Drunk drivers belong in prison

I’ve come up with a way to truly punish drunk drivers. I think it will work.

It goes something like this.

Upon being pulled over and failing the field sobriety tests, drivers are given breathalyzer tests. If they fail the breathalyzer test, they are immediately transported to a hospital, where blood is drawn and sent to two separate labs.

If the lab reports come back and the driver was impaired, straight to jail. Period. No bail. Held until trial.

If found guilty, five years in jail for the first offense.

Do it again, and get found guilty again? Twenty years.

Third conviction? Life. No possibility of parole.

I fail to see why driving drunk isn’t treated the same as attempted manslaughter.

Drunk drivers deserve to be behind bars for a very long time.

I have a story for you if you want to try to convince me otherwise.

“Daddy always comes back”

My son is at the age where he gets very upset when either myself or his mommy leaves. “Mommy always comes back” I tell him, and try to comfort him. “Daddy always comes back” is what I tell him when I am leaving for work. He sees me in my uniform, and knows he probably won’t see me until he wakes up the next day.

My son sort of knows what I do. He knows that I work on an ambulance and help people feel better. He knows what my company’s ambulances look like, and he can point one out a mile away.

He doesn’t know that parts of my job are dangerous, and I don’t know that he should.

My job isn’t nearly as dangerous as a police officer, or a firefighter, but he knows we work together. He knows that we are the good guys.

He also knows that sometimes, good guys don’t come home.

Blog birthday

Some time in the past few weeks, my blog turned 2. According to my well-researched research, I started blogging in August of 2011.

I think.

This has been a fun road, and I am glad I took this route.

Thanks to you, the reader, for taking your valuable time to spend a few minutes a week here. I have met some wonderful people through this blog, and hope to meet more.

Thanks to all you other bloggers out here (or there?) who are an inspiration for me. I’ve become a better paramedic, and a better person, because of the work that the more respectable bloggers have done, and the words they have written. I literally cannot name everyone, and would be remiss to attempt, lest I forget someone. You are all important to me, and I appreciate you.

None of this would be possible without the patients and coworkers, of course. This really wouldn’t be possible without my dear friend and partner, Slimm. Everyone should have the opportunity to work with such a partner. Our partnership rivals that of Ponch and Jon, Starsky and Hutch, and yes, even that of Johnny and Roy.

Thanks for being here. I’m glad to know you.

More things I said (last week)

I’ve been speaking Spanish to him, and he has been replying in English. It has been an interesting ride for sure.”

Sorry about all the gauze on his arms. I have a student today, and she was determined to get the IV.”

I really need to pee, can you sign this computer real quick and let me come back to give you report?”

How far is ‘yonder’? Further than you can throw, but not too far to walk.”

Do we want to go home early? The Pope; is he Catholic?”

Saturdays are pointless without college football. Only five more to go.”

You want to go to what hospital? Is that in this state? I’ve never heard of that one.”

Service dogs are one thing. I doubt your Bichon Frise’ is a service dog; he can stay home alone for a little while.”

How old is he? I think he said he voted for Coolidge.”

What trial in Florida?”

I was gonna be a doctor, but they don’t get to wear these cool patches.”

No, I think she is more alert than you think she is. Nieto is the President. Of Mexico. You didn’t specify which country…”

Yeah, the IV hurts a little bit, but I bet not as bad as when you got all those piercings.”

Six weeks. I’ve been a paramedic for about six weeks. But I studied real good in school, and I have read almost all of my textbook.”

I will literally trade you an Aaron Hernandez jersey for a cup coffee right now.”

Some days are easier

I’ve been privileged to be a member of this EMS family for almost 16 years now. Almost half my life. I’ve worked with hundreds of people in different capacities.

We’ve all seen a lot of death. I learned quickly that death is to be expected.

Some are harder than others.

The hardest ones are my friends. My family members.

Too many of my EMS family have died since I began. I miss them all.

A coworker of mine was killed in an MVC several years ago by a drunk driver. His funeral was beautiful, and the memory gives me a catch in my throat.

My mentor, a man who can only be described as the father of EMS in my state, had a funeral attended by over 1,000 people, and it is still talked about today, more than 5 years later. His death was not unexpected, but tragic nonetheless. The funeral that followed his several months later was unexpected, and I never got to say goodbye to another good man.

I’m tired of going to funerals.

Recently, a good friend and partner died in the line of duty. It was nothing like I could imagine, or describe. His death touched me more than any other.

