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?”
“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?