Don't Be a Jackass

I awoke this morning to the news that Ryan Dunn of Jackass fame lost control of his vehicle early this morning.  The traffic collision claimed the lives of both Dunn and his as-yet-unidentified passenger.  Dunn posted a picture of himself and two other men drinking just after midnight, and just under two and a half hours before the traffic collision.

Police are still investigating the collision, and alcohol and high speed are suspected factors.

While the full investigation will likely take some time, the preliminary facts are indisputable:

Mr. Dunn and his companion were in his 2007 Porsche 911 around 0230 on the morning of June 20th, 2011.  At 0238, the West Goshen Township Police Department received a report of a traffic collision near Route 322 and Pottsdown Pike.  The first arriving officer found a fully involved vehicle occupied by two deceased adults.

Mr. Dunn had been at Barnaby's of America, a West Chester, PA bar, prior to the collision.  A picture of him with two other men was posted to his Tumblr account at around 1215.

Now, with those facts in mind, the following is PURELY SPECULATIVE.  Traffic collisions at that hour are frequently the result of impairment, either from operating under the influence of alcohol or drugs or lack of sleep.  The fact that he was at a bar is significant circumstantial evidence that alcohol use (not necessarily impairment) is possible.  The degree of damage to the vehicle suggests that high speed was also a factor in this collision.  The scene of the wreck is approximately one mile from the bar.  It seems to be reasonable to speculate that Mr. Dunn's death, and that of the other occupant of the vehicle, resulted from driving under the influence.

If that proves to be the case, this incident is a highly tragic and entirely preventable end to two young lives. To that end, please consider the following video:

Smooth Operator

Let me tell you about the coolest guy I work with -- he's a legend in his own mind.  A self-proclaimed hero.

The rest of us know him as a giant bag of tools.

So Mr. Smooth has tried to foster the image of himself as a renaissance man -- he's one of those d-bags that knows more about anything than anyone else.  Not only is he a jack-of-all-trades, he's mastered them all.
 He's in his late 30's and recites the Dazed & Confused line "That's what I love about these high school girls man, I get older, they stay the same age" as a mantra and a way of life.  His estranged wife is 8 months pregnant with his second daughter, and his current girlfriend just graduated from high school last week.

I really don't like this guy.

So Mr. McBride, as I'll call him, also has the charming habit of being creepy and lecherous 24/7.  He'd hit on a nun that collapsed during Christmas Mass without a hint of shame.

There've been rumors about McBride chatting up prostitutes on duty for some time, but most of us dismissed the rumors, thinking that he wouldn't be dumb enough to do that.

It seems we were all wrong.

While on duty yesterday, he stopped and talked to a working girl while getting lunch.  An FPD Vice detective walked up and told both of them to take a hike.  McBride kinda blew him off, but the girl was smart and took the hint.  The detective then identified himself as a detective, and informed McBride that Vice was preparing to sweep the area and round up a bunch of pros and johns.  McBride finally wised up and left the area in his ambulance.

He was later sent to a medical aid call for an unknown man down.  He arrived to find a beaten prostitute (not the same girl from lunch) who didn't want transport to the hospital. He decided it would be a good idea to give her his number, and offered to treat her injuries himself when he got off duty.

And that's how Vice found him this morning -- shacked up with the girl at the local No-tell Motel. They both got arrested, and his career is likely completely done.  It sounds like the girl is a 16 year old runaway, and this waste of oxygen exploited this broken child for his own selfish gratification.

What a complete and total embarrassment to the entire public safety community.

Blinded By the Light...

Wrapped up like a douche. Dressed up like a dude. Wrecked up like Medusa. Knocked up like a douchebag.

Okay, so misheard lyrics don't have much to do with anything here, but since I blatantly stole the song's title for this post, there ya go.

Anyway, we get sent to a cardiac arrest in the world's tiniest apartment.  We arrive at scene and climb the three flights of stairs (of course) to access the patient's residence.  I walk in to find two beat cops working the patient up in the smallest kitchen in the history of humanity.  Seriously, this thing is so narrow we can't get an 18" backboard in to the patient.  The cop controlling the patient's airway is squatting and grimacing like a catcher that should have left home plate 3 or 4 innings ago, but he mans up and volunteers to stay there while we move the patient from the patient to the outside breezeway, which is the only place we can work without claustrophobia and/or furniture and walls getting in our way.

The cop doing compressions gets out of the way to help us make access and take over treatment. I straddle the patient to take over compressions while we evaluate the quickest and easiest way to move our patient.  Due to the close quarters and our inability to get the backboard to the patient, we decide to just drag the patient outside.  With the plan made, I feel like things should finally start to move a little more smoothly.

That's when the kitchen light burns out and we are plunged into darkness. 

Awesome. 

I decide to stand up and stop compressions for a moment to pull out a flashlight. The cop behind me had the same idea at the same time, though, and, believing that I was still straddling the patient and doing compressions, pulled out his 6 cell Maglite. He snapped it toward his partner like he was deploying an ASP (watch this video if you're not sure what that means) just as I stood up.

I heard the thud as the light crashed into my skull. My vision dimmed, the stars came out, and I almost fell over. BAD times.

So the cop apologizes profusely, I attempt to clear my head, and we finish running the call. 

Our patient, an elderly frequent flier with an extensive medical history, died in the ICU the next morning without ever regaining consciousness. If he had one of those Hollywood style out of body experiences while we worked the arrest, hopefully he got a chuckle at me getting clobbered by the Maglite as he walked toward his own light.

A couple of Excedrin later and I felt like myself again. Oh, and as a huge bonus, the cop brought me a hard hat and a quart of cookie dough ice cream. I'm sure we'll be laughing about the incident for a long time. He even drew me (on a napkin, no less) a cruder version of this:

 Good times.