Every time I think I've gotten the best work stories ever and nothing's gonna top them, well...
I'm pretty sure we can all guess where this is going. And let me tell you, if HIPPA wasn't a thing, I'd be recording calls right now. I mean this is going above and beyond the lady's lip ring caught on her boyfriend's zipper thing on my last day in Brooklyn this winter. With that one, well, at least you could see how it happened and it wasn't people being dumbshits.
Last night though, Well. three little words actually sum that up.
Amateur. Bull. Fighting.
...Well, make that four.
Drunk. Amateur. Bull. Fighting.
Fi...forget it I'm not numbering them anymore.
Naked. Drunk. Amateur. Bull.Fighting.
In a pasture of dairy cows. As in female ones.
The only reason we got called was somebody eletroshocked themselves on some poor farmer's fence. Adding insult to injury, it's late at night, we're trying to get the guy settled on the stretched and into the unit to go back with us, and well, cow pasture of all things.
Partner goes down in a...uh...slick, I have to grab the poor asshole to keep him from sliding off and joining him, his end of the stretcher jerked so much, and, as he gets up, covered in manure, the cows start getting pissed at us for being there, and one of the braver ones starts running at us, mooing threateningly.
A moo the other cows decided to take up as they practically chased us out of the pasture back to the unit, where our patient starts demanding his 'cape' in really badly accented grade school textbook Spanish.
We're professionals. We're not supposed to laugh, but oh dear god, last night was close.
In other news, the random dream fairy has left me a present which greeted me all nicely pressed and hanging in my closet when I got in after my shift last night. I now own a world war two service uniform WITH MY NAME and it fits perfectly. I am so confused right now. When does reality set back in?