I miss him terribly.

When we worked together, our first stop in the morning was at Starbucks. He would go inside, and come out a few minutes later with 2 cups of coffee. One for me, and one for him. Our last stop in the morning on the way back to the station before we went home was to the same Starbucks. Again, 2 cups. One for him, one for me.

I don’t drink coffee.

He knew that. But he got me a cup “just in case you wanted one,” as he would say.

That extra cup of coffee was never for him. He never drank that cup of coffee, and he never expected me to. That was the man he was.

On holidays, he would call me, just to ask how my family was. He remembered the birthdays of my children, and would ask about them each time we saw each other. He would greet me with the firmest handshake, widest grin, and strongest hug.

He was everybody’s friend. And he was my friend.

I miss those phone calls.

I wish he had known how important that cup of coffee, those phone calls, that handshake, hug, and smile really were. I wish I had known how important they were.

I am terrible at mourning. I wish I knew how to make this easier.

I really miss my friend.

Some days are easier than others. Most days are still hard.


The Great Gatsby is by far one of my favorite novels. So I jumped at the chance when a friend offered to take me to an advance screening. Secret stuff, you know.

I’m definitely no movie critic, but Gatsby was just awesome.

Carey Mulligan and Toby Maguire were interesting choices for Daisy and Nick, but played the parts perfectly. Leonardo DiCaprio was everything I have ever imagined Jay Gatsby to be.

My hat is off to Baz Luhrmann. He was an excellent choice to produce and direct Gatsby, and he did a magnificent job capturing the opulence of West Egg in the Roaring Twenties.

The Brooks Brothers suits and “so many beautiful shirts” were spot on.

It really was exactly how I pictured the book, and I can’t wait to see it again.

Silly bird

I’m no ornithologist, but I like birds. Springtime is great for birds.

There is a cardinal that has taken up residence in a tree in my backyard. I’m sure he is a nice bird. Probably a good bird-father, a loving bird-husband, and he makes sure he brings the highest quality materials so his bird-wife can make a good nest.

I named him Ozzie, after my favorite St. Louis Cardinal.

But this Ozzie isn’t too smart. I certainly wouldn’t call him a wizard.

Ozzie keeps flying into my windows downstairs. I have a sliding glass door, and he stopped flying into it when I moved the screen. Then he started flying into the other side of the glass, the side that slides.

He flew into that for a little while until I hung some stuff on the inside of the glass. Then he started attacking the window over the sink.

There are three other windows on the same side of my house, in the family room. I think Ozzie has attacked every one of those as well.

Earlier, while I was in the shower, he attacked the window there, too. And that’s upstairs.

All in all, there are are ten windows on the side of my house where Ozzie’s tree is. And he routinely attacks each one of them. Repeatedly. All day. Until the sun goes down.

I kind of feel bad for him, but then, his wife probably thinks he is a stud since he is always fighting off so many other cardinals.


300+ thumbs up

I don’t look at my Facebook dashboard too much these days. Occasionally, I will notice a notification over there when I use my desktop computer to play on Facebook.

Honestly, I don’t Facebook that often, and I most always use my iPhone app.

But I noticed a few days ago that my Facebook page had 305 “likes.”

That’s pretty cool, in my opinion.

If you like me on Facebook, thanks a bunch. If you don’t, that’s cool too.

Of course I could work retail!

So I am a big fan of dressing nice. Yes, I own more clothing than just uniforms, black socks, and blue t-shirts. I’m a big fan of oxford-Cuff linkscloth shirts, cuff links, pocket squares, and sport coats.

So when the opportunity to apply for a part-time job at my favorite men’s clothier presented itself, I jumped at the chance.

I wore my favorite suit: a charcoal 3-button I recently had tailored, paired with a crisp white shirt, and my favorite tie, exquisitely knotted. For luck, I wore my Star of Life cuff links.

“Mr. C, I see you have quite the resume’ when it comes to being a Paramedic, but I wouldn’t really know. You don’t have any retail experience…” started the interviewer after the requisite introductions.

“Thank you for your kind words regarding my resume’. I have worked very hard in my field, and I have enjoyed much success. But I would disagree with you that I don’t have any retail experience.”

“Oh? How so?” he seemed genuinely interested.

“I have spent the better part of fifteen years convincing people that they needed my services, that is, a ride to a hospital. Most people would do just find to either drive themselves, or have a friend or family member take them in a car, but I am pretty successful at selling people a ride on my stretcher, if you will.”

