b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » The Emergency Services » Page 4 | Search
This is a question The Emergency Services

Tell us your tales of the police, ambulance workers, firefighters, and - dammit - the coastguard

(, Thu 16 May 2013, 11:33)
Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

My dad was a healthcare professional for over thirty years.
He had saved numerous lives, and would always answer the call of duty no matter what time of day it was. He was absolutely devoted to his craft until one small mistake cost him his livelihood and everything he stood and worked himself ragged for.

I'll tell the story from his point of view. A young blonde came into his surgery. Apparently she was struggling to conceive. A few questions about lifestyle and diet were asked in an effort to establish whether there were any obvious issues. Whilst answers were given, the patient was playfully toying with a pen from his desk and gently nibbling the tip. He felt a little aroused by the way she was doing this, and as he was unable to establish any obvious issues from the line of questionning, eventually he had no other option other than to perform an internal examination to see what issues he could find.

While she was being examined, she started to purr contentedly, my dad, rather foolishly, saw this as a sign and proceeded to fuck her until he blew his load all over her back.

Inevitably, this all came to a head and he was struck off for this inappropriate behaviour and has never practised again.

I agree with what pretty much all of you are thinking. He only has himself to blame, but he still holds a grudge against the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons to this day.
(, Tue 21 May 2013, 13:19, 15 replies)
My brother is a G.P.
One night about 2.00am he gets a call from a patient.
"Doctor, I can't sleep... I think I have insomnia"
His retort was short and sweet...
"And what are you trying to do? Start a fucking epidemic?"
and hung up.
(, Tue 21 May 2013, 12:45, 13 replies)
I pranged a guy's car while wearing a croptop saying "Bun in the oven"
Ended up Sgt.
(, Tue 21 May 2013, 11:23, 2 replies)
I was supposed to be the best of the best in police enforcement..
First time I was on the job a perp pulled a gun on me - he held it towards me in a threatening manner. I gave him a warning and then he tried to evade arrest so I had to implement lethal force. It wasn't pretty. I got completely shutdown for that.
My next job was a meet an greet with some kids - I scared them. Another session of downtime.
Finally I met my nemesis - he was similar to me if not a little smaller and he even claimed to be a fellow officer of the law - whatever, he was evading arrest and had to be dealt with.
We fought and then the smug bastard had to go and find a fucking multi-story building.
I have trouble with heights. Some say it's the fact that I'm a bit top heavy. I blame my misshapen feet.
Either way it ended with me squealing at the bottom of a stairwell with him standing over me.
Not a great first week.
(, Tue 21 May 2013, 9:24, 6 replies)

(, Tue 21 May 2013, 1:31, 4 replies)
Living on a busy main road I would sometimes get a knock on my door
asking me to phone for an ambulance/ the RAC/ the police.
This one time it was 11.30pm and the guy asks me to give him a push. I said, "No but I'll ring a garage for you."
He said, "No need, it'll only take a second."
Reluctantly I got dressed and went out the front door but I couldn't see his car. I looked round and there he was, sat on our swing.
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 21:23, 4 replies)
Another pearoast.
Chubby Chasing Doormen
While working at the Australian theme bar on broad Street I had the pleasure to work with K. A nice enough chap who was always game for a laugh but was as thick as a whale omelette and like women who weighed about twice as much as Lisa Riley.

On one particular night at closing time he forgoes the usual staff pint and buggers off, we assume he has headed home early as he has work early the next morning.

My colleagues and I leave the pub about an hour later having unwound from a night of student excess and dodging hen parties. As we get to the car park we bump into K.

"Guys gimme a hand with the car will you" he asks.

"Yeah sure says us" thinking he needed a jump start. How wrong we were.

As previously mentioned K liked the larger lasses and this week unbeknownst to us he had excelled himself. We got to the car to be greeted by quite a shocking sight.

K had pulled a rather large lady and she had met him by his car so they could engage in a little push and pull. However she was so large she had become stuck between the front two seats so we al had to grab a limb and pull till she popped free.

