Wednesday, April 05, 2006

"Emeeergency, emeergency, eberybodee cleeer da street."

I was an ambulance driver this week. My wife and I had to take my youngest sons wife to the emergency room because she was bleeding heavy (you never think you’re going to use that line unless you’re a war correspondent) and was concerned about a miscarriage.

She was at work and we were closer to her than my son so he said he would meet us at the ER.

Immediately the theme from Saving Private Ryan or maybe it was Forrest Gump started playing in my head. I sprang into action, which is what happens when the lever releases too quickly on my recliner.

I did my best impression of a NASCAR driver, including the southern accent, all the way to the hospital. Instead of chewing tobacco I had a wad of sugar free gum in my cheek. I was trying to keep it light, make her laugh, you know, to take her mind off things.
Then we got to the ER.

ER is hospital talk for Department of Motor Vehicles. Because the line was just as long, there was this terrible smell, children were screaming everywhere and no one behind the counter seemed to give a rat’s ass.

Osama Bin laden is not hiding in Pakistan. I’m fairly sure I saw him waiting in an ER in La Mesa.

On the wall of the waiting room was a digital message board that read, “Welcome to the Department of Motor Vehicles (substitute hospital name here) today’s date is Monday March 24, 2006 the time is 6:03pm.

We got there on Monday April 3rd at 10:45pm. Apparently they got a bonus of daylight savings time.

After waiting an hour and a half they finally called her name. We were so excited. It was like winning French fries at McDonald’s.

I spit my gum.

It was at this time that I realized that customer service for SBC was not the only thing outsourced to India. A woman with a name that rhymed with Hajogelerabashhekya Funjabila, I’ll call her Mary, came and took my daughter-in-law away, and I never thought we’d see her again. Five minutes later she came out with a yellow wrist band on. I guess all Mary was supposed to do was check ID’s so they would know my daughter-in-law was over twenty one when they served the cocktails.

I looked at my wife, “Uh… this must be part of the “no patient left behind” plan Blue Cross has come out with.

My wife and I stayed for a few hours and then we went home to burn our clothes. It’s the only way to kill the Ebola virus I was sure we picked up from trailer park people that were sitting across from us. I think they were all pregnant, the women, men, children pets, all of them. The one older guy kept complaining he was missing the “knife” show on the TV and that Shane should have known better than to fire a screwdriver from a shotgun.

My son, exhausted and confused, called us from the hospital at 5:30am. That’s when a doctor finally examined her.

“Dad, its AJ. Melina didn’t have a miscarriage. I think they said she has Placenta Primavera.”

“I wonder if that’s anything like the Chicken Hemotoma your mother tried to make the other night?”

“Dad don’t start, I don’t have the energy.”

“You didn’t see that chicken. I think it was in the Witness Protection Program.”


“For the amount of time we had to spend in the ER we could have sacrificed that chicken to “Joboo”, cured Melina, and been home in time to watch the “knife” show.”

“Idiot, what are you talking about?”

“Son your mom just woke up.”

“Is that AJ? How’s Melina?”

“She’s okay it was just indigestion from the primavera she had for dinner.”

“I’m not even awake Calabrese and I still know you’re an idiot. Give me the phone.”

So my daughter-in-law seems to be okay now.

Hopefully this won’t happen again but if it does next time we’ll be ready.

The DMV is two miles closer.