Tuesday, April 29, 2008

- Second Verse, Same at The First

I wasn't going to post about it. I swore up and down I wouldn't, that I wouldn't drag y'all down with me into this murky, rotten abyss. But as they say, misery loves company. I need to vent.

Since coming back to work and getting assigned to my new truck I've been assigned to the partner FROM HELL. She makes Lazy Partner look like Basic of the Year.


I'm not sure how often she bathes, but it is not often.

I'm not sure how much deodorant she uses, but it is not much.

I do not believe she washes her uniforms more than once a week - ie, Monday's Pot Roast stain will still be there on Thursday.

She apologizes when I coach her - at first I thought it might've been my tone or my delivery, but it wasn't. She just cringes like a beaten puppy.

She's handsy - she reached to get my pager one time, and the hand lingered on my crotch. I told her never to do it again, and to her (dubious) credit she has not.

But the worst part is her face - the bovine, mouth breathing look on her face, as she watches me lecture again about not running red lights while going code - twice she has nearly killed me. The vacant gaze as I remove the empty oxygen container and remind her the importance of changing it out when it gets low. The mind numbing, brain dead zombie stare, follow by the reflexive "IT'S NOT MY FAULT!" as I ask her why we have no spineboards.

I sat down with our supervisor, intent on having a serious talk with him. Before I opened my mouth, he says "I know. I know. It's PFH."

I nod.

"Well, I've got to hand it to you. You went the longest."

I have been working with Partner From Hell for 2 months.

"Look, we're changing some things around. You won't have to work with her anymore."

I nod again.

* * *

I tried a different approach this time, than I did with lazy partner. I learned from that I need to more of a coaching role than an authoritarian one.

I actually pity her. I tell you, I think she's just so gunshy after being split and replaced from so many partners she doesn't even know what to do anymore. I really don't know what to do. I feel it's a cop out that I'm going to a different truck, but I absolutely can no longer expend my time or energy.

On a lighter note, she did ask me what a falafel was the other day.

"I don't know...it's...it's like a terrorist hotdog."

And with that, friends, good night.

-MM

6 comments:

Epijunky said...

It's a terrorist hotdog... Love it.

LOOOOVE it.

Jason said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Stretcher Jockey said...

Ahhh..the joys of working for Big Private Ambulance Service.

I used to swear when I worked there that their only job qualifications were that you have have a pulse and a patch.

Unfortunately for you, I see things still haven't changed much...*sigh*

EE said...

HAHAHAHA

brite69 said...

Dude. When I started dispatching 4 years ago, there was a chick on thirds that sounds like PFH. She smelled like a mix of ass, BO and horse. There were many a morning where I would get out of my car and smell her OUTSIDE. There was one night that the Operations Manager made her get a new uniform and take a shower, her oder was that intense. And I'm not even going to get into the fact that she was completely stupid.

(I can't remember how I came across your blog, but I'm loving it.)

EE said...

Did she used to teach BTLS out of EP?