ankle

One of the interesting things about the ambulance business is its unpredictability. You just never know what's going to happen from one minute to the next.
     One warm, sunny day my partner and I were cruising the magazine racks, wasting time until it was time to go to our next street corner when we got a call for a gentleman who'd twisted his ankle while playing basketball.
        We set down our magazines and rushed to the aid of this unfortunate soul. The call was scant blocks from us and we arrived very quickly. So quickly, in fact, that we were puzzled to discover that at least four police cars had arrived before us. This gave us some pause, but not much, as there was a basketball goal outside the house in question, and a friendly policeman was waving us over. Maybe the cops were shooting some hoops on their lunch break, I thought. We grabbed some ace wraps and a roll of tape, and made our way into the house.
        What we found inside was, well, something of a surprise. Standing in the kitchen of a quaint suburban home were three police officers, two holding pistols, and one with a shotgun. They were pointing these implements rather seriously at something. We followed their pointed muzzles and found a young fellow slumped against the doorframe between the quaint little kitchen and the quaint little dining room. He was more pale than anyone I've ever seen, mouth agape, looking straight ahead. This was not turning out, I thought, to be your typical ankle injury.
          "What happened?" I asked. The policemen were silent for a moment, then one said..."he got shot". Suddenly everthing was clear. This guy had been shot in the chest and I was standing there with an ace wrap in my hand. "I'll be right back." my partner said. I nodded. He was going after all of our equipment. As he was leaving the fire department medics strolled in, expecting an ankle injury, and had the same sudden shock I'd just had. "Let's get him on the floor." one said. Sounded good. We carefully lowered him to the floor and by the time my partner returned with our gear we were all in the right frame of mind. I remember thinking, "Jeez, two minutes ago I was reading People magazine at a grocery store" as I slipped the anti-shock trousers on the patient.
        Half an hour later he was dead from his wounds. He had, it seems, been burglarizing the quaint little house when a neighbor noticed a screen ajar and called the police. The police came into the house through the kitchen door to find the our young man running full speed across the dining room toward them with a large knife in each hand. They had no choice but to shoot him.
        As we were getting the shock of our lives, another ambulance sat across town, waiting for the police to tell them the scene of a shooting was safe so they could go in. At the same time a confused, mildly injured basketball player sat on the ground wondering where the heck the ambulance he'd call had got off to. The calls had accidently been reversed somewhere in the 911 system. You never know what's coming next.