The exact sight of this has been burned to my memory. Seeing a 25st woman with a fanny like a hippos yawn stuck between the front seats of a Datsun Cherry will stay with me forever.

So will the look on the fireman's face when we couldn't free her and they had to remove one of the front seats
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 19:39, 2 replies)
A Pearoast
In my job with the Civil Service I often find myself at the Defence Rehabilitation Centre at Headley Court in Surrey. For those of you who don't know about this place it is where injured soldiers are sent for rehabilitation after they leave hospital.

Some of these folks have some of the most horrific injuries I have ever seen ranging from horrific burns to single, double, and often triple amputees not mention some of the psychiatric problems that many of these soldiers need treatment for.

Without fail each and everyone of these people (outwardly at least) hold no bitterness, no hatred and no anger to anyone. To a man, each and every one of those soldiers says they would rather it have been them that was injured rather than a mate and that they would return to active duty would their injuries permit it.

The courage these people show in the face of such injuries and their determination to do the things that we all take for granted, such as wiping their own backsides or just being able to walk from the living room to the kitchen unaided is genuinely astonishing.

To this day I don't think I've laughed as I did during the wheelchair tennis tournament of 2012 during which a young Lance Corporal took an almighty swing at the ball with his adapted prosthetic arm. In doing so the tether that attached the limb to his body became detached resulting in the limb flying out of control (with the racquet still attached) across the net and striking the Umpire (an Army Doctor) right between the eyes. Knocking him bandy for about five minutes. Hearing the L/CPL bemoan the fact "me fuckin' arm just fell off" and collapsing into a fit of giggles can't fail to raise your spirits.

The rather rambling point I'm trying to make is we've uttered the immortal words about how that particular day at work could not have been worse.

Trust me. Yes it could have been.

EDIT: Not strictly speaking the emergency services but near enough as far as I'm concerned.
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 15:21, 17 replies)
Missing persons
hellos is that the police someone has stolen vagman
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 14:22, 1 reply)
Dog day afternoon
Well, i've locked up more shoplifters than I can remember. I've wham-rammed enough doors to give me bad shoulders. I've spent so much time in custody waiting for defence solicitors i could have written a novel.

I've cleaned up body parts off a road. I've told a parent their child has been killed by a drunk driver. I restrained myself when i captured the drunk driver. I've seen more dead bodies than a Tarantino film.

But the hardest thing, probably because i'm not a parent, was coming across an incident whereby a dog had been hit by a few cars, and comforting it for a few minutes until it died. The look in its eyes was so sad - i've had flashbacks.

Dog had no collar - nothing to identify it, so couldn't be with its owner when he died. Bastards.
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 13:34, 21 replies)
Like a lot of us I complain about my job,
but at least I don't have to be careful where I put my feet because the carpet's littered with hypodermics, breathe through my mouth because of the smell of faeces mixed with a fortnight's worth of rancid sweat, or keep an eye on the relatives in case one of them stops her screaming just long enough to make a dive for the kitchen drawer. Not to mention deal with the heartbreak of having to tell a parent that their child is beyond help. Hats off to you medical people, I say - underpaid and taken for granted until we need you.
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 12:41, 8 replies)
Police State
Many years ago, there were mass protests against live animal exports near where I live. For a couple of weeks the crowds grew, trying make it as inconvenient as possible for the lorries full of soon-to-be Tesco Lasagnas to get into the port, hoping that the expense and bad PR would cause them to stop - or at least fuck off somewhere else. Which in fact they did, in the end so yay to the good guys.

Naturally, the police were involved in keeping the protestors off the road, and ensuring that the legal - if unpopular - business of the port could continue. These were local Sussex police, and they handled things well. It was a little difficult for them, as the protesters were mainly little old grannies and nice middle-class families, often including their kids. Not your usual rent-a-mob, and a certain amount of discretion and politeness from the plod kept things calm and civil.

