A Fly On The Wall. (Originally Posted Friday, September 15, 2006)

Another night of school followed by work.

I arrive at The Closet around 11pm. The rig check is done (they haven’t even had a run in the four hours before I arrived), and there’s not much to do other than sit back in my nice comfy black leather recliner and watch CSI: Miami. A nice quiet night. Pseudo Dad is snoring at a volume that would wake any corpse.

Weeknights at The Closet typically are calm. It helps as far as studying goes at least.

My eyes start to close. I fight to keep them open.

EpiJunky: Hey, Pseudo Dad, I’ll be in the ER.

I scribble a note for Pseudo Dad on a post it and put it on the door. I pick up the radio and venture the 50 paces or so that leads to the ER. I turn the radio on. It’s quiet. I let dispatch know I’m on the portable for a few minutes. It’s easier for me to find PseudoDad if there’s a run.

Nothing going on in the ER. The nurses are playing solitaire on the computer or shopping Ebay for discount Crocs. I walk back to The Closet. The radio is still quiet. Sounds like everyone is in the same boat as I am. The light in the hallways is blinding. It gives me a headache.

The Closet is dark, lit only by an episode of Cops on the 19 inch TV. Pseudo Dad is still snoring away. I sink back into the recliner.

Maybe I can mentally WILL the phone to ring. A run, please, just to keep myself awake. I have a hard time sleeping on overnight shifts. I don’t like the feeling of waking up, groggy, to a ringing phone.

A Police Officer with a very thick southern accent is chasing someone on foot through some random neighborhood.

My eyes start to closer again. I give up and doze off......

(Three hours later)

I mumble an obscenity under my breath and reach for the phone.

EpiJunky: The Closet *yawn*
Dispatch: Sorry to wake you. County run to the nearby Taco Bell.
Dispatch: What the hell was that?
EpiJunky: Copy that. We’re heading out.

It takes me thirty seconds to rouse Pseudo Dad from his coma.

It’s four in the morning.

We get on scene and it’s a minor aged female with abdominal cramps. My first thought is, “What in God’s name are you doing on the street at four in the morning on a school night?” This is closely followed by, “In a private school uniform carrying your back pack with your boyfriend.”

I rub sleep from my eyes.

On closer inspection, in the warm patient compartment of the squad, I see she’s muddy from her knees down, freezing, and in a pretty good amount of pain. Abdominal pain. She’s gives pretty vague answers to my questions.

On the way to the hospital I get a little more of the story. She says that she had been staying with her Grandmother and had snuck out. Grandma is not her guardian, mom and dad are. For some reason I’m still suspicious.

I rub my eyes again. I knew I wasn't getting the entire story, but I can't force her to be honest with me.

Yes, there's a chance she could be pregnant, she admitted. She gives me a phone number for her parents. The number is disconnected.

We arrive at City Hospital, I give the ER Nurse report. The nurse tells my patient that she absolutely must give her a real phone number, the hospital has to call mom to get permission to treat her. The patient is clearly not happy with this, but gives up the phone number. She cuddles on the ER bed with her boyfriend. They watch the TV.

My suspicions were right on. It turns out she's a runaway. Not just from her Grandmother’s house. She’s been missing four days. Her parents are frantic. The police department show up to sit with her until her parents can get there.

Of course I'm giddy to witness any drama that's not my own. I relay this info to Mike and suggest we get popcorn and sit back and wait for the show.

I'm sure her Mother is going to be thrilled when she shows up. I can’t wait for Dad and the boyfriend to meet. We call dispatch and let them know of the situation (we need mom's signature as well... not to mention we need insurance info if there is any.)

We were too tired to hang out for too long, and the signature and insurance information isn’t more important than getting back to our district.

I'm a bad bad nosy person.

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