I can't believe I'm saying this (who am I trying to kid, of course I can) but THERE'S MORE. That's right, for the exclusive price of $0.00 you get NOT ONLY three awkward anecdotes about my retarded escapades, but you will ALSO RECEIVE the following anecdote at NO ADDITIONAL CHARGE.I know today is officially "Wednesday," but let's not get caught up in the details. It gets in the way of the magic web of fantasy I'm trying to spin for you here.
ANYWAYS after I left you last this morning, dear reader(s), I packed myself into the subway to go to the doctor's office for some tests. SIDE NOTE: I honestly do not mind going to the doctor's office. I get to travel to the East Side for a change and have a little mini-Breakfast at Tiffany's-themed vacation right in the middle of my workday. Diamonds and chicken on rice? Why, don't mind if I do! (And by that I mean, I would like a tiara and then a delicious meal, NOT a meal consisting of delicious chicken and precious gemstones. Way to be obfuscatory, English Language. SIDE SIDE NOTE: Both obfuscatory AND obfuscous are words. I <3 OED like it was my own Asian baby. In a related story, I am elected mayor of Dorkopolis.)
What I do mind is the fact that I have to go to the doctor's office in order to prepare for going to the doctor's office. Really? Really, medical establishment? You couldn't take these tests during my regularly scheduled checkup when I have to be there already? REALLY? Honestly.
Luckily I made it over to MadAve in plenty of time and got all of my bodily fluids successfully extracted. Wow, that was a truly horrifying sentence and I apologize. Please accept this video presentation as a symbol of my deep remorse:
We cool now? Good. Let's get to the part.
I leave the doctor's office, proud of myself for getting my life taken care of in a timely manner like a real-life grown-up, and I'm about to hop the express train to delicious chicken 'n' rice when I notice there's man sitting on the curb. And by sitting I mean kneeling on the ground holding his head while a steady stream of blood does its very best to escape from inside his skull. He's with another woman who's dressed like she just raided Joan Holloway's closet and looks like she just finished watching Requiem for A Dream. (SIDE NOTE: DON'T DO IT. I'm still having nightmares...shudder) My guess is, not so comfortable with blood is this one. No probs, I tell myself, I've seen this scene in the movies like a million times! I am ALL OVER IT. In case you've never seen any movie/TV show ever, this is the part where the kind stranger calls 911 and saves the day...March Hare, to the rescue!
The thing is, I've never called 911 before and...well bottom line, it's not as easy as they make it look in Hollywood. First thing when the lady picks up, I say 'I'm on Madison Avenue and 60th and there's a man bleeding from his head on the sidewalk here.' Who. What. Where. Straightforward, no? Apparently not, because the lady on the phone asks me, 'Man or woman?' Um....man. But maybe she just didn't hear that part, whatever, it's possible. Next question: 'What's your emergency?' Um...head leaking blood? Again, I feel like I just went over this, so I don't get why are we rehashing the issue. Finally: 'Where are you?' Okay look 911 operator, I get that you have a script to read but this is just silly and time-wastey. Dude is bleeding from the head and you are playing 20 questions with me over the phone. How about we make a deal: I promise I will play all the parlor games you want, and in return, you send one of those neat vans with the flashy lights and the honky sirens to pick up my new friend. Deal? Deal.
Once we've finished playing animal, vegetable or mineral, the operator transfers me to the ambulance dispatch where a different person starts asking me about the guy in trouble: age, nature of the accident, is he conscious, &c. I tell the dispatcher that I think this guy got in a bike accident, but I don't know for sure, and I'm just sitting on the sidewalk with him. 'Do you have any ice?' the dispatch man asks me. Well gee, dispatch man, I just happen to be carrying a big bag o' ice in this here pocket! What a coinkeedink! NOT.
No problem, though. I leave Joan to wait with our friend while I run around the corner to the Korean deli to get some ice for him. Joan apparently has forgotten both her wallet and her phone, which aside from the fact that this is New York lady, why are you leaving the house without your wallet and your mobile, means she can't really do anything but stand there and look daintily horrified, which she does admirably. So anyways, I get to the Korean deli, and I (somewhat frantically) ask the lady at the counter if they have any ice. 'In a cup?' She wants to know, no, I say, could I have it in a bag instead? It's for a man outside who is bleeding badly. Well now, apparently they get that one a lot because the woman takes out a plastic bag puts EXACTLY three ice cubes in it and hands it to me. 'Um,' I say, 'could I have some more? He's bleeding out there are it's an emergency.' More? MORE?? The nerve! With her most icy glare she adds precisely three more cubes to the bag, shoves it at me and says dangerously, 'We charge for ice! Next time...YOU MUST PAY!' OKAY KIM JUNG IL NEXT TIME I HAVE A TRAUMA VICTIM I WILL GIVE YOU YOUR MONEY. Look, I have nothing against Koreans in general (except for the dirty lying cheating variety. You know what you did.) In fact, I cohabitate with a Korean Arnold Palmer, and we get along juuuuust fine. But nevertheless I'd like to send a message to all you Korean deli owners out there: shape up and act right. Contrary to what you might have heard, no one is running any elaborate ice-peddling schemes in this city. If someone says they need a bag of ice for a head wound, cut 'em some slack, okay? Okay.
Next item of business. I bring back the ice and the ambulance still hasn't come. By this time there is a serious amount of blood all over this guy, and I am starting to get a TWEE bit worried. Joan and I, and a fellow bike messenger/delivery man convince the guy to use the ice pack, and while we're talking to him, two security guards come out of the building we're sitting in front of and say 'What is going on here?' WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOING ON HERE?? We're filming a scene for my film class, geniuses. Do I really need to explain this situation to you two? Apparently the answer to that question is 'yes.' They're not getting it from the bloodstained picture, so Joan explains about the accident. 'Oh' they say, in a way that conveys not so much understanding as 'We don't like what's going on out here but if we tell you to move it will probably reflect badly on our character so we're just going to stand here awkwardly until you go away.'
Luckily the ambulance FINALLY shows up, which seems like we have come to the end of our happy tale. FALSE. It would be almost too simple if ambulances just came and picked injured people up and took them to the hospital! Let's spice it up a little! How about we make the EMT a psycho bitch? I LIKE IT. Upon exiting the ambulance, her first question to the victim is 'Sir, where is your ID?' Now I should add at this point that the gentleman does not speak a word of English. Zero. I have been communicating with him and his friend using my high school Spanish (thank you Senora Jenkes) but the EMT clearly speaks no Spanish at all. So the obvious solution to this problem is for her to repeat, in a louder and more menacing voice, 'SIR WHERE IS YOUR ID.' Problem. Solved. 'He doesn't speak English' I offer, trying to, you know, speed the process of getting his head examined. Which honestly, I'm not a doctor, but seems like it should take priority over where his f*cking ID is, lady. I don't know where you went to EMT school but I attended the University of If Your Head Is Bleeding All Over The Place It's Probably Serious. References upon request. Wrong thing to say, apparently. EMT bitch fires back with, 'Well if you would stop talking and get out of my way then I could do my job.' Hold up. What I should have said to this Sassy McRudepants was 'Apparently not! Zing!' What I actually said was nothing. My theory was that it was probably better for the bleeding guy if I just got out of her way and let her sort out her neurosis on her own rather than waste time laying the smackdown on some crazy-ass ho. So I got out of her way to let her do her 'job' which apparently consisted of her shoving her hands in all his pockets to find the mysterious ID while he bled all over her.
Finally, when she realized she wasn't going to find a prize at the bottom of this cereal box, she gave up and grudgingly loaded him into the ambulence. Presumably to go to the hospital, but perhaps to the social security office. Who knows. Joan and I parted ways, I went back to work, and that, dear reader(s) is how my AWESOME day got EVEN BETTER.
FIN
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