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An Outlaw Biker Encounter

I had these bikers from the [names the gang] in the E.R. last night. One of their riders has a broken wrist and he can’t tolerate the examination let alone the procedure. So we need to give him a needle, just a local.

Of course, these dipsy-do biker people can’t do anything on their own. I suppose they clear their bowels together and make love to their wives while holding hands. Sammy [Gabriel’s MC Gung Fu student] would have annihilated these five giant babies—like babies with beards and ugly tattoos.

The nurse readies the needle and this moron hops up to getaway, his eyes locked on the needle like it’s a king cobra, and passes out and his big head bounces off the floor. Now he has a real injury and his brothers—big, giant men—are coming at the nurse.

There I am, a little old Chicorican, don’t even come up to the beard of any of these giants and it falls to me to protect this female coworker, which is what a man is supposed to do. So I take the needle from her and push her behind and confront that wall of morons bearing down on her like a herd of gosh darn water buffalo and adopted the voice of my drill instructor from Fort Benning, “Men, this is a needle. It is a tool of healing, not a weapon of war. However, if you continue with your threats upon my female coworker I will be forced to illustrate the truism that any object is a potential weapon,” and, since I had their attention, I squirted some of the medication—and don’t you know one of those big babies passed out!”

Really, people!

Are you kidding me?

I then directed two of them to carry that moron to the waiting room and the other two to assist the nurse in placing their broken-headed friend back on the gurney.

Let me tell you, people have issues!

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TWMay 18, 2018 2:26 AM UTC

Guest post:

Before an estimated five hundred thousand festival goers showed up in these parts in 1969, Native American Indians claimed first use as they roamed up and down the eastern parts of the country since before any Europeans set foot on this continent. The natives discovered the psychotropic effects of tobacco long before the hippies did. And not just with various species of tobacco either, other plant varietals were discovered by luck, trial or error to produce the same hallucinogenic effects, such as Peyote for example, a species native to the southwestern U.S.
WellRead EdMay 18, 2018 1:07 AM UTC

A couple of decades ago, I was a Tech in an ER in North Dindustan. I had been working there for about a month when a biker (no patch; just a wannabe) comes in complaining of back pain. Of course, he needed opiates for the pain, and loudly, and profanely declared his need for drugs and demanded that the Doc drop what he was doing and attend to his needs.

The willowy young man of an alternative lifestyle attempted to explain that the doctor would be there as soon as possible. For his efforts, he was called "Queer Bait" and "Faggot". Sensing that he was reaching his wit's end, I traded patients with him and dealt with the biker.

I explained to him that yelling profanities was counter-productive. His various "Fuck yous" indicated to me that further conversation was pointless, so I attended to other duties, like transporting patients to the Radiology Dept.

Returning from one such trip, I spied our bellicose biker standing in front of the Nurse's Station, berating the secretary for her lack of immediate compliance with his demands. I went and stood next to her just as the aforementioned young man walked behind the secretary and, in that bitchy, yet biting style that seems to come naturally to effete men, proceeded to explain his options including leaving.

This inspired the wannabe to pick up various objects at hand and throw them at both the secretary and my colleague. Being much more athletic back then, I went over the counter at him. Seeing this, he picked up a wooden tray we used to deposit patient charts into, and hit me in the head with it.

I spent the next minute or so, bouncing him off of the walls and the floor. One of the nurses referred to it as 'The Night I Dribbled a Patient'. At one point, as I was showing him the error of his ways (I was on top of him and beating his face) a pair of wingtips appeared next to me. I looked up into the face of the head of Security who asked me, "Are you done?"

Long story short, the patient earned himself a CAT Scan and a night in restraints, I got a gash on my ear, and everything was smoothed over in the reports.

I worked there for 8 years. During that time, we assembled a crew of knuckle-draggers that were as adept at breaking bones as we were at splinting them. Before long, the word got out into the street that it wasn't a good idea to incite violence at our ER because we were all too happy to repay in kind.
responds:May 18, 2018 12:02 PM UTC

Will post this as an article, Sir.

TWMay 18, 2018 12:15 AM UTC

Of Metaphors and Emergent Psychology

Making my way southeast from Quebec City to Montreal on highway 40 on a BMW K100 RT motorcycle after a short Labor Day holiday weekend in the more provincial French-Canadian parts of Canada a familiar skunk like scent irritated my senses for six or so kilometers as I approached the outskirts of Montreal. As the clouds started to pile in after a clear bluebird morning, I scanned the roadway figuring I’d spot the roadkill, on a slow traffic day for a Sunday.