I spotted the response car a roundabout back. The driver behind me didn’t, as evidenced by his sudden braking and veering into the side when it appeared round the bend. I pulled over into a T-junction, blocking off the old man who was about to drive straight into the path of the RV, letting it past. Thirty seconds later came more sirens, once again causing the driver behind me to do something stupid, and an ambulance came flying past, which I followed into the carpark of Tesco. The van kept going, lights blazing – without either that luxury or the parking exemptions, I decided to park nearby and walk through the queue of stationary vehicles, all aiming for the spots closer to the store.
As I strolled over, I saw a congregation of interested bystanders, illuminated by the paking light of the ambulance and open boot of the car. Getting closer revealed a man on the ground, someone shining a pen torch in his eyes, surrounded by a panic* of relatives. I recognised one of the crew, who was just ambling around the front of the ambulance, and stopped to say hi before leaving them to dealing with the gang of interested Tesco workers who kept appearing from the store. As I walked in, two pushed past me, one with a, “‘Scuse me, it’s an emergency”, before screaming, “I need a big pad of a paper and a pen!” at customer services. Not to be outdone, their sidekick followed with the favourite bