Posts Tagged With: funny

~ A Few Good Medics ~

One of the seasoned medics in our Recert Class today gets so frustrated with some of the firefighters he works with, because they aren’t as interested in the EMS side of things as they are the Fire Suppression side of things.  He took a few lines from the movie “A Few Good Men” to drive home the point that they HAVE to understand the importance of EMS within their job.  I loved it.

I begged him to let me share it with you, but he said he would only do it on the condition of anonymity.

So, without further ado, for your enjoyment,  Ladies and Gentlemen, May I present to you (…you see, the joke here is that this is all further ado.  Oh, never mind.)

A Few Good Medics

Kaffee:  Colonel Jessep, is EMS the backbone of the fire service?

Judge:  You don’t have to answer that question!

Col. Jessep:  I’ll answer the question!  You want answers?

Kaffee:  I think I’m entitled.

Col. Jessup:  You want answers?

Kaffee:  I want the truth!

Col. Jessup:  You can’t handle the truth!  Son, we live in a world of sick people, and those people have to get to the hospital by men in ambulances.  Who’s going to do it? You?  You, Lt. Weinburg?

I have a greater responsibility than you can fathom.  You weep for the firefighters and curse EMS.  You have the luxury of not knowing what I know.  That you don’t fight many fires, though tragic, is a fact.  And our existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, saves lives.  You don’t want the truth because deep down in places you don’t talk about at the firehouse, you want us on that ambulance, you need us on that ambulance.

We use words like Compassion. Caring. Empathy.  We use these words as the backbone of a service dedicated to the community.

You use them as a punchline.

I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very service that we provide, then treat us like the bastard children of the department.  I would rather you just said “Thank you,” and went on your way.

Otherwise, I suggest you pick up an aide bag and ride an ambulance.  Either way, I don’t give a damn what you think you are entitled to.

Kaffee:  Is EMS the backbone of the fire service?

Col. Jessep:  We do the job.

Kaffee:  Is EMS the backbone of the fire service?

Col. Jessep:  You’re Goddamn right it is!

End Scene

Did that give you chills, or what?  It gave me chills.  Maybe it makes more sense to people actually involved in Fire and Rescue, but you get the idea.

EMS is like the red-headed stepchild of Fire and Rescue, and I don’t understand why.   It’s the most important part of what it’s all about.  Maybe it is because so many citizens abuse the system, and use 911 for non-emergent calls.  Maybe it’s because so many people thank their doctors and nurses, but forget about the EMTs and Medics who get them there.  Maybe it’s because mopping up blood and urine and vomit is never as glamorous as you might think it is (DO you think it is?).

You never see or smell the vomit on EMS related TV shows.   And believe me, there is a lot of Vomit in EMS.   Vomit doesn’t sell, apparently.  If it did, you would see more vomit on TV and in the movies.  But vomit doesn’t sell.

And that is all I have to say about Vomit.

Except that the smell is really unglamorous.

And nasty.

And dry-heave inducing.

Hey….now that I think about it, that might be one of the reasons EMS is the red-headed stepchild of the Fire and Rescue service.  They can’t handle the vomit!

Categories: Fire and Rescue | Tags: , , , , , , | 3 Comments

~ So What? ~

So many of my previous posts have starred my son, Critter, and his many endearing antics. He is a handful and will most likely be the next Dick Van Dyke when he grows up. If we hear one of the cats cry out, or if there is the sound of breaking glass, or the thud of something heavy bouncing down the stairs, we generally look for him.

But I DO have another child. The beautiful and talented Varmint.

My dad used to call her his ‘Rosebud’ before he died. I call her ‘Varmint,’ ‘Peanut’, and sometimes, ‘Butthead’, but only on special occasions.  She is, without a doubt, one of the funniest, sharpest-witted 10.5 year olds I’ve ever met.

But Varmint is a worrier.

She worries about pleasing the teachers. She worries about pleasing her friends. She worries about pleasing the basketball coach. I’m pretty sure she’d worry about pleasing the mailman, given the chance.

(Oddly enough, by the looks of her room, she doesn’t worry too darn much about pleasing her Mama.)

This excessive worrying drives her to go above and beyond the call of duty on too many things. If anyone is ripe for an ulcer, its her. For example, at her school recently, each 4th and 5th grade child had to choose an historic figure in the Revolutionary war, and play the part of that person in a little “wax museum” for parents. Each kid had a lengthy report of facts about their character. And they read these facts. Well, MOST of them did.

Varmint memorized her page of facts, and acted it out as if she was Sarah Bernhardt.

“Why?” I asked?
“Because the teacher said she would like it if we had good eye contact while we were in character.”

