Sunday, August 30

...for the conspiracy...

In honor of the upcoming one year Anniversary of the Happy Medic Blog I thought I'd throw in a call in the old format that asked "You called 911...for this?"

You Called 911...for the conspiracy?

My fascination with the things people will call 911 for will never end. But on this call I had to scratch my head and ask, "Really? You were forced to smoke crack against your will?"


A first party caller reports he is unconscious


How he got across to the call taker his unconsciousness does not change the dispatch code 25A5 looking back at me, a psych issue. Great.

He rings us into the little unit groaning and moaning with each step, but doing all right. It is our first run of the day and our hopes are still high for a good shift. The gentleman who called explains to us that he is unable to make it to the methadone clinic today on account of his stomach pains and he would like a doctor to give him some. After my standard talk about how we don't do that kind of thing, he decides to switch gears and appeal to my inner conspiracy theorist.

Did you hear Mrs Happy Medic just roll her eyes? She doesn't even read this blog and yet she somehow knows when I'm talking about conspiracies. It's a consp...
...I digress.

I won't bore you with my theories here, only to tell you each one can not be proven false any more than I can prove it true. That is the hallmark of a good conspiracy theory. So I perk up and wonder what this man could have that I haven't heard before.

"I'm forced to smoke crack and take methadone so I'll never get a job." He tells me while rummaging for a half smoked cigarette on the couch.
"Who supplies you with these substances?" I ask still looking around the room.
"My brother buys for me." He finds the cigarette and tries to light it.
"Not so fast there, Speed Racer, no smoking allowed." I take the lighter and put it down for him. For whatever reason people freak when you take the cigarette, but taking the lighter is OK.
"I NEED my methadone or I'll die!" He's getting irate.
"Tell me more about the conspiracy," I distract him by handing him some pants for the drive we will likely be taking any time now.

"I saw it on TV. See, some [INSERT RACE] guys decided to kill all the [INSERT DIFFERENT RACE] people like me, but not right away, see, that would be obvious, so they gave us all crack and heroin and weed and they're just waiting to take over."
"And then they make you do the drugs against your will? Really? You were forced to smoke crack against your will?" He's pointing at me and nodding as if I was a fourth grader explaining a math problem to an adoring teacher.
"Exactly!" He celebrates, arms in the air and a smile on his face.

"Wow. Well, good news is, you look good enough to take the bus to your methadone clinic and an ambulance may not be best for you today." I said slowly turning.
"I have chest pains."


"OK, let's go, Saint Closest is 3 minutes away."
"I want to go to Saint Cleanest (Just past Saint Farthest)." He tells me, again with the point and the smile.
"No dice, you said chest pain, which gets you the closest facility. Or you can just go to the clinic. Up to you." He's looking at me, possibly even considering doing the right thing, but you all know how this run ends.

Clearing Saint Closest we see him out at the bus stop, giving us the "I'm watching you" fingers to the eyes, then at us. My driver nearly spit out his coffee. It's a conspiracy.


Anonymous said...

Where was the 'I have chest pain .... and I am clammy too'????

It's a conspiracy I tell you, I pick up the 9-1-1 line, and the first thing out of the callers mouth are those word. I don't even have to look at the ANI/ALI to know where they are calling from - I just know.

oh .... and tell your partner its a cardinal sin to spill good coffee.

The Happy Medic said...

He knows, it was from the one cup at a time gourmet place. The stuff that even cold is still divine.