Spring 2008 San Francisco
Well this is about it, folks – I am out of stories for now. I have taken up a clean, comfortable and strangely predictable existence back here in the First World, and that does not often lead to colorful accounts of nasty behaviors dredged up from the cultural slums. I expect to be short of material for these odd pages until I blow a fuse and decide to relocate to a filthy primitive sandbox of a country, or go fall off tugboats in the Bay again or even start riding public transit every day. Sorry about this!
Well, there might be one more tale next month. Meantime, here are the last of the San Francisco paramedic stories:
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
One night in the Mission District, we were leaving the scene of a non-emergency, after the drunk lady who called for medical help then decided to refuse transport. I do not have much tolerance for drunk patients for a lot of reasons, maybe because we had so many of them. Or because I have sometimes been that guy. Anyway, I was loading the empty gurney into the rear of the ambulance, when a young drunk guy stumbled up towards me. He stopped, pointed large new red scrape on his forehead, and said “Should I do anything about this?” (more…)
