Tonight, we’ve been going non stop.
Every time we clear from a call, roll back to quarters and I take my boots off, our radio starts squawking. “22, respond red with Fire.”
It is now 0247. I have removed my boots yet again, and have climbed back into my rack. Our last call involved taking a guy to the hospital who amputated the tip of his right middle finger by slamming it in the door. Ouch.
When we arrived, the guy’s girlfriend had the finger chunk wrapped in saran wrap and resting in a tupperware container on a bed of ice. It looked like some unappetizing leftovers.
Fire had him bandaged and he was more embarrassed than anything else. He kept apologizing for getting us out of bed. Really nice guy.
Its been another typically busy night on the truck so far. Now, if only I could get one more hour of sleep.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry.
Sounds like they've got you running.