“But the people who call you, call you for a reason, they want to go to the hospital. How would that translate into success in this industry?”

“When a person calls 911, more often than not they want reassurance that they are okay. Which I am very capable of providing. What I must then do is convince them that there situation, while not extremely precarious, warrants close observation in the back of an ambulance. When a customer walks into your store, they have already made the decision that they are there to purchase clothing.”

“Okay, I think I see your point. Go on.”

“When a man walks into a men’s clothier and says ‘I need 5 suits and enough shirts and ties and belts and shoes to look good for my new job,’ he has already purchased those clothes in his mind. He is now reliant on me, the salesman, to sell him on what makes him look good, why he should buy it from me, and why he needs to buy it here. I know how to dress a man. I come from a long line of well-dressed men.” I went on: “When that patient calls 911, they have already made the conscious decision that they are going to the hospital, much like the gentleman that walks in here has already made the decision that he is going to leave with a few shirts and maybe some ties. I can dress a man sharply, and I can surely sell the man some clothes.”


I prefer Windsor collars, with a half-Windsor knot, simple cuff links  and the TV fold if I am wearing a tie, or the puff fold when using a satin pocket square with no tie. I love liquid starch, a hot iron, and shoe polish.

Can a Paramedic work in retail? You bet I can. Especially if they give me a ‘generous employee discount’ and allow me to wear their clothing to work every day.

I look forward to starting my new part-time job.

Thoughts from the interstate

So I just got back from a long road trip. Very long. 11 different states, and over 2,000 miles traveled in 12 days.

My butt is sore and my credit card is beginning to melt.

So while my family was sleeping through the miles and miles of interstate, I had plenty of time to think. Hours upon hours, actually.

Some things that I thought of, and thought a lot about:

  • If you happen to be driving on an interstate, and you are in the left lane with nobody in front of you, and someone behind you, move the hell over. “Slower traffic keep right” means you, buddy. I am clear that you are scared to do more than 65 in your 1993 Ford Festiva, but I rented this Dodge Charger, and I enjoy driving it fast.
  • Arkansas: what the hell are y’all doing? Interstate 40 has got to be the most incredibly boring stretch of road anywhere. It felt like I was driving on a treadmill. Seriously. Crossing the Mississippi River into Arkansas was pretty cool, then it was nothing but flat fields of unknown crops and big rigs for two hours, followed by 30 minutes of Little Rock suburbs, followed by two more hours of big rigs and some hills with rocks, then Fort Smith, then thank God, Oklahoma. Y’all need to step it up, Arkansas.
  • And along that line, the same goes for you, Mississippi. I seriously think I took a nap on I-20 between Jackson and Meridian. Yawn.
  • This whole interstate-numbering system is ingenious. Probably the only thing the government has ever done well and hasn’t screwed up. I am astounded how much sense it makes.
  • You drive a big rig? You are going 59 but the big rig in front of you is going 58? Then you need to slow down. For crying out loud, step on it a little bit more if you are going to try to pass that other guy. Otherwise, it takes you 5 miles. Hurry up, I’m looking for the next rest stop so I don’t throw a P.E.
  • Why are we called “Ambulance Services” instead of “Paramedic Services?” We don’t deliver an ambulance, we deliver a paramedic. Well, I suppose we do sort of deliver an ambulance, but there is a paramedic in it. I didn’t think too much about this because it gave me a headache.
  • Teamwork is awesome. We hooked up with two other cars just outside of Saint Louis. The license plates sort of indicated we were going in the same general direction, towards Nashville. We made the trip in just a hair under 4 hours. It was roughly 300 miles. We would each take lead on the trip, about twenty minutes at a time, and it was easy to move past traffic as a group, since we were keeping up with each other. I enjoyed that part of the trip, and especially enjoyed the few glimpses of the attractive brunette passenger in the gold-colored Murano.
  • If you are not a law enforcement officer, you have no business trying to determine how fast other cars on the road should be traveling. Pulling alongside a slower vehicle and matching speeds is only going to solidify your position as asshole of the month, and reinforce understanding of why you were always picked last for kickball teams. I do not own this car, I paid for the extra insurance, and I have seen enough television shows to know how to perform the PIT maneuver. Move over, buddy.
  • Pink Floyd is excellent music to drive to. That’s all there is to that. CarTalk podcasts are pretty cool, but Pink Floyd is better.


Y’all stay safe out there.