A call for an accident with injuries in a gated neighborhood.
Yeah, right. Like that ever happens. Well, it did that one time, but that’s another story.
Enroute, things become a little more clear: “21/F IN MVC EARLIER/BACK PAIN/REQUESTS CHECK/” the MDT tells us while we are on the way. Slimm and I make eye contact, and reflexively turn off the lights and siren.
This call is going to be stupid.
Humongous house. Million dollars plus. A lawn manicured with a very small pair of scissors wielded by midgets with monocles. More than three German luxury automobiles in the driveway. All black. All big.
A butler (no shit, even wearing a uniform) directs us to the elevator (no kidding), and to the “lady’s wing.”
Some cute chick laying on a bed big enough for 8 with enough pillows to smother several gaggles of geese.
“My back, like, it like, totally hurts and stuff.”
Interesting. Once again, something I already knew. “What happened to your back?”
“Well, I was like, driving, and like, I totally got hit by another car, and I was all like spinning in circles and stuff, and I didn’t want to go to the hospital, because, you know, I felt okay at the time, but like, after I came home, my back started to hurt and stuff, and now I like, can’t move, you know?”
Blank stare.
“How long ago was the wreck?”
“I dunno, it was like lunchtime.”
A quick glance at my watch informs me that lunchtime was approximately 5 hours ago.
As I turn around to lower the stretcher, because this obviously traumatically injured female is not capable of ambulating, I notice it:
A large television on the wall, across from her bed.
It is paused.
On a commercial.
For a local ambulance-chasing lawyer. His number prominently displayed on the bottom.
“Make your WRECK into a CHECK!” “Call NOW! 1-800-SUE-THEM!”
I wonder if we were her first, or second call?
First call. It sets up the second one.
I went to a house once – on an emergency call – and came up the huge curved driveway to the front door. Had they opened it wide, I could have driven the ambulance down the hall. Met by that butler (not the same one I’m sure), who informed us that we had to go around to the servant’s entrance. Uh, no sir, either this is an emergency or it isn’t. If I have time to move the ambulance and come through the servants door, you have time to call the chauffer and limousine to take him to the hospital. We went through the front door…
So, who do I have to call to get the monocle-sporting midgets to come cut my grass? (I’ll let them use bigger scissors, and I.)