Back when I was a body-fetcher for our County Coroner, I often said that all 16-year olds should have to ride with me for a month before getting their drivers licenses. I still feel that way. For one thing, they just don't have the balls, even in the WORST of those gross films they show, to give you the REAL picture of what a nasty accident scene is like. You don't get the sharp scent of blood everywhere, of ripped open guts, drained brains, people pissing and crapping on themselves as their sphincters turn loose when they die. You also miss out on the feeling of having to load them onto gurneys, sometimes adding bodyparts in plastic bags, getting an unexpected spray of blood out the nose, urine from the bladder, or something nearly severed tearing loose when you lift it.You don't get to enjoy the open-eyed stares, sometimes a look of horror when they know what's about to happen and die before they can blank it out.

So many tiny variables...a pair of drunks pulling onto a highway, no seat belts, getting t-boned..she and he met, mid-car, skulls first, and both died of the resulting collision...but her head laid on his shoulder and tears ruined her mascara as she lay there, unable to move and dying, before I was called in. In small cars, for some reason, your feet often get shoved backward under the front seat, breaking both your ankles. Enthusiastic young firemen have a special saw to take care of that. I never let them use it. If you're careful and patient, you can pull the broken ankles and feet back out, keep the body intact. It's an eerie feeling, in the cold, early morning air, to reach your arms around a victim, lift them out of the seat, and hear them give one last moan as the pressure forces the air out of their lungs. Scares hell out of everybody, too. It's always sad to lift a few dead teens out of their car right after prom, too. They're dressed so nice. They're usually SO bloody, too, but their faces are often unharmed. They usually look very sad, or just asleep.

It's the one place you hear questions like, "Anybody seen the passenger's head?"The bodies are searched for valuables and identification in the presence of the police. After all these are removed, inventoried and bagged, they're turned over to the cops for return to the families.

Did you know you puke like crazy if something stabs or crushes your guts and you don't die right away? You do.

Now if you ever wondered why that highway patrolman/woman who pulled you seems to have all the mercy/compassion of a Nazi, maybe you get it. They DO care. They really do. But your butt is alive and in one piece, and it annoys hell out of them that you do stupid things to risk that. Sometimes that pretty little girl that I just have to cover up and haul back was alive when they got there, and they tried CPR to save her, and it didn't work. Sometimes the only person who lives through a bloody horror of a crash is the drunk asshole that caused it all, and they're trained to stay in control and not beat the living hell out of him. But that takes some anger suppression, and it's hard to shake off. I've seen young city cops sent home for the day to calm down. I've never seen a highway patrol person get that consideration. Come to think of it, I've never seen a Deputy sent home, either.

No, I'm not excusing cops for misbehavior. They took the job, they have the training, and they learn quickly what's coming. If they can't handle it, they need to find other work. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Saw the news reports and films of that little girl getting cuffed by the cops. Hey, at least they didn't TASER her like they do everybody else!

Ok, maybe it wasn't that funny.

I tried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Well, we got a new Pope. I have this feeling he's going to be controversial, hardcore, and a royal pain in the ass worldwide.Good. We need someone for everybody to be pissed at besides the U.S.If you think that's a snipe at Bush, you're wrong. I keep running into people who are of a socialist state of mind or worse, communist. You need to QUIT calling yourselves "Americans". You ain't, even if you were born here. You have become a sub-human sheep. If you run a vacuum cleaner hose from your tailpipe into your car, handcuff yourself to the steering wheel and snap off the key after you've started the engine, you'll make the world a better place.

Now if you don't like the president, fine. Insult him. Bitch about him.

But PLEASE don't make any asinine statements wishing bad things to happen to our troops. While such statements make you of equal value to used douchewater and therefore, not worth urinating on, well...some people cannot crawl far enough of out their slime to reach my level, so in my mangnanimous frame of mind, I WILL jump down into yours. And I'll probably pee on you.

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I was at the rehab center yesterday (like every day), visiting Dad, and while they changed out his colostomy bag and were doing a few other odds and ends, I went outside to smoke. There was a woman sitting there in her wheelchair. I'd seen her before. Black, slender waist, truly pretty face, hair always brushed and neat, nice clothes. It was one of those glorious sunsets after a rain, and she was sitting quietly, watching the birds play just before they hit the trees to roost. "Nice day", I said.

"It is."

I looked into her eyes, then down at her gnarled hands, and the empty leggings on her pants.

"Rheumatoid arthritis, huh?"

"Yes."

I showed her the scars and mess on my legs, told her how I'd almost lost them fighting off 3 infections. I saw here look longingly at my cigarette.

"You smoke?"

"When I can get by with it."

"Would you like a cigarette?" She seemed like one of those people who are just too proud to ask. She had incredible dignity for a woman life was kicking the hell out of.

"I would, please."I handed her one, lit it for her. Had to be patient. Her fingers didn't work right, it took her a minute to get it in position where she could smoke and drop ashes without getting them on her.

"You have family here?"She blew out a cloud of smoke, and looked at me sadly.

"A sister and an ex-husband."

"Rough," I commented. "Right now my Dad has me. Mom died a few years back."

"I understand."We finished our smokes, I asked if I could help her get back inside. There's a code you have to punch into a keypad, then open the door, get through and close it in a few seconds or the alarm starts ringing. Leave it open too long, and the alarm won't quit.I lined her wheelchair up with the door, buzzed it open, and she started through. Very slow going, with those twisted hands. I gave her a gentle push, and the alarm started just as I made it in. I had to punch the exit code to shut it off. I didn't know this, she told me how to do it. She continued driving herself.

I said, "I go left at the next corner. I'll get you there in a hurry, then we can go our separate ways."

"All right." I got her to the corner, walked in front of her to block the nurses' view, and handed her four more cigarettes. She looked at me, startled.I winked at her.

"There will be more nice sunsets."She stashed them in a pocket of her tote.

"You have a lighter?"

"Oh yes, I do, thanks."

"Well then. I'll say goodnight."

"And goodnight to you."

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This is the deal. I had a grandfather with one leg. Sometimes he wore an artificial one, and walked with a cane. Sometimes he did without and used crutches. He seldom used a wheelchair, but even still, people would talk to whoever was with him, and ignore him like he was deaf or afflicted mentally.Don't do that. Look the crippled one in the eye. Smile. Let them know YOU know there's a fully functional brain stuck in a messed-up body. They need the human contact because it's so often denied them. It also means, even if you're an asshole the rest of the day, for at least a few seconds, you were a Good Guy.

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# posted by Debonair Suaveroot @ 2:35 AM 1 comments