I’m was kicked back in a blue recliner at Station 22, munching on popcorn and watching “The First 48″ on A&E. I’d done my station chores, finished the daily training, read some case reviews, inventoried the meds in our supply cabinet, deep cleaned our reserve truck and was seriously considering a nap.

My partner looked over at me and reached his paw into the can of popcorn. He threw a few kernels of kettle corn into his maw, chewed and then says, “Sure is quiet.”

I shook my head as the pager beeps.

Quiet, he says.

This bullshit post nasal drip/cold/bronchitis/crud drove me to the Doc in the Box yesterday to get a scrip for a Zpak and some Flonase. I went after my shift, on my way home, so I was still in my uniform. Amazingly, the Nurse Prac just asked me what I wanted in the way of a scrip. I told her, she nodded, told me it sounded appropriate and with a few taps on her tablet, sent it in to the pharmacy. In and out in 10 minutes, with a 10 dollar co-pay. Why don’t the sniffle/snotty people who call an ambulance just visit the Boxed Doc? Oh, that’s right… Because they don’t take Medicare and there’s no Sierra Mist and Meal Trays to be had.

Sorry. I’ve still got a sore throat and a headache and I’m a little cranky. I’ll be better tomorrow, I’m sure of it.