Paramedics @ MindSay 
I recently returned from a near heart attack-inducing trip to the local branch of a nationwide discount store. I took my three doughnuts (I hate it when it’s spelled DONUT), pack of hot dogs, and two boxes of corn muffin mix to an express lane (20 items or less). I was the second person in line, so I figured I would breeze on through and be out in just a few minutes. I should have known. I should have known! When has anything ever been as simple as that?
Apparently the woman in front of me was a teacher because she was buying school supplies in bulk. In fact, a couple of people passed by and recognized her as such. She thought she was being slick by putting 20 composition books and 60 folders into two boxes, but they each had to be rung up separately, so that constituted 80 items, not two. Then there were all the pens and pencils, and pads. Even without the two boxes there were over 20 items. 20 items or less means just that. It can be 20 pencils or 20 TV sets, but 20 items means 20 items…and I know that if I had gone into the line with 21 items, they’d have sent me elsewhere.
I realize that a lot of teachers have to pay for their own classroom supplies—that in itself is reprehensible, given the exorbitant sums of money our state and local governments extort from us in the name of education—and I can certainly appreciate the sacrifice. But 20 items means 20 items!
Finally ready to pay, the lady pulled five gift cards out of her purse. Naturally only two of them scanned. The hapless soul running the register was utterly baffled, scanning each card innumerable times before it finally dawned on her to call a superior, who eventually arrived and proved to be anything but.
We were approaching the 15-minute mark at that point, but all of the other checkout lines were so full with other shoppers smart enough to avoid my line that I figured if I stepped to the back of another line, the problem with the gift cards would be miraculously solved, people would flock to that line, and I would be up the creek.
At the 20-minute mark, the cashier said to me, “Sir, would you mind going to another line? We’re having a problem here.”
No kidding. And yes, I do mind. Expletives deleted. I did say loud enough for any and everybody to hear, “This is ridiculous,” and went grudgingly to another line.
I could feel my face flush. My nostrils flared, I was breathing rapidly, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I stepped to the other line, holding my wares and staring at the floor. Pain shot through my left arm and…what was that in front of me?
My eyes drifted forward to a great pair of legs. Hmmmm. Interesting. I looked up to see who they belonged to and found the most adorable hourglass standing in front of me; long blonde hair and a pair of shorts and a tank top that were…revealing…yeah, that’s it. That 80 items or less line was soon forgotten, and I settled in to enjoy the view.
I finally got up the nerve to speak and said, “They sure like to take their sweet time, don’t they?” The guy turned around and agreed.
The paramedics checked me out and gave me a clean bill of health. I hadn’t had a heart attack, but I’d given my head a heck of a whack when I passed out into the shopping cart behind me. I called the wife and apologized.
I finally made it out to my vehicle with my corn meal, hot dogs, health, and very little pride. I’d abandoned the DONUTS at the register once the chocolate began to melt.
I went home and prepared some of Rachael Ray’s 30 Minute Meals oven-baked corn dogs for lunch.
Why was I not surprised that they turned out lousy?
© 2007 by J.D. Lewis
...had some of the best times you'll never rememeber with me... alcohol....
Okay. So there's this girl on my floor that I've eaten with, and chatting with a little bit.... well... I knew she had gotten in trouble for drinking and was required to take a substance abuse class.
Last night I went and watched a movie with a friend that lives off campus, and I drank a 6pack of Mikes Hard Cranberry Lemonade. I stumbled into the dorm a little before two, and just went to bed. I woke up this morning, and apparently I missed A TON of drama.This chick got drunk off her ass to where she couldn't stand or walk, she had popped vicodin and percacet and called the night staff that watches the doors "fucking bitches".
She was obviously messed up so they called the cops and the cops called an ambulance because it's a TERRIBLE mixture, and a fire truck showed up. They ended up having to pump her stomach. I was buzzing a ton. I am so glad I watched a movie before I went home. I'm scared they would have breath tested me.
If you have ever flew in or out of Chicago O'Hare, you probably know there is no such thing as a "typical" day. Well, I guess there might be, if you count bad weather and delays. Sometimes it is kind of fun actually, in a weird way, because you know that your day probably isn't going to go as planned. You take bets amongst your crew as to how late you'll be or whether you'll get home tonight or not. (Doesn't take too much to entertain us obviously.) It's all you can do really, or you'll go nuts.
About three weeks ago, we were scheduled to fly six legs (flights) in and out of Chicago. Not a pretty day to say the least, but most of them were just short hops, flights no longer than 30 minutes. On the third flight, we were headed to a town in Michigan. I had just met the new Captain, a nice guy who had just finished his training (as a Captain in the jet instead of the turbo-prop he had flown for 8 years) and this was his first time flying out of Chicago. We finished our briefing just as the passengers began to make their way out of the terminal.
As we fly the "baby planes," most of the time we just board using the aircraft's steps. Yes, it is a pain sometimes, but for as many regional jets that fly in there, we don't really have another option. If we all had to wait for jetways, it would take forever.
The last of the passengers had climbed the steps and made it to their seats, when one of the ramp agents said we were waiting on two more, and elderly couple. The husband let his wife go first, and I reached down to take a couple of their bags so they could hang onto the handrails easier. As she got to the second to the top step, she stumbled and fell to her knees. I rushed to help her up, asking if she was ok. She reassured me that she was fine and explained how she had knee replacement three weeks ago. I wasn't sure, but she said she was fine and they went back to sit down.
I was just starting to do some of the paperwork for the flight deck when her husband comes up and asks if I have a bandaid. His wife had cut her leg a little when she fell. Of course, I said, and grabbed a bandaid and a couple of paper towels, just in case.
I get back to their row, and she has rolled her pant leg up to observe the damage. My jaw drops. This is definitely not just a little "cut." This is a full on gash that is bleeding pretty well. It looked like someone had tried to filet her leg. I quickly wrap the paper towels around it and prop her leg up on the seat. There is no way I'm leaving without the paramedics checking it out, so I go back up front to have the pilots call for them. Jeff, the new Captain, thinks I'm joking. When I convince him I'm not, the color drains a little from his face. I guess this isn't what he was expecting for his first flight.
I grab another handful of paper towels and apply pressure to her leg. I try to keep her talking, hoping it will keep her mind off any pain she might be feeling. Plus, I was trying to keep my mind off of it, too. I don't get queasy very easily, but this thing was nasty...bleck.
The paramedics show up and bandage her leg. They actually didn't seem to concerned at all. I don't mean that in a bad way, but I guess being paramedics, that definitely isn't even close to some of the stuff they've seen I'm sure. Let's hope that's the worse thing that ever has to happen on one of my flights, too!