Wednesday, March 28, 2007

The Regulars

I guess everyone in the EMS/Law Enforcement/Fire departments have regulars,those folks who call over and over. The reasons they call range from wanting to gripe about the kids skateboarding on 'their' sidewalk again to having their temperature checked because they don't have a thermometer. And then, sometimes, they're just loony.

One of my regulars was named.., well let's just call her The Poet. I would make a run on The Poet
at lest once a week. If I saw her once a week, between the 3 shifts she was calling 3-5 times a week. Do the math, that's at least every other day! She called for various reasons, but most of them boiled down to being either pure psycho imagination, or your more normal drug/alcohol induced hallucination's. She was actually interesting, but nuttier than a fruit cake.

And she kept telling us that she was a poet.


She would tell us about the poems he had sent to her publisher, while she told us about the man in the dress that had kicked down her door. How he had torn it off the hinges and came charging in to scare her. The door that was undamaged now.

One day she called for a sexual assault. We rolled our eyes as we left, but you never know. We arrived just as the police did. She met us at the curb with a canvass shopping bag full of kittens. She said she had rescued them from her neighbor who was sexually assaulting them. She wanted us to check them out, and the police to find them foster care.
How did she know they were being assaulted? Because they would sneak out of the apartment and into hers and tell her.
"Meowwwww! help me ow!"

She would write us very nice thank you letters. Not notes, letters. Long letters. I remember her talking about smoking beer and drinking pot in one of them. Her words, not mine. She wrote very eloquently. She would even send us poems in the thank you letters. One day we saw an article in the local paper about her being a published author of poetry, and having won awards.
And she signed her name backwards, with her left hand.

She was right handed, but she signed her name backwards with her left hand. The signature was beautiful! If you held it to a mirror is was perfect! Someone asked her why she did that once. She kinda leaned over and said "So they can't find me."

Who find you?
"The Secret Service."

We had to ask and she told us;

She admitted to spending a lot of time in Washington DC in the late 60's and early 70's. You know the peace movement, free love, and the drugs, don't forget the drugs. She (remember this is her story) had become involved somehow with some politicians. They were using her for sex and to get their drugs. She was involved with one fellow that was part of the break in and cover up of the Watergate. She had information about it. She knew things that would change history. She knew some things about the Kennedy assassination too. "There was a cover up" was all she would tell us. She said she couldn't tell us more because "they would know" and kill her and us. She wanted to protect us, so she wouldn't tell us. She had gone into hiding so they couldn't find her. She signed her name backward so if they tried handwriting analysis, they couldn't tell who she was.

And she was a published, award winning poet, under her own name. But they would never think to look there.

She also lived with a bird, 2 dogs, and multiple cats. She had drug paraphernalia and alcohol everywhere.

One day she came into the station and asked for opinions. Seems she had a son that had been starting fires. Like many juvenile fire setters, he played with matches, and lighters. He started with the little things like trash and weeds. He progressed onto trash cans and fences. She was worried. She wanted to find something else for him to do. She wanted our opinion of buying him some metal and a he could make art.

She didn't like our opinion.

There were lots of other times. I transferred to another district, and haven't heard about her in quite a while. Sometimes I wonder about her.

Mr Fixit

1 comment:

Jamie said...

We tend not to have repeat business in the embalming room unless there's a huge zombie incident.

Since we don't do transport for the area I guess we'd never run across each other.

Great, now I'm going to be looking in all the fire trucks in D/FW wondering if "that fixit guy" is in one!