My last shift in The City was average. We ran a few cancellations, a chest pain at the clinic, a serious trauma, and. . .
04:00, on a small side street. The police are already on scene as we roll in with an engine, an ambulance, and a paramedic unit. The call is probably BLS; a woman has threatened to harm herself with pills.
No one answers the door, but we are sure we have the right apartment. We knock, and we shout. “Ambulance! Fire Department! Police!” Someone is in there, pretending they aren’t.
The farce continues for a few minutes before Bobby puts it to an end. “OK, let’s get the ax!” he shouts as he stomps down the stairs.
And the door opens.
This is more a matter for the police than for us. We wait on the porch while they talk to the patient. Bobby leans on his ax and looks at me.
“You know you’re going to miss this,” he says with a smile.
By every objective measure my new job is better. By most subjective ones it is too. I’m really looking forward to it.
“Yeah,” I agree, shaking my head and walking away. “See you ‘round.”