Of Man Eating Cars and Swollen Testicles, Part One

An excerpt for you folks. If you like it, buy the book. The Double-Wide Fund needs an infusion…

“Unit Two, Dispatch. Respond Priority One to 2354 Highway 808, man trapped in a car.”

My partner whoops excitedly as we pull out of line at McDonald’s to take the call. It’s two in the afternoon, and I haven’t gotten my burger yet. This is not good – I need my burger.

We haven’t eaten since last night, and right now my bellybutton is rubbing a blister on my spine. Well, not quite. My bellybutton hasn’t been within a foot of my spine in five years, but you get the idea. I am fucking hungry, and in no mood for the bullshit we’re about to encounter.

We haven’t been all that busy, but we started running transfers before breakfast this morning, and every time we’ve had a chance to stop and eat, Satan has chimed in with “Dispatch to Unit Two…”

To top it off, I didn’t have time to get a shower, so I’m driving around with a serious case of bed-head and trying to cover it with a ball cap. Shannon looks at me quizzically as I groan despairingly and bang my head repeatedly on the window.

“What?” she asks. She doesn’t know who lives at 2354 Highway 808, but I do.

Gary is one of our frequent fliers. He’s an alcoholic and chronic malingerer, but he’s got enough legitimate medical problems that you can’t just dismiss whatever he’s saying. For some reason he likes me, probably because I treat him with respect and listen to what he has to say. Some of my co-workers have a hard time hiding their exasperation with Gary. Not me – I find it easy to smile on the outside while I’m mentally strangling the fucking life from his body.

Shannon is still a fairly new EMT, and this is her first Gary Call. She’s envisioning generators humming, the Jaws of Life snarling, and a life-or-death battle to snatch an innocent victim from the Grim Reaper. She’s got a sparky little grin on her face, and obviously loving this. She’s gotten kind of possessive of the siren and lights, as if the console is her personal domain, the exclusive realm of Queen Shannon the Sparky.

I don’t really mind – let her have her fun. As long as she wakes me up when we arrive at the scenes, she can do whatever the hell she wants. She’s still got the naive idea that the dispatch information actually has something to do with what we’ll find at the scene. She’s about to discover otherwise. I don’t know what we’ll find at 2354 Highway 808, but I’m betting it’s going to be unusual. Gary Calls are kind of like “vujá dé” – you get the feeling that nothing like this has ever happened before.

When we get to the scene, there are no fire trucks, no generators, no Jaws of Life, and no excitement. Shannon deflates before my eyes. What we do have is one bemused sheriff’s deputy, and one very drunk Gary. The deputy, a buddy named David, is smiling and shaking his head.

“Well, he’s been there since this morning,” he says, nodding his head toward Gary. “Watch your step when you go over there. He’s sitting in a puddle, and it ain’t water.”

Gary greets us cheerfully, giving us a bleary, alcohol-fogged grin. “I sho‘ glad ya’ll here. I’m real thirsty, and I cain’t get loose!” He has his left arm jammed in the glove compartment of his car, and apparently can’t pull free.

On closer inspection, I can tell he has shoved his hand behind the back wall of his glove compartment, wedging it between the dash and the back of the compartment. Whenever he pulls his arm back, the glove compartment opens fully, and the back wall pinches his arm against the dash. If he tries to push it further in, the glove compartment door closes, pinning his arm.

He’s apparently been there a while – at least long enough to finish a twelve pack of Schaeffer. Apparently he had to urinate as well, and since he couldn’t get loose to go to the bathroom…

“Uh, Gary? How in the hell did you get your arm caught that way?”

“Well, ya see, I dropped my blood pressure pills. They done fell back behind the box. When I tried to get ’em, I gots my arm hung up! I been out here all day, and it’s so hot. I done drunk all my beer…” he trails off, his voice breaking.

He looks pitiful, sitting there with tears in his eyes, with his arm caught in the man-eating car, sitting in a big urine mud puddle. It’s a real tragedy. David stifles a giggle.

“Well Gary, you certainly called the right people. Did Wanda call 911 for you?”

“Yessuh, she did. She ain’t mechanical. She don’t know what to do ’bout this stuff.”

“Well, this young lady here is our finest EMT,” I say, pointing to Shannon. She shoots me a dirty look. “She oughta be able to get you out of there. She’s mechanical.”

I motion her over to the trunk of David’s cruiser. I smack a Phillips screwdriver into her palm, just like in the movies where the surgeon asks for an instrument. “Your extrication tool, Madam. Now go over there and save a life.” David nearly swallows his dip of Copenhagen.

In a few minutes, Shannon has
the glove compartment dismantled, and a grateful Gary is rubbing his numb, but uninjured arm. Shannon doesn’t look quite as fresh as she did a while ago. Apparently, it was a bit hot in that car. I doubted she wanted to snuggle up next to Gary to dismantle the glove compartment, so she probably had to lie across the front seat to do it. Gary’s front seat holds enough dirt to grow a respectable garden. David and I saunter back over.

“Ooh, my arm numb!” Gary wails. “I cain’t feel nothin‘!”

“Well, Gary my man, that is to be expected. It’ll wear off. Now all you need to do is sign my form and we’ll let you get back inside…” I’m sending out the most powerful Refusal of Care vibes I can generate. It usually works – my Refusal Mojo is powerful.

“Do you think it might be broken?” Shannon asks, concerned. “Would you like us to take you to the hospital?”

Noooooo! She didn’t just offer to take him to the hospital! What is she thinking?

Gary brightens up considerably. “Yes’m, as a matta fack, I would like to go to the hospital. I think I needs my arm x-rayed.” Not coincidentally, Gary’s house isn’t air-conditioned, but the hospital is. If he milks it long enough, he may still be in the ER when the meal trays come around.

“Okay, Gary. To the hospital it is. Shannon will take care of you till we get there,” I tell him, concealing my dismay.

I motion Shannon closer, so I can whisper in her ear. “I think you should take this one. Gary doesn’t normally cooperate with us like this. Apparently, you’ve built quite a rapport with him. Can I trust you to ride in with him if I drive?”

Shannon puffs up considerably at the prospect. She’s actually honored that I’ve entrusted her with such responsibility, bless her sparky little rookie heart. “And while you’re at it, you better splint that arm. When you’re done, you can even do the run ticket. You write it, I’ll sign it.”

When we get to the hospital, she has Gary’s arm splinted and in a sling, just like she was taught in EMT class. Gary’s happy, Shannon’s proud, everybody’s happy.

Well, everybody except the nurses. We’re kind of on their shit list right now. Before we leave, Gary gives Shannon a hug. He reeks of urine and alcohol, and if he’s bathed this week I’d be surprised. But Shannon doesn’t shy away, and the smile on her face is genuine. “No problem, Gary. That’s why we’re here.” Bless her sparky little rookie heart, she may actually have what it takes.

Part two in a couple of days. Until next time…