Saving Lives, Stamping Out Disease And Pestilence

“Incident assigned.”

Rookie Partner glances at the mobile data terminal, whoops happily, and puts the truck in gear.

“What is it?” I yawn.

“Stabbing/gunshot wound,” RP grins. “Finally, something good!”

Before I can answer, the radio crackles, “Headquarters to CCT 4.”

Sighing, I key the mike. “CCT 4, gourd head.”

“CCT 4, the scene is safe. The patient accidentally stabbed herself in the leg.”

RP visibly deflates, groaning his disappointment.

“Smell that?” I grin evilly.

“Yeah, I know,” he mutters. “Smells just like a BLS, non-emergent transport to you. Again.”

“Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug,” I tell him. “I’ve been the bug for the past week.”

“Still, maybe it’ll be something good,” he says hopefully. “A lacerated femoral artery or something…”

“It will be a small and superficial wound,” I predict. “She was probably sitting at the kitchen table, cutting open the cellophane wrapper to her Jimmy Dean breakfast sausage, when an unexpected sneeze caused her to poke herself in the leg. You’ll probably be able to cover the wound with a Bandaid.”

“Dude, I would be so pissed.”

“If it turns out to be a little superficial cut,” I suggest, “you oughta just smile reassuringly… and then stick a Bandaid on it.”

“You don’t think I will?” RP challenges.

“I double dog dare ya.”

**Five minutes later**

Disgruntled Patient: “Thass all I gits, a muhfuckin’ Bandaid?”

Rookie Partner: “That’s all it needs, Ma’am.”

Disgruntled Patient: “I ain’t called no ammalance fo a muhfuckin’ Bandaid! Ain’t y’all got nothin’ better’n dis?”

Rookie Partner (innocently): “Well, we do have some with Daffy Duck on ’em, if you’re a Looney Tunes kinda gal.”

I almost did a spit take.