But it couldn't last. Eventually the suits in London decided that a bunch of muesli-knitting tree-huggers couldn't be allowed to stop large companies from maximising their profits, so they decided to ship in several hundred Metropolitan Police officers from the mean streets of London. These were somewhat different from the Sussex plod: hairy-knuckled gorillas in full riot gear who were clearly relishing a good punch-up.

They barged into the crowd like a bunch of bullies gleefully lumping the weedy kids in a British Bulldog game. I personally saw one of them hit a girl so hard with his stick that she was unconscious before she hit the ground. She hadn't been doing anything in particular, the cop just whacked her on the way past because she was within reach. They really were bastards, using a level of force and violence that was entirely uncalled for. And, to cap it all, they'd removed their numbers from their uniforms, so it wasn't possible to make any complaints against them.

However, revenge was taken. Having been shipped in to town, they were being billeted at some of the large hotels on the seafront. Hotels that, naturally, employed many local people. Local people who had friends or relatives who attended these protests. I shudder to think of the amount of snot, saliva and piss these metrocops ingested over the course of their stay...
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 11:40, 5 replies)
Armed police...fake guns and tunnels...
Before 'urban exploring' was known as such, we used to find old buildings, tunnels etc... and go exploring ourselves.
One morning we set off, many of us having never done anything like this before, to find some old WWII tunnels. One chap, we shall call him Howard, as that is his name, had been before and knew these tunnels quite well. We stopped along the way to pick him up. I was driving.
Howard got into the car directly behind me, and that now made 5 of us.
A little while into the journey he pulled out a Beretta 45 imitation gun to show us. As he passed it around one of the lads put it to the back of my head and said "Drive us to the tunnels, NOW!" in a fake menacing manner. A little further along the road, he also pointed it at some poor old dear walking her dog.
This was long before mobile phones were commonplace...and yet, the car behind us had a 'car-phone' (remember those?).
Unknown to us, he immediately called the police and reported a car load of young lads with a gun.
A little further down the road, I started to notice that there were no cars on the road...but didn't give it much thought. A little further still and a lone police car was driving in the other direction at a snail's pace. Two coppers smiled like Cheshire cats at us as we drove onwards.
As we neared our destination we had to drive up a steep hill, as we got to the top coppers in Kevlar jackets seemed to appear from nowhere - at least 50 of them!
One pointed a gun at my head and shouted "put your hands on the windscreen", and various other shouts of "You, out of the car, on the floor...." and "Where's the gun? Where's the fucking gun? Now!" etc...
They searched the car shouting more things like "Where's the masks?" - it was then that we twigged; they obviously thought we were going to rob a bank or something.
Eventually, after finding no masks, and they now being in possesion of an obviously fake gun, things calmed down enough for us to explain that we were in fact NOT going to rob anything or anywhere and were simply going to find some old tunnels...hence the rope and hooks in the boot.
Oddly, they told me to follow them in my own car to the police station, which we did.
They offered a deal: give us the fake gun (this was in the days before all the hysteria) and be cautioned for breach of the peace, or keeps the gun and be charged with it instead.
We, of course opted to the former, despite Howard's argument that the gun was his and they had no right to it etc...
As we left the station, the coppers' last words were, "Next time, leave the cops and robbers stuff to us..."
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 11:03, Reply)
How to get 6 firemen and a couple of coppers to run around like loons for about a minute:
1. Buy brand spanking new motorbike.
2. Take bike out for a spin with girlfriend on the back.
3. Have drunk driver slam head on into the car in front of you.
4. Plough into back of said car at about 40 mph.
5. Sit dazed at side of road with broken arm, comforting girlfriend with broken ankle. Wait for emergency services to arrive.
6. When they are milling around cutting people out of cars, have girlfriend look at the chaos and say "Oh, look what they've done to our baby!".
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 8:30, 20 replies)
I got stretchered off to an ambulance
from a Badminton game.

