Ambulance Driver Files A Day in the Life | Kelly Grayson
It’s having conversations like this:
Rookie Partner: “The chick at the window says there’s no one in the Whitney Houston suite.”
Ambulance Driver: “Oh, well. Drive around the courtyard. There’s only so many rooms at Habib’s Crack Palace and Arms Bazaar. Maybe we’ll find our guy.”
RP: “What did the dispatch notes say again?”
AD: “Intoxicated male, in the Whitney Houston suite. Requests transport to substance abuse rehab. Which, of course, makes it your call, Partner.”
RP (hopefully, after making the circuit of the motor court, and interrupting at least one blowjob for a john to cheap to invest in a room): “I don’t see anybody. You reckon he’s left?”
AD (pointing): “Nope, that’s our guy right there.”
RP: “Aww, shit. Why him?”
AD: “Call it a hunch, but a naked guy sitting in a lawn chair, pissing into his shoe while swigging Cuervo straight from the bottle just screams ‘detox’ to me.”
And indeed, that was our guy.