It's 1915 (o'clock not year of our Lord) and I finally get to go home after a normal, crazy, fun, and long day on the ambulance. I had just thrown my boots in the locker and striped myself of any identifying name tags, happy to return to "civilian" status.
"You owe us ice-cream girl." One of my FTO's and part-time supervisor stalks towards me.
What do you mean?
"Did you see the paper today? ...Front page? Your face." This is the same FTO who docked me in my evaluations the previous weekend for driving 10 miles under the speed limit (I know, pitiful, right? I am, after all, driving an ambulance!)
It can't be that obvious... just a small picture of me behind some firefighters... or so I'm told.
"Ah no. It's obvious. I like chocolate." Another medic comes towards us, chuckling and nodding his head. "I like vanilla."
Okay, so those are really lame flavors, people. If you're going to make me buy you icecream, you may at least try something exciting, like Peppermint Bark! or Blueberry! or Dulce Leche!
"What?! You don't know about our tradition?"
Ah, no. I guess I missed that part in our policy manual. Besides, I'm the one who took the hit for our team, shouldn't all of you treat me? A Cold Stone's gift certificate should work.
So, friends, that's my story of the day, included with a slightly embarrassing photo on the front page of the Mail Tribune in a derogatory article about the exhortation of ambulance services.
You can check out the full article here, at the Mail Tribune Online.
Ice-cream is on me. Enjoy.
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