Priceless, Part 2

After the goofiness of Saturday morning, I figured maybe Saturday night would continue the douchebaggery.

I wasn't disappointed.

Just after we finished cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, we decided it'd be good to go out for ice cream.  A lot of the time we'll have ice cream in the house, but the Lieutenant and Captain both had family in town this weekend so we decided to go out and invade a Cold Stone.

The whole house emptied out, and close to 30 of us (between the engine, truck, us and the family members) walked in together.  The bill came to almost $150 for everyone, and the Captain's brother - a retired cop - picked up the tab for all of us, which was mighty nice of him.

Good times.

We ended up closing the joint down, and got a call as we walked out.  The run came in for an elderly woman having a heart attack, with law enforcement already on scene.

So we have an uneventful response, and pull in to the patient's neighborhood.  We don't look at house numbers as we approach the cross streets, and there are no police cruisers in sight.  The street wraps around to a cul-de-sac, and we fail to see any cops anywhere.

We make a victory lap through the neighborhood, this time paying attention to the house numbers.  We locate the home, and my partner parks the rig.

The home is a well-kept bungalow with a large, brightly lit American flag flying proudly in the crisp autumn night.  The house, despite being blacked out, manages to still look warm and inviting.  It probably has something to do with the antique decorative fire plug in the yard, but maybe not.

I advise the dispatcher that we are at the reported address, but that there is no law enforcement presence.  We knock on the door, but after 30 seconds there's no answer.  I let dispatch know our situation, and we begin to look for a non-destructive way to force entry.  They advise me to standby before attempting entry and that the call came in from the State Police.  I pull out the cell phone and call their dispatch to obtain further information about the response.

The dispatcher states that a trooper had initiated a traffic stop on a vehicle for excessive speed.  Upon making contact with the violator - a 17 year old girl - and hearing her story, the trooper called for our response.  Per the dispatcher, the trooper was told that the girl was driving down the road at 95 miles per hour because her grandma was having a heart attack.  The girl provided her grandmother's address to the trooper, and that's how we got dispatched.  The typical too-many-links-in-the communication-chain situation resulted in our belief that the cops were on scene of our call.  No big deal... at least, it won't be unless the patient isn't breathing.

Now that we know the patient is inside, we knock much louder, this time at multiple doors and windows.  The lights pop on, and the sweetest little old lady in town opens the door.  She's wearing an expensive robe and well-worn pink bunny slippers.  Despite being obviously asleep a minute ago, she smiles warmly. She's my new hero.

"Good evening, boys.  Is everything okay?"

"Well, ma'am, we hope so," I begin, "are you Elizabeth Jones (not her real name)?"

She pales slightly, and the smile turns into a frown.

"Yes, I am.  You wouldn't be here if everything was okay.  Did Eunice have another stroke?"

We inform her her that Eunice - we later learn that's her neighbor of nearly 60 years - is, as far as we know, just fine.  She invites us in out of the cold, and we walk in.

We ask her if she's okay, and she assures us that she's fine.  We learn that her husband was a retired firefighter that died peacefully in his sleep a decade ago, and that she lives alone.  Aside from a touch of hypertension, she's healthy, and she is most assuredly not having a heart attack.

We thank her for her time, apologize for waking her up, and politely decline the plate of cookies she offers us.

My partner advises our dispatch that there is no patient at this address and that we're available.  I pull out my phone and call the State Police back.  I tell the dispatcher that Mrs. Jones is fine and there's no emergency at her house.  The dispatcher tells me that she'll pass that on to her trooper, and wishes me a safe night before hanging up.

I hear the dispatcher's voice over the scanner as she advises the trooper of the situation.  He copies her, advises that he has one suspect in custody, and requests a tow truck for the suspect's car.

So, twice in less than 24 hours, we had knuckleheads lie to the cops to get out of traffic tickets, generate dangerous lights and sirens fire & EMS responses, and go to jail for their efforts.

Congratulations, morons - you're a big part of what's wrong with the world today...