Sunday, February 24, 2008

- We've Got to Stop Eating Like This

Scene: 10:30 PM. Two EMTs sitting in the cab of a unit, sweaty and tired. They've been on for 17 hours and are outside of a large hospital.

Eating Partner: "What are you hungry for?"

MM: "What. Are you serious? No. We just had a cheeseburger."

EP: "I know that...but...Popeye's Chicken has that 99 cent chicken sandwich...we could make it, it's in the coverage area."

MM: "No! I'm not doing that! You and I both know that those employees keep getting 'spider bites'. How many times have we've been over there for 'spider bites' for some chickenslinger trying to strike it rich with a law suit? HOW MANY TIMES, DAMN YOU? HOW MANY?!"

EP: "Just one chicken sandwich, then we can go to sleep."

MM: ::sigh:: "Fine."

(later, in the drive thru)

Voice Box: "Fvvvshhg?"

MM:"....Uh, yes I'd like a Chicken sandwich, no may-"

Voice Box: "NKFJENKF?!"


Voice Box:"NFJKNEJKE!"



MM: "Screw this. Let's go inside."

Register Lady: "Welcome ta Popeye, I can take yo order?"

MM:"I'd like to congratulate your company on it's progressive attitude, letting a deaf-mute work the drive thru. That's mighty ambitious!"

RL: "Huh?"

MM: "Nothing, I'd like a chicken sandwich, no mayo, a Bar-

RL: "You gon et that sandwich dry?"

MM:"It's not for me, I'm getting it for my par-...why am I telling you this? Yes, dry. No mayo, and a roo-"

RL: "-You wanna a drink?"

MM: "Yes. Yes, I wanna a drink. A large Root Beer."

(The Register Lady, easily close to 400 lbs, waddles across the greasy Popeye's Fried Chicken kitchen floor, my cup suffocating in her dainty, sweaty hoof. I'm thinking if she falls in here, we're going to have to call in and get lift assistance, tell everyone what happened, and probably never be allowed to come back to this chicken restaurant again. "Skate across the tile, my chicken angel! Skate like a Kwan!" Somehow, she manages to get there and back without falling.)

RL: "Der go yo rootbeer!" My sweet brown nectar slops over the side of the cup and onto the counter.

MM: "Thanks. No triple axle? You could've nailed it."

RL: "Huh?"

MM: "Nothing."

I notice suddenly Register Lady has been sizing me up...whether to ask me out or make me a meal. I am not sure. "So you an bambulance driver?"

MM: "What, are my antlers showing again? This damn cap..."

RL: "Huh?"

MM:"Nothing. Yes ma'am, I'm a Bambulance driver. I drive the Bambulance. I enjoy saltlicks, and getting shot by men wearing neon orange. I love it."

RL: "Huh?"

MM: "Yes Ma'am, I'm an EMT."

RL: "Oh, ok. Dere go yo sand-itch." Her hand leaves a sweatprint on the bag she hands me.

MM: "Thank you. Look, before I go, could you say 'Jeenga Nert Do, Solo! Hah hah hah hah!'"?

RL: "Huh?"

MM: "Thank you."

EP: "What the hell? This has mayo on it."


EP: "'s not that bad....and we do still have half of that pizza we got at lunch."

MM: "Argh. I'm going to bed. I'm getting an antlerache."

EP: "Huh?"

MM: "Nothing."

See ya'll next weekend.


Sunday, February 17, 2008

- Just a shout out... all my homies huddled around the single computer in Visalia, CA - just remember this simple rule while working in the medical field.

(puts on gieco gecko voice)

Air goes in an' out, blood goes 'round an' 'round. Any variation on this is a BAD.

Should be getting a longer pass next weekend so I'll be able to throw up some new posts. I'm still alive!