What We Have Here…

…is a failure to communicate.”

Dear Senior EMS Supervisor Who Shall Remain Nameless,

I realize you’ve been in EMS for fifteen years. I respect that, I really do. It’s quite an accomplishment to triple the career expectancy of the average EMT.

Some might say that such career longevity is a sign of your commitment and devotion to EMS. Some might say, “Now there goes a man who has dedicated his adulthood to saving lives.” Some might admire you.

I however, know the truth.

You are simply too dumb to do anything else.

I realize you are well-liked. Hell, I’d probably like you myself if I didn’t have to deal with your dumbassery every day. But the fact that you are well regarded by your superiors does not make you competent. The sad truth is, Joe Sixpack knows very little about EMS. As long as the payroll is met and no one complains, they figure you’re doing a good job. I know different.

I’ve been in EMS as long as you have. I know a dumbass when I see one. I deal with them every day. After all, much of the practice of modern EMS is nothing more than thwarting Darwinism. We keep the weak and stupid animals in the herd long after natural selection would have chlorinated them from the gene pool.

I know what it’s like to catch a ‘tude from snotty ER staff. I try to hold my tongue when you’re around, for that simple reason. But containing my disdain for you has become impossible, Senior Supervisor. Like a pressure cooker, I have to let a little of the frustration bleed out every now and then, lest I explode in a volcano of condescension. Because I have to deal with you so often, I do it in subtle ways.

But you are too thick to grasp subtlety, Senior Supervisor. From the vacant look on your face and your insipid smile, it has become obvious to me that you are too stupid to know when you’re being insulted.

With that in mind, what follows is a Paramedic-to-Dumbass translation of my most frequent comments to you:

When I ask, “Did the accident have the northbound lanes of the highway blocked?”…

…that means, “There’s an ER twice our size, with a SURGEON and everything, only five minutes further away than we are. If you had any sense, you would have driven your critical trauma patient NORTH.”

When you reply with, “We have to take the patient to the closest facility,” and I interject the word “appropriate…”

…that means our facility was not the appropriate transport destination. Closer does not necessarily mean better, dumbass. Unless of course, your decision was based solely on getting back to your recliner in time to catch the latest installment of Trick My Truck.

When I say, “Gee, that’s a nice stretcher! I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a nice stretcher! Does it mix martinis, too?”…

…that means, “Your patients might be better served by buying 12 lead EKG machines and waveform capnographs, not stretchers with caterpillar tracks for descending stairs, for use in a parish where any building over two stories is a rarity.”

When I tell you, “Stick around for a minute, and we’ll have this spine board back to you…”

…it means, “You shouldn’t have put this person on a board in the first place, considering the fact that there was absolutely no indication for immobilizing a person with no neck pain or neurological deficits. You assclown.”

When I tell your sweet little nursing home patient with the broken hip, “Don’t worry Ma’am, you won’t have to hurt much longer. We’ll give you something for the pain…”

…that means, “Your paramedic should have given you painkillers before he even moved you from the floor, and if I had a way to break his hip and drive him fifteen miles over rough Louisiana roads, I would.”

When you bring in your patient suffering from acute pulmonary edema, futilely puffing on an Albuterol nebulizer, and I ask, “Has she had any Nitroglycerin?“…

…that means, “It’s a cardiovascular problem, not a pulmonary problem, dumbass. The distended neck veins and sky-high blood pressure should have told you that.”

I’d hope that the translations should help us communicate a little more effectively, Senior Supervisor, but I know better. You don’t care what I think of you, and that’s fine, really. I don’t think much of you either.


There is however, one teensy weensy suggestion I’d like to make. In regards to your crews’ uniforms and grooming standards, I’d like to propose something a little more…appropriate, if you will:

Because if you’re going to make your crews practice EMS like it’s still the 1980s, they at least should look the part.