After posting the story about the rubber bullet gun, I got to thinking. Some of my experience with the fire department(s) are things that I have tried to forget, or at least tried not to think about to much. Many of things I have seen and done are not fit to share with good folks. Those are stories I can only tell in small groups of folks like Ambulance Driver, other Firemen, or some of the LEO friends I have.
But, apparently, in an effort to move some memories to the back, I moved some that are funny. Well, funny in a sorta sick twisted way.
I have to explain how the EMS and fire departments work. In my department, we are cross trained to do both EMS and Fire. The basic rank of "Fireman" are also paramedics. We take turns on the ambulance and fire engine. Today I may be a 'fireman' on the engine, and next shift I am a 'paramedic' on the ambulance. When we go to a fire, we all work as firemen. When we are on a medical call, we all work as paramedics. It's a real teamwork kinda thing. Sometimes.
On the particular night in question, I am on the ambulance. We get a call for an injured person at the apartment complex across the street from our station. My partner and I pull out of the station and into the parking lot. Two buildings down at the indicated address, we see a yelling match taking place between two men, one of whom is holding a pistol.
We calmly discuss the situation and our options; using single syllable words and short phrases such as "Oh shit!" and "Fuck!". Being a dead-end parking lot, our lack of options is grossly apparent.
We then proceed to inform dispatch of the situation, and gently ask if maybe they could see their way to send some (all of them) PD units our way when they get a chance, like right fucking now!
And then the guy with the gun starts toward our ambulance, as the other one runs up the stairs.
Turns out (thank God) that the guy with the gun is an off duty Texas Highway Patrolman (DPS Officer) who is getting a deal on rent there to provide security.
The other *ahem* gentleman, is off his meds and on the beer and dope. Folks, beer and dope do not help with your mental problems. Tonight he has decided that he is going to kill his girlfriend. Lucky for her she isn't around. For whatever reason, he doesn't want to hurt anyone else.......yet.
Our dispatcher has not only summoned the patrol units, they have thoughtfully sent the rest of our station on the fire engine.
Our soon-to-be patient can't get in the upstairs apartment, so he rams his arm through the window. Cuts the hell out of it too. Missed the artery, but that vein bleeds well.
He crawls into the apartment, with someone in it.
At this point in the story, we have myself and my partner, one local PD officer, and our off-duty DPS officer. We all go up the stairs as the guy gets a large piece of glass to finish what he started on the arm. PD hits him high, DPS hits him low, my partner and I join in. You will of course notice that there are four people on him, and he has four limbs. We each get one.
Four people seem to be just about one-half person short of enough. This little bastard is wiry. He's thin and it's all we can do to hold him down.
Remember when I told you he didn't want to hurt anybody else? He has changed his mind. He is now cursing us, our parents, the city. He's gonna cut us, stab us, kill us. He's a bad dude. And we can only hang on.
This little rodeo has been going on about ten seconds or so (feels like all night) when our engine crew shows up in the apartment. Cop and DPS are yelling at our patient, my partner and I are yelling at the engine crew. And the officer stops the fireman so they can put on their goggles, and gloves, and gaiters, and whatever-the-hell they have.
"How 'bout some fucking help guys?"
"Somebody grab this bastard before he gets loose!"
Yes, yes old chap, just as soon as I am gloved and gowned, and have my protective ensemble arranged. Dear me, where are my safety glasses?
And then in walks our hero. Six-foot tall with a size 12 boot. He not so gently places his boot (to include his foot and almost all of his weight) right smack on top of our patients "private area". As his weight is slowly increased our patient yells "Get off my dick!"
To which our hero responds: "Settle down!"
"Get off my dick!"
"Settle down!" more weight.
"Owwww! Please get of my dick!"
The whimper is comforting.
It does go to show, when you have them by the balls, their hearts and minds will follow.