“Hey man, wake up.” urges our bantam hero from the driver’s seat of the ambulance, “we’ve got a call.”
Arising from his light slumber, our second, slightly more portly hero reads the information on the MDT and presses ‘RESPONDING’ with an undaunted confidence that is rarely seen.
Then mumbles “bullshit.”
Over the radio crackles updates from dispatch: “PD-related call…male says he overdosed on cocaine about an hour ago and feels light-headed…requests EMS and Fire to check him out…PD is also enroute…”
Slimm deftly maneuvers the ambulance through traffic, never making contact, nor spilling his coffee.
The heroes with the big tank of water and fireproof clothing announce their arrival at the home of the cocaine-sniffing dipshit over the radio, making sure to establish command and set up a landing zone. No need to launch the water rescue though, this is on dry land.
Returning to our ambulance, we find the first two heroes moving in the direction of the distressed person with an alacrity only seen in nursing homes. Shortly, they arrive on scene, making sure to check in with the incident commander.
“Med 4 on scene with two personnel.”
As they deftly maneuver across the barren land, interspersed with pine cones and the remnants of a despair-filled, low-class life, they are intercepted by a first responder; Slimm executes a spin move but is still stopped in his tracks, just short of the goal line. Even Slimm can’t get past a man with bugles on his collar.
“This guy in here snorted some cocaine a little over an hour ago and says he feels funny.” he informs our altruistic, polyester-clad heroes. “His vitals are fine. He wants to go get checked out. No LOC, no medical problems, nothing like that.”
Slimm finally speaks since arousing his best friend in the world from his slumber earlier “you mean he don’t want to go to jail” he says, as we are granted access to the rust-streaked home that is easily moved.
The bugle-collared gentleman has associates, two of which are standing around what appears to be a dude afraid of the Iron Bar Motel. Local law enforcement stands back a little bit, contemplating his impending lunch hour, and the laborious task of deciding where to drive his cruiser. The third associate, who looks more like a nefarious cohort, wields a metal clipboard with an expertise rarely seen in the field, his ballpoint pen perfectly poised to write down any information at a moment’s notice.
Slimm notices one of the Bugler’s friends has established access for intermittent needle therapy on the Sniffer. The Bugler’s friend proudly turns and proclaims, loud enough for the neighbors to hear, “I gotchew an ate-teen in his raht arm.”
The Bugler interjects: “we gave him 2 of Narcan right before you pulled up.”
A look of perplexed bewilderment crosses the faces of our heroes. Slimm’s head instinctively cambers a few degrees while his brow furrows “WHY?”
“Well, cause he overdosed on cocaine. DUH.” is the reply from the Bugler.
Slimm turns to C: “I can’t man, I just…I…man, I gotta go…I’ll be in the truck” he stammers, as he turns and walks back to the ambulance with a mixture of incredulousness, disdain, and sadness.
“We got it from here, fellas” our portly hero informs the Bugler and his Nomex-clad cohorts. Turning to the Sniffer, “come on man, we better get out of here before that Narcan wears off.”