Does that count?
(, Mon 20 May 2013, 3:06, 2 replies)
This happened about ten years ago now.
I was in Shrewsbury, attending a conference about the representation of science in the media - it was about as exciting as it sounds, but there was to be a guest debate between Dr. Stephen Amiss and noted Channel 4 journalist Jon Snow, so I hung around a little so that I could at least look at a celebrity.

The debate started oddly; for some reason Snow had leather fingerless gloves on, but he rose to form admirably in a stirring debate about the ethics and responsibility of scientists and journalists when reporting scientific news to the general public. However, whenever Dr. Amiss made a good counterpoint or remark, Snow seemed visibly angry, which built up until he couldn't take it any more. "Fuck you Amiss!" he shouted, "And fuck you all!! I don't need to take this BS!" following which he stormed off the stage. The crowd was shocked and embarrassed, naturally, and we thought that this alone would be a strange story to tell our friends, and we carried on with the conference.

This wasn't the end of it though. About half an hour later, we started hearing engines being revved outside, and suddenly, without warning, Jon Snow in full biker gear burst in through the window riding a dirty great chopper. "I've had it with you nerds!" he announced to the shocked and scared audience, "I've rounded up a gang of street toughs to wipe you out! Snowmen, attack!!". At this signal, more thugs burst in on their motorcycles, hitting people with chains and bits of pipe. I managed to escape the fray, and dialled 999.

"Help, police! Jon Snow and his biker thugs are attacking our conference!".
"Snow? We'll be right over."

It didn't take long for over a dozen police cars to arrive, and Snow, rumbled, rode out of the front doors with his gang following him, in a bid to escape. Running outside to see what was happening, I caught the eye of the chief officer. "Son," he said, "we need all the help we can get. Are you up to the job?". I was rattled, but I didn't want to let the chief down. "Yes sir!". I sat in the passenger seat of his car, and as we set off in chase, he told me to open the glove compartment. Inside was a loaded revolver. "You'll need it to take down Snow." I nodded, then rolled down the window and took aim.

Bang! The first shot missed. Snow was ducking and weaving between pedestrians, which made it hard to aim. Bang! Closer this time, but now Snow was turning round and pulling faces at me, and I was starting to feel embarrassed about not having shot him yet. Bang! Another miss, this one hit a stray dog instead. Bang! Much closer this time, I managed to crack the ornamental gnome Snow had on the back of his bike. Bang! Kaboom! One of his ruffians blocked the bullet, instantly exploding as a result. This was it. From what I understand of revolvers, they only hold six bullets, and I wasn't about to search the car for extra ammunition. Snow was laughing that derisory laugh of his. "Missed me, missed me, now you've got to kiss me!" he was taunting. I took aim.

Bang! I missed him! But that wasn't what I was aiming for. A shrill buzzing noise filled the air as the RC plane I hit headed straight for him. He was wide eyed with terror, unable to avoid it, as it collided with his bike, and for the second time today, a huge fireball erupted, leaving nothing behind but a smouldering crater. That was it - the ordeal was over. The gathered crowd cheered and chanted my name, jubilant over the death of Jon Snow. His mob either disappeared or were rounded up, the dog lived, I won an award from the council for my bravery, and the police chief gave me the most sensual and erotic kiss of my life.
(, Sun 19 May 2013, 20:04, 3 replies)
I never liked being on call
too many times it was far too stressful, so I took a bit more of a laid back approach. It was about 1AM and I was sound asleep (I go to bed early). Phone rings and I'm faced with:
"You're going to find this really funny"
To which I replied in an absolutely deadpan tone:
"No I'm not"
My wife, who was awake as well (phones have a habit of disturbing the whole house), burst into laughter. She has heard me deal with more than a few clients and been party to some quite difficult conversations, but this was one of the few times where I appeared to have actually turned human for a few moments.
To put it in context, the call was actually about a hamster with a prolapsed eyeball and to give some added irony the caller was a policeman who had just come off shift and gone home to find the hamster in said state. I fixed it in any case.
It still beats the worst ever opening line to a call which is: "What it is riiiighht...."; from which I can deduce that the caller has no money or intention of paying. That's why I've outsourced my out-of-hours work and have not taken such a call in over 2 years.
(, Sun 19 May 2013, 16:48, 22 replies)
I just burned some stuff.

