I have to be honest, I’m really fortunate with the variety of patients I encounter. Whether it be former child television stars turned undomiciled moguls, planet devourers, or senior citizen ninjas… my job can be really interesting because of the people.

At times.

Every now and then though, there comes a patient that is both interesting and challenging to provide a service for. Usually it’s because of their personality or perhaps some sort of unique circumstance… but rarely is it for both those reasons. When things like that happen it can equate to our version of the perfect storm… where there we are in the eye, thinking we’re gonna make it… and then WHAM! That huge wave rolls over us and sets us back a few feet.

Sometimes… that wave has treads. Such is the case of a new patient we had yesterday, who I will call The General. The General is really nice enough, commanding an army of caretakers efficiently, directing with a flair which way to lift, prop, fluff, and cross to make their transport as comfortable as possible. The General‘s personality would be enough to make the experience interesting… but it’s what The General drives that makes the experience challenging…

Whoever thought it was good to give patients Sherman Tanks instead of Jazzy scooters needs to have their head examined. Really. Do you know how hard it is to get one of those into the back of an ambulance? Even with ramps, modifications, and some customization that I’m still not sure is legal… it was as simple as square object going into a round hole. Just not gonna happen after 45 minutes of trying.

After unsuccessfully getting yesterday’s transport off the ground, I asked The General if maybe they would want to drive over to the facility themselves. “I’ll drag race you if you want,” he replied with a smile as I accepted defeat and returned him to the fortress. I bet he would have… but The General would still need a driver’s license to head into the street… and he’s at least 3 years shy of that.

It’s okay though. This morning, like Douglas MacArthur, I will return to my own personal Phillipiness. I will take The General and his tank and I’ll be making it happen.

Nothing is impossible.

Not even moving a Sherman tank from one borough to another.

Impossible just takes a little longer.

Or in this case… 24 hours and a 55 gallon drum of Crisco.

Hoorah!

First I’d like to say thank you to everyone who commented on the post yesterday and kept the memory of the sacrifice of the EMS Responders alive.

Secondly, I’ve embedded this video that was done by Yamel’s brother Bryant.  It was shown yesterday during the dedication of the crew room in Yamel’s name at the new Westchester base.  Please be warned that if you don’t have tissues handy… get some…

I blog to you tonight from Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania.  If you are an authority figure in the state of Pennsylvania looking to collect the bounty on my head from my 2005 $107.69 garbage bill that I REFUSE to pay, you’re too late.  I’m already gone.

I am participating in the third installment of a monthly training seminar for work.  Three down, three more to go.  When I go on these trips I travel with one of my co-workers who from henceforth shall be known as Bonds.  If you are a Forgotten Realms fan, it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out her real first name.  If you are not a Forgotten Realms fan, now don’t you regret not being one?

You should also know that everyday I consume at least two large French Vanilla ice coffees, light with cream, and with four Splendas that comes from Dunkin Donuts.  With the ice coffees usually comes a plethora of brown recycled napkins that I tend to collect in the middle console for those inopportune sneezes or hacking coughs I might experience.  As Poppy will surely attest to, I usually have quite a wad on the console or between the console and the seat.

So Bonds and I are driving down I-95 last night.  We’re movin’ and we’re groovin’ to the iPod‘s current selection of Wild Thing by Tone Loc.  It is during this song that I decide I need to partake in a little nicotine fix.  Bonds, who is only an occasional partaker, decides she will also partake provided I give her access to a flame.  I lit my little cancer stick with a match because my wonderful Bic lighter had already flicked its butane guts out.  I then pass Bonds the book of matches.

This is where things go horribly wrong.

With my window cracked, she lights a match and puffs her cigarette to life.

Before blowing out the match, she cracks open her window.

The cross winds snap the lit match head from the stem… and it falls to the floor.

Bonds promptly alerted me to the situation with a blood curdling scream… as the wad of Dunkin’ Donuts napkins that had unintentionally slid to the floor from the console became engulfed in flame.

Did I mention I had three oxygen tanks in the truck?  Yeah.  Eye ez smaht.

So Bonds starts stomping out the napkin as I begin swerving across the lanes to try and reach the shoulder of the road before my mirrors are completely obstructed by the copious amounts of smoke winding their way through the truck.  Luckily we make it over, Bonds jumps out struggling with a water bottle in hand, and I instinctively splash the napkins that are roasting my Radioshack inverter with none other than the dregs of my afternoon ice coffee.

I then jump out, and fighting the air turbulence of the 75mph travelling tractor trailers make my way around to the passenger side.  I reach in past Bonds and scoop out the remains of the smoldering napkin.  I toss it on the ground and Bonds hits it with a squirt from the Poland Spring sports bottle she finally managed to uncap.

And that, my dear friends, is How Dunkin Donuts Almost Killed Me In A Blaze Of Flaming Glory, which was the alternative title to this post.

So has anything exciting happened to you lately?