I’m transporting a nice guy in his thirties for a broken ankle. He’s a stoner, and currently high as a kite, which has nothing to do with the unfortunate injury he sustained. Regardless, it doesn’t stop the other first responders from judging him from his marijuana use.
I just wish he would share, and I didn’t have to occasionally pee in a cup.
He’s loaded in the ambulance, and we are on the way to a fancy building where they have the capabilities to repair his protruding tibia. He’s gotten a little bit of morphine, which seems to help his pain. He now describes his injury as “gnarly.”
Sounds of music waft into the patient compartment as Slimm turns up the radio a bit.
“Dude, is that Floyd?!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it Dark Side? What’s your partner’s name?”
“Yeah, we were listening to it earlier. His name is Slimm.”
“Hey, Slimm!” he yells. “Turn it up!”
My intrepid partner obliges, and we all jam out to Pink Floyd for the next several minutes. The delightful gentleman even gave an excellent air drum rendition during Money.