Sunday, February 12, 2006
Snowy Weekend
It was your average Friday night, or was it? Howard was out cold, a lot earlier than usual. Empty White Castle boxes were strewn about and Saltzman hadn't eaten any White Castle this evening. Spin had driven herself over this time, and Fig was watching movies on a portable DVD player. There was no beer for the first Friday night ever.
No, it wasn't a regular friday at all. Suddenly, there was too much blue on the screen for comfort. 3 emergency calls. One in the Bronx. One in Brooklyn. One in Flushing. I had just worked a nine-hour tour in operations, but duty called. I glanced at Saltzman and with a slight nod of my head it was clear that he and I would ride again. Just like the good old days.
It had been months since I had been on an emergency call, and upon entering the elderly woman's home, my anxiety built up as I saw her laying in her bed gasping for breath. For about 10 seconds I wasn't exactly sure what to do. That's when Saltzman tossed his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff at me.
Forty-five minutes later we stood on 77th Street smoking a cigarette and kicking ourselves for being so rusty. Some drunk guy was roaming around trying to find York Avenue. I took a deep breath and remembered how much I missed late nights in the city.
The next day I woke up in the afternoon. It was already snowing. I drove Dre and Tim to The Hook for their meeting with the festival organizers. We finally got a date for the show, March 26, 2006. After that I dropped Dre and Tim in Downtown Brooklyn, since they needed to go to SAE for a recording session.
Drove out to Greenpoint, picked up Spin and then got the Deener. We were a bit hungry so we went looking for Colombian food. We settled for Ecuadorian. The food was horrible. Absolutely horrible.
Stopped by to visit Magda and rediscovered my old friend Stolichnaya. The snow was building up faster as the night progressed, so we departed shortly after midnight. Nadine had her first true country music experience, and that Rascal Flatts song might have hit a little too close to the heart.
Picked up Dre in Jackson Heights and we drove home at 20 miles per hour, and still managed to spin out on the Cross Island Parkway. I can't stand snow. It's beautiful, but very impractical. I stared at the median helplessly as we slipped on black ice and finally regaining control just inches from impact. Dre stared ahead blankly as if to say, "Dude... that was close."
I hope the snow's cleaned up enough for me to get to work tomorrow; I hate staying at home for no good reason.
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No, it wasn't a regular friday at all. Suddenly, there was too much blue on the screen for comfort. 3 emergency calls. One in the Bronx. One in Brooklyn. One in Flushing. I had just worked a nine-hour tour in operations, but duty called. I glanced at Saltzman and with a slight nod of my head it was clear that he and I would ride again. Just like the good old days.
It had been months since I had been on an emergency call, and upon entering the elderly woman's home, my anxiety built up as I saw her laying in her bed gasping for breath. For about 10 seconds I wasn't exactly sure what to do. That's when Saltzman tossed his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff at me.
Forty-five minutes later we stood on 77th Street smoking a cigarette and kicking ourselves for being so rusty. Some drunk guy was roaming around trying to find York Avenue. I took a deep breath and remembered how much I missed late nights in the city.
The next day I woke up in the afternoon. It was already snowing. I drove Dre and Tim to The Hook for their meeting with the festival organizers. We finally got a date for the show, March 26, 2006. After that I dropped Dre and Tim in Downtown Brooklyn, since they needed to go to SAE for a recording session.
Drove out to Greenpoint, picked up Spin and then got the Deener. We were a bit hungry so we went looking for Colombian food. We settled for Ecuadorian. The food was horrible. Absolutely horrible.
Stopped by to visit Magda and rediscovered my old friend Stolichnaya. The snow was building up faster as the night progressed, so we departed shortly after midnight. Nadine had her first true country music experience, and that Rascal Flatts song might have hit a little too close to the heart.
Picked up Dre in Jackson Heights and we drove home at 20 miles per hour, and still managed to spin out on the Cross Island Parkway. I can't stand snow. It's beautiful, but very impractical. I stared at the median helplessly as we slipped on black ice and finally regaining control just inches from impact. Dre stared ahead blankly as if to say, "Dude... that was close."
I hope the snow's cleaned up enough for me to get to work tomorrow; I hate staying at home for no good reason.
Snowy Weekend posted @ 10:17 PM :: 
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