driver’s side door of the Sheriff cruiser. The Deputy must have swerved slightly to avoid the collision, and luckily so. He certainly avoided serious injury.

Colored plastic and engine fluids are scattered and smeared all over the pavement.

The driver of the truck is walking around, talking with the State Trooper on scene.

I approach the Deputy, still standing beside his cruiser, and notice the airbag on his side deployed.

“Y’okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, I’m just a little shook up, but I’m alright. Go ahead and get your form out, I’m not going to the hospital.”

It’s always good when they know the routine.

I peer into the cruiser, to assess the steering wheel and windshield. And I see it. In the passenger seat.

3 large boxes from the local doughnut shop. The box on top is open, 2 doughnuts conspicuously missing. Then I see the smashed, half eaten, grape jelly doughnut on the dash, just underneath the light bar.

“Hungry this morning?” I ask with a smile.

“I swear, I was buying them for the guys this morning. We are going to the range to qualify with our pistols, I swear!”

“Sure thing” I say as I reach in to grab a glazed bit of deliciousness. I’m hungry myself, and haven’t had breakfast yet either.

“Man, I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

Nope. Not at all.

Comments

  1. I do admit to getting free donuts after a Krispy Kreme refusal. Did you ask him if he was eating the grape one when he crashed? If he wasn’t the one distracted? Did you notify him about the new distracted driver laws? Did you inform him that you are filling out a state form and giving false information to the state is a felony?

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