I just stared at her. Lemme get this straight. The teacher mentioned eye contact is a good thing, so my daughter memorized a bizillion word essay to please her.  Understand that in preparation for this, we cried over this report.  We lamented over how much work it was.  We fought through each and every agonizing stressful moment of it.  ….and we didn’t have to??

I took a deep breath. “Alrighty Then.”

My goal now is to teach this child the meaning of “So What.”

It’s an important phrase that a wise woman once suggested that I, in my over-achiever, Type-A personality, adopt.  The point is that nothing any of us may fail at will result in end of the world. The universe will not implode if we screw up. (Probably.)

Not enough time to finish homework? So What?
Not straight A’s in class? So What?
Art Teacher doesn’t like your work? So What?
Hair a bit out of place? So what? Its not the end of the world!

Perspective is a hard thing to maintain. We are so tiny in this universe. Our biggest problems don’t amount to much at all. But in the day to day minutiae crap, we forget this! So I try to live with “So What” and not get wrapped around the axle about the small stuff if I can help it. And she so desperately needs to learn this, too. Soon. VERY SOON.

Now, Critter, on the other hand…..

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~ Walk All Over Me, Please. ~

I have a fetish.

I’ve had it for years, and its slowly gotten worse. I know I probably need some kind of group therapy for it, but I am a horrible listener (which explains this blog,) and I imagine that rolling my eyes during a group therapy session would go over like a turd in a punchbowl.

And I’ve been known to roll my eyes. Its a bad habit I’ve learned from the masters ~ Gwen, Garrick, and sadly, Troy.

But when it comes right down to it, I really don’t WANT to change, so group therapy or any 12-step program would be wasted on me. (Its kind of like the idea of dieting is wasted on me. I really don’t want to. Counting points, counting carbs, counting calories….WHATEVER. I would rather count the minutes until my next meal.)

Ok, here it is, my big confession. Please don’t judge me.

I ADORE DOOR MATS.

Yes, I said it. Door Mats.

Have you ANY IDEA how difficult it is to be a closet Door Mat Adorer? It’s nearly impossible! Door Mats are right out front, not in some stinkin closet!

“Why?” you ask? “Why, Pam? Why Door Mats? Why not Salt and Pepper shakers, or Tea Cups, or Historic Coins or Irish Spoons? Who in the world collects Door Mats?”

Talk about an opportunity to control a first impression! Door Mats ARE the quintessential first impression! I love to change them to fit my various Moods. I have some to reflect the season or Holiday. (WIPE YOUR FEET! This includes you, Santa!). I have some to reflect my philosophies. (Enjoy Life!) But my favorite is ridiculously simple, and leaves everyone who passes over it smiling. It reads simply,

“Hi, I’m Mat.”

It’s so silly, and it speaks to everyone.

That’s what people relate to, really. We humans love Silly. And not just any silly…we love Simple Silly. Arrogance tunes people out. Simple Silly endears. Like a Golden Retriever. Not the brightest bulb in the box of dog choices, but argueably one of the most loveable.

I wish I had more doorways so I could get more doormats. Is that wrong? Do I need an intervention?

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~ My Side of the Bed: A Tale of Woe ~

Lets make one thing perfectly clear.  My husband is a Captain, Station Commander, Firefighter, Task Force Team Member on the Maryland Task Force One Urban Search and Rescue Team, and Paramedic.  This means he is gone at least one night out of three, and often two nights out of three (because he has to work overtime to support his wife’s Dollar Store Habit…its very sad).  It makes sense, then, that HIS side of the bed gets less use.  Add to that, before we were married, My side of the bed got use from yours truly for… the better part of a decade. In short, my side of the bed has been USED.  His side of the bed is only slightly used.

Why is it, then, that the fact that MY side of the bed being sunken, soften, lumpy,  SMOOSHED and creaky makes me feel rather, um, LARGE.  Why is it that his side of the bed being firm and straight and downright comfortable makes me feel chagrin?  I mean, heck, look at the first paragraph!  The disparate usage alone would create the glaring differences in the conditions of our individual sides.   Common sense demands that it would have to be a very special mattress that did NOT show a difference in the usage wear and tear.

And yet, I can’t help but draw a similarity to the condition of my side of the bed, and my used, lumpy, soft, smooshed and creaky body, and his side of the bed with his firm, straight and comfortable body.

Its just not good for my self-esteem.   Something must be done.  The way I see it, we can either buy a new mattress and use it until I crush it, too, or he can be a good sport and gain some gosh darn weight. He’s in his mid forties, for pity’s sake.  He can let it go a little bit.  Soften around the middle.  Maybe love me enough to actually sport a muffin top or something to prove to the world that his wife can actually cook.

Its more likely that we’ll get a new mattress.

*** Sigh ***

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