Dispatch from the desert #15
begin transmission:
21Nov04-Sunday-1319
On Friday night the wrestlers came to town. Military bases in isolated environments are the best place in the world for semi-famous people because you have an actual captive audience. I don’t give two shits about pro-wrestling. But in the middle of nowhere, not allowed off base, with nothing to do, then even I will sit around in the plaza and wait for Rick Flair and his cronies to come out and say hello.
The plane was late, and we waited for over an hour. An hour sitting around with a surprisingly large number of drinking pro-wrestling fans is a long time for someone not into wrestling.
Finally, they emerged. Nothing overly impressive to be honest. They were big and built, but I’m in the military, I’m surrounded by a lot of really big and built guys. Two women with them. The blond was freaky in that plastic alien kind of way that the entire male population on the base apparently has implanted into their genome as ‘potential mate’. The redhead was a little less dramatic, despite the tattoos, but still didn’t come across as someone I’d cheer for and go pay money to see in a ring. Nevertheless, they walked out on stage around 2100, which means that back home in Denver, that deafening roar you heard around 1100 in the morning that stopped all traffic and blew out windows? That was the crowd here screaming.
Rick Flair, the platinum blond and rather aged wrestler stumbled out on stage with a microphone in his hand and gave us the traditional speech given by all celebrities that come through here to cheer us up: “America is very proud of you, we are proud of you, freedom isn’t free, it’s bought with your actions, we are leading the world towards a better tomorrow etc. etc.” Of course there is major cheering, Rick Flair said it. “And now that we have beaten the Pussy Liberals, George Bush will lead you all and rid the world of terrorism.”
At that point I was done. Everyone has the right to their opinion, and I have the right to walk away. I went back to the hospital to check my email.
The next morning, the wrestlers were all scheduled to come through the hospital and say hello to the workers and patients. With photographers in tow, they all walked through the doors beside the counter I work behind as the shift supervisor. I shook all their hands and smiled and such. Seeing them up close, I could see that they were all extremely travel weary. They must have been at this for weeks, shaking hands at bases around the desert, no sleep just constant work. They were exhausted and their bodies were having a hard time keeping up. The guys tried to pass it off as grungy toughness, the blond covered it with makeup, but the redhead was just sick. So while the entire unit was agog at the cleavage and fame, I wound up talking to this girl, I think her name was Lyta or something, for about 10 minutes. Then I picked the lock into the pharmacy and got her some OTC meds for her symptoms.
We all sat around and bullshitted with the wrestlers for a while, introduced them to the patients and took pictures all around. I wasn’t really all that interested in the picture taking, I don’t know who these people are, and I knew I’d never see them again (though I was wrong about that).
Then we had lunch. The same semi-edible biomass we ingest every day.
The rest is a bit of a blur.
I got a 911 call and answered it. Apparently there was a guy who had fallen down over by one of the gates. So I got in the ambulance and headed out there. By the time we got there we had learned over the radio that it was a lot worse than that.
I can’t go into a lot of detail here, but there was an explosion on base yesterday. It was dangerous and ugly. Being the first medic on scene, I had to call in other resources from the hospital. They had to stop in the middle of surgery and clear the Emergency and Operating rooms.
Arterial bleeds, plenty of shrapnel, burns, fractures, shock wave concussions etc. The scene was a blur of sanguinary velocity. I learned, to my extreme disappointment, that my jump bags weren’t fully stocked, and the litters we had were clogged with sand and age to the point of being useless when you really needed them. But we were resourceful, and managed it.
We managed everything. I worked on the scene, in the ambulance, with the doctors in the emergency room, with the surgeons in the operating room. I had the opportunity to be a part of everything. And everyone pulled it off so well. We ran like a well oiled machine, thinking quickly and laterally when needed. I’m very proud of my shift, what they pulled off yesterday was impressive given what limited resources we had.
There were no fatalities.
People who watch E.R. think that we save lives everyday. People who work in medicine know that saving lives happens very rarely, most of the time we spend our days trying to promote health and reassure people and treat minor illnesses. So when something happens and we do more dramatic stuff, especially out here in the desert, we all have to smile with the knowledge that we can pull it off.
Last night, we went out to the plaza again and all grabbed something to drink. We bullshitted and toasted each other and laughed and laughed. After a while, a crowd started gathering, and we just started having a really good time.
Then the pro-wrestlers came out again. My commander was drunk off his ass, but still reading cat scans and buying Rick Flair more and more beers. More pictures were taken, autographs signed, stories told and toasts made.
And I just had to laugh. After all the shit that had happened yesterday, I was in the sand where the desert meets the sea and having a fun evening with friends and talking comic books with a bunch of pro-wrestlers.
I walked back to my room for some much needed sleep, and looked up at a philodox moon. And I said, “Hey Luna…look at all the lunacy.”