(, Sun 19 May 2013, 11:47, 18 replies)
I used to work in a small bakery.
It was situated in the carpark between a busy, popular pub and a 70's themed nightclub. One of the downsides of such a location was that frequently pissed-up punters going between the 2 would feel the need to smash the plate glass windows up front. Which would set off an alarm and call in the cavalry. Here is one of the ways we tried to tackle the problem.
The owner lived a few 'burbs away and I lived about 5 min. away & I often took home the delivery van (otherwise that got vandalised - nothing like finding a broken drivers side window and a steaming pile of shit in the driver's seat when you turn up to load the bread early in the morning!). So of course it was muggins whom the rozzers called upon to attend, get the glazier out, turn off the alarm and sort out if anything was missing.
As this happened with varying frequency I got to know a couple of the local night-shift coppers quite well. One of them was Peter. We'd see each other at our early morning rendezvous and occasionally run into each other for a quiet beer at said pub after I'd finished my deliveries for the day. All in all a nice young bloke who'd decided upon his career for good reasons and was slowly climbing the ladder to betterment - his goal at that stage was no more than to get out of the 2200-0600 shift so he could root his girlfriend more regularly than the odd 'before-she-left-for-work-fumble'.
Then one day he said something that changed my view of him and police generally.
We were standing there at about 0300 one morning waiting for the glazier to arrive when Pete turns to me and says, "Ringo, I fucken hate my job.", "Whaaa?" says I. "I thought you were doing well?"
"Nah -" he says, "think about it. Everywhere I go I'm hated." "We turn up and the person doing something wrong hates us cause we're going to nick them. The victims often don't like us cause they think we're doing a shit job and not out catching ALL the crims." "Even our bosses hate us because as the young 'uns we are either a liability if we do something wrong or they're shit scared that we're gunning for their jobs."
I looked at Pete and pondered. He'd always struck me as a fairly positive person so to hear him spout such things was quite out of the blue.
"Pete," I said "it's just a shit day, we all have 'em. How about my shout after work - I should be done by lunch, providing this fucking glazier pulls his finger out!" "Yeah, no worries." he said, glumly.

Several hours later I find Pete in the pub full of [good] spirits. After getting a shout in I asked him about the change in demeanour. So Pete told me this tale -

"This morning we got a call-out to a b&e and possible sexual assault. We get to the units to find an old dear (about the age of my nan), legs akimbo, crying and some her stuff stolen by some little junky scunge."
Now Ringo," he says. "I really want to catch this little cunt. So we start a patrol and sure enough we find him a few blocks away with the old biddy's bag, wallet and some jewellery having a fucking wank in an alley-way. We've got him bang to rights on pretty much everything including having a tug in public. By the time we've got him back to the lock-up we find out he's got priors for this sort of thing and is a suspect in a couple of other cases around the traps. Fucking BINGO!"
"So..." says Pete, in a quiet and conspiratorial manner, "I ring a mate of mine at the remand centre and tee-up to make sure that this bloke gets put in with some of the bikies in the 'hard' wing. Because we all know how much bikies love perverted granny-bashers don't we." he says with a wink.

I pat him on the back, glad to see my mate's ok and call in another round.

