Misinterpretation.

There is a distinct odor that surrounds certain events. Various foods that have been submerged in oil that may or may not be from 7 fairs ago, burning rubber mixed with the distinct smell of oil laced Earth, sweat, blood and animals... they all combine to form a distinct scent that could never be mistaken for anything other than the county fair. That is exactly what I inhaled for no more and no less than six hours yesterday. The shift started off all well and good. Various bumps, bruises and requests for band-aids later, my stomach told me it was time to seek out something deep-fried. I set out wandering through the crowds growing ever so thankful for all my teeth and remembering the radio on my hip which prevented me from shaking various patrons. I settled for something not so fried, but still served on a stick. Mmmm... pork chops. As I headed back to the EMS station my radio crackled to life. "Sheriff to EMS." Crap. "Respond to the pitts for a person with an injured knee." I picked up the pace knowing Jo, who was standing by while I went to find sustenance, wasn't in any sort of mood to go and "play". I called over advising I was 100 yards out. I handed off my oinker on a stick and hopped onto the six-wheeler. Away we went.

Now, I don't know if this is some sort of natural phenomenon or just something ingrained in all mouth-breathers, but what is it about red lights that causes people to turn and stare. No amounts of "excuse me" or "please step aside" snaps them out of it either. Just sweat-stained lumps of cells standing with their mouths even more agape, almost to the point of jaw dislocation. Some crafty driving and plenty of patience later we arrived safely at the side of the patient. His pant leg was rolled up and he was icing his knee. I introduced myself and put on my detective hat. Good CMS. Not noted deformities or bruising. 10/10 pain. No I don't have an ace bandage. No I don't have pain killers. Yes, I can get you to the hospital. Oh and I have more ice. That's about it as of right now. My debate team skillz came in handy, convincing him he should at least come back with us so we could fill out some paperwork and take a better look. AKA not breathe dust and exhaust.

Back at the EMS station, we had a conundrum. How to get this person inside? What better than human crutches? Knee injuries make a fireman's carry quite uncomfortable so with one arm around me and another around Neighboring Department EMT, we slowly made our way inside. Time lapse at this point is perhaps 10 minutes. I removed the bag of ice and noted the knee had grown from an orange to a grapefruit and was starting to show hues of a blueberry. Ruh roh Raggy.

I started the paperwork and offered to call rescue to respond and take the patient to the hospital. At the mention of an ambulance the already misty eyes about popped out of their sockets. "I don't have insurance!" Hmmm. Conundrum. I explained the importance of having the knee checked by a doctor and eventually it was decided a personal vehicle to the ER would be sufficient. A wheelchair and some grunts and groans later, the patient was on the way to Big Hospital.

While wiping down the table, Tank asks me if I saw the patient's shirt. Of course, I hadn't read the shirt. To which he enlightened me...

"If I don't get laid soon, someone's gonna get hurt."

I don't think they were hoping for the hurt.


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Jo and I were having conversation about an EMT from Neighboring Department who was throwing out some serious stink eye for at least an hour or two. Now in order to truly appreciate thefunneh, both of us were engaging in this conversation with total seriousness.

I turned to Jo and stated, "I think that girl keeps giving me the stink eye." To which she turned and dead-pan "I think that is just her face."

*blank stare*

It took a moment for both of us to absorb and truly appreciate the genius of what had transpired. What followed was leg-crossing, gut-clenching hysterics.

No wonder I love her so much!


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Jo sat in a folding chair laptop in it's appropriate place and me laying on the cot. We were in the midst of cementing our plans for taking over the world, or just discussing our feelings on the new guy, and in walks a man in a button up shirt which was tucked into the typical wranglers. Judging by his attire and lack of offending stench, I presumed he was someone of some sort of significance around these parts. I surmised correctly. Dirt and mud caked his arms in splotches that gave his previous location away. He was holding his forearm with his opposite hand. Before we could really assimilate what was going on, he blurts, "Bitch bit me!" Jo and I exchange a look and suppress the laughter. My eyebrow has now started to orbit from shooting up so fast.

"I'm sorry, what is the problem?"

"I was in the grandstands breaking up a fight and the bitch bit me! What can you do for me?"

I can't lie. I let out a chuckle.

"Did her teeth break the skin?"

"No. But you never know where a mouth like that has been."

I think I may have convulsed from the effort it took to hold back the BWAH! that came screeching to my lips.

I offered the gentleman an alcohol wipe. The 1x1 square was black with demo-derby dirt with one swipe but he kept on scrubbing.

He refused any additional medical "intervention." With a smile and a wave he was off. Heading back into the crowd of crayzees.

Not five minutes later a little 5 foot nothin comes in spouting something about a fight in the grandstands. Jo and I wondered silently if this was The Biter. We were right.


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Six hours was more than enough time at the fair. Between hearing the screams from the rides for 5 days straight and the horrendous traffic, I for one am not sad that it is over. Sure enough come July next year I will be craving processed leftovers wrapped in corn batter and deep fried to a golden sheen. Until then I'll just enjoy the normal small town crayzees.