Strange days are these.
end transmission.
21Nov04-Sunday-1319
On Friday night the wrestlers came to town. Military bases in isolated environments are the best place in the world for semi-famous people because you have an actual captive audience. I don’t give two shits about pro-wrestling. But in the middle of nowhere, not allowed off base, with nothing to do, then even I will sit around in the plaza and wait for Rick Flair and his cronies to come out and say hello.
The plane was late, and we waited for over an hour. An hour sitting around with a surprisingly large number of drinking pro-wrestling fans is a long time for someone not into wrestling.
Finally, they emerged. Nothing overly impressive to be honest. They were big and built, but I’m in the military, I’m surrounded by a lot of really big and built guys. Two women with them. The blond was freaky in that plastic alien kind of way that the entire male population on the base apparently has implanted into their genome as ‘potential mate’. The redhead was a little less dramatic, despite the tattoos, but still didn’t come across as someone I’d cheer for and go pay money to see in a ring. Nevertheless, they walked out on stage around 2100, which means that back home in Denver, that deafening roar you heard around 1100 in the morning that stopped all traffic and blew out windows? That was the crowd here screaming.
Rick Flair, the platinum blond and rather aged wrestler stumbled out on stage with a microphone in his hand and gave us the traditional speech given by all celebrities that come through here to cheer us up: “America is very proud of you, we are proud of you, freedom isn’t free, it’s bought with your actions, we are leading the world towards a better tomorrow etc. etc.” Of course there is major cheering, Rick Flair said it. “And now that we have beaten the Pussy Liberals, George Bush will lead you all and rid the world of terrorism.”
At that point I was done. Everyone has the right to their opinion, and I have the right to walk away. I went back to the hospital to check my email.
The next morning, the wrestlers were all scheduled to come through the hospital and say hello to the workers and patients. With photographers in tow, they all walked through the doors beside the counter I work behind as the shift supervisor. I shook all their hands and smiled and such. Seeing them up close, I could see that they were all extremely travel weary. They must have been at this for weeks, shaking hands at bases around the desert, no sleep just constant work. They were exhausted and their bodies were having a hard time keeping up. The guys tried to pass it off as grungy toughness, the blond covered it with makeup, but the redhead was just sick. So while the entire unit was agog at the cleavage and fame, I wound up talking to this girl, I think her name was Lyta or something, for about 10 minutes. Then I picked the lock into the pharmacy and got her some OTC meds for her symptoms.
We all sat around and bullshitted with the wrestlers for a while, introduced them to the patients and took pictures all around. I wasn’t really all that interested in the picture taking, I don’t know who these people are, and I knew I’d never see them again (though I was wrong about that).
Then we had lunch. The same semi-edible biomass we ingest every day.
The rest is a bit of a blur.
I got a 911 call and answered it. Apparently there was a guy who had fallen down over by one of the gates. So I got in the ambulance and headed out there. By the time we got there we had learned over the radio that it was a lot worse than that.
I can’t go into a lot of detail here, but there was an explosion on base yesterday. It was dangerous and ugly. Being the first medic on scene, I had to call in other resources from the hospital. They had to stop in the middle of surgery and clear the Emergency and Operating rooms.
Arterial bleeds, plenty of shrapnel, burns, fractures, shock wave concussions etc. The scene was a blur of sanguinary velocity. I learned, to my extreme disappointment, that my jump bags weren’t fully stocked, and the litters we had were clogged with sand and age to the point of being useless when you really needed them. But we were resourceful, and managed it.
We managed everything. I worked on the scene, in the ambulance, with the doctors in the emergency room, with the surgeons in the operating room. I had the opportunity to be a part of everything. And everyone pulled it off so well. We ran like a well oiled machine, thinking quickly and laterally when needed. I’m very proud of my shift, what they pulled off yesterday was impressive given what limited resources we had.
There were no fatalities.
People who watch E.R. think that we save lives everyday. People who work in medicine know that saving lives happens very rarely, most of the time we spend our days trying to promote health and reassure people and treat minor illnesses. So when something happens and we do more dramatic stuff, especially out here in the desert, we all have to smile with the knowledge that we can pull it off.
Last night, we went out to the plaza again and all grabbed something to drink. We bullshitted and toasted each other and laughed and laughed. After a while, a crowd started gathering, and we just started having a really good time.
Then the pro-wrestlers came out again. My commander was drunk off his ass, but still reading cat scans and buying Rick Flair more and more beers. More pictures were taken, autographs signed, stories told and toasts made.
And I just had to laugh. After all the shit that had happened yesterday, I was in the sand where the desert meets the sea and having a fun evening with friends and talking comic books with a bunch of pro-wrestlers.
I walked back to my room for some much needed sleep, and looked up at a philodox moon. And I said, “Hey Luna…look at all the lunacy.”
Strange days are these.
end transmission.