Day Two Off FTO Time

I decided to go back to work. So I laced up my Doc Martens, which were my favoritest EMS boots ever, by the way, and off I went to OLV. If you know, you know. It took me about twenty minutes to find our “quarters” in the basement, which was a room, with a TV, timeclock, and two recliners. The first glimpse I got of my partner for the day was legs and boots. Really long legs. I went into quarters to clock in, which was pitch dark, heard a deep voice say “Hold on a second.” before I flipped the lights on, punched in, looked over my shoulders to see legs and boots peeking out from a dark blue premier provider jacket, which indicated they were a senior employee. Newbies like me had a light blue jacket that looked like it had been washed one too many times with a sack of rocks.

I left a breadcrumb trail from quarters to the garage, checked off the truck, and returned, to hear my partner snoring soundly to “Dances With Wolves” on the TV. I watched the majority of the movie before I took a brief snooze and we got a call. I finally got a look at my partner. He was tall, with wavy dark hair with a little white spot in it, and striking, slightly crazy eyes. We responded, got canceled, and returned to quarters. We ended up taking a few calls throughout the day, and there was nothing terribly exciting about them. He was funny as hell and easy going. Just, a little crazy eyed.

We wound up in Cheektowaga, at St Joe’s Hospital, parked outside their bay, covering. He was sitting in the passenger seat, working on his report on a clipboard. I was in the driver’s seat. This was before cell phones entertained the hell out of us, so we were just, ya know, sitting there. I was likely singing along to the radio. Until, I felt someone looking at me. I stole a glance at the passenger seat, and he looked away. Weird… I went back to singing. He’s looking at me again. I look his way. He looks away. What is wrong with this guy? I shrug my shoulders. Keep in mind, it’s my second day in EMS. I’m still sheltered. I wouldn’t have said shit if I had a mouthful of it. But this guy is seasoned. Salty, if you will. And he’s staring. At. Me. Now he’s not looking away. I ignore him. He leans closer, and closer. And screams at the tops of his lungs.

I hit the driver’s door so hard I broke two nails and split my knuckle. I skipped the running board completely and went sprawling over the sidewalk and into a snowbank. He full on horse starts laughing. I turn around and look at him wide eyed. He stops dead. “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?” I ask. “YESSS!!!” He exclaims. “I got you to say your first swear word!!” “That doesn’t explain what the hell that was!?!” I reply. “Primal scream therapy. You should try it.” He explained. I lit a cigarette shaking like a leaf and shook my head at him for about ten minutes. He giggled like a school girl.

Every year, on my birthday, he recommends primal scream therapy. He preceptored me through Intermediate class. We worked together many many times over the years and have many great memories. He’s a nurse now. I would be so relieved to see his face over me in a emergency. He is an amazing human that taught me many things about not only being a good medic, but not taking yourself too seriously. I love you, friend.


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