tl;dr? - Cops can be vindictive cunts, just like you and I.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 23:34, 18 replies)
t've never had to call the fire brigade
and through mugging, burglary, home invasion, getting beaten up by a stranger and teenage wankers trying to kick my door in, the police have been as much use as a condom machine in the vatican.
the NHS, however, i owe my life to.
without them, i'd still have one eye higher than the other.
without them, i'd still have a faceful of twisted nerves.
without them, i'd have been blind for over 20 years.
without them, i'd likely have drowned.
without them, i'd likely have died from a punctured lung.
without them, my body would still be full of more holes than a swiss cheese.
without them, i'd be minus maybe one sister and definitely one brother and my mother.
say what you like about the police, but the NHS are lifesavers. they've saved mine and made it far better than i could ever have imagined as the sickly and damaged child that i was before they got their hands on me.
length? 23 operations so far, with hopefully only another 3 to go.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 21:44, 17 replies)
Have a pea....
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 21:35, 1 reply)
Oh God....where to start.
As a paramedic of several years' standing (and surprisingly few interactions with Them Upstairs) I have, naturlich, a few anecdotes to share, and I have on many occasions in the pages of this 'ere website. If boredom takes you, you can have a look.

On one hand, the job is excellent: every day is different, you meet different people and help them, and even if all you are doing is (medically) little or nothing, the general public are (as a rule) grateful for what we do for them. And occasionally, when you do get someone who is extremely broken, and you fix them (or at least unbreak them a bit) then that is what makes the job worthwhile.

What some people describe as the negatives (bodily fluids, night shifts, crawling under upside down cars, long hours etc.) are part of what make the job what it is. As a general rule with us and certainly the police, it's a Marmite career.

The things that I hate? Well...it's seeing a feckless, disingenuous bunch of smegma-ridden bastards covered in twatty sauce (can you guess who?) try and destroy a service that keeps people alive. It's sitting outside an A&E department at 3 in the morning with a little old granny who you can't offload because they have no beds. It's dealing with GPs who are often at the best clinically unskilled, at the worst downright maliciously negligent (not all of them, not even most, but in terms of workload, a significant majority). It's being assaulted by some micropenised steroid injected fuckstain who is so off his gourd on ketamine that he thinks the world is his punchbag, but knowing that reporting it is a massive waste of time.

The job's great; the system's fucked.

TL:DR Whiney whiney whine.....
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 18:53, 20 replies)
A & E
I went to get my scalp stitched. The doctor asked how I cut it. I had to tell him that I was walking round the sea-bathing pool wall, when I hit my head on the sign that says "Don't walk on the pool wall".
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 18:42, 3 replies)
I never had kids
but if I had I like to think I'd have called an ambulance if they'd hurt themselves seriously enough to warrant medical attention or if there had been problems with the pregnancy, for example, pre eclampsia.
Perhaps I'd have driven them in the car if it didn't seem quite so urgent, although I may have gone a bit too fast and been stopped by the police. Luckily this never happened.
Another possibility is that we'd have been involved in a fire or had to have been cut free from the wreckage of a vehicle by the fire service.

We would have lived a long way from the sea so there's no point in pondering coastguards at all, but that's good because maybe one of us would have suffered from sea sickness or a phobia of boats.Or seagulls.Or piers.

I think, when all this is taken into consideration, that luck has been very much on my side.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 16:13, 3 replies)
ian was a nurse who worked nights when i was in hospital many years ago. he was known to me because his sister was engaged to my brother at the time. he was great to talk to when i couldn't sleep, watched telly with me when it was quiet, he even calmed me down when i had a nightmare about a fox eating my nose.
the best thing he used to do, though, was to collect money from patients who would be nil by mouth from midnight, then bugger off to the local chippy and get us all a chinese meal about 9 o'clock.
not exactly standard practice, but it made the patients happy!
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 15:17, 9 replies)
This guy
Once told me to prevent some machine from killing his mum THEN made it clear I had to bone her. Fucking destiny or something.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 15:14, 1 reply)
Punk band 999's third single was very good
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 15:02, 1 reply)
A sci-fi LARPer in Brighton I vaguely know, one autumn day in '84
decided to walk home from picking up the huge blank-firing machine gun his mate was lending him (or that he'd just bought, I forget which) - with the firearm simply slung over his shoulder. Not in a bag, or anything.

Very shortly after he arrived at home, a squad of armed police broke the door in, threw him to the floor with their very real guns pointed at him, and dragged him off for questioning.
(, Sat 18 May 2013, 11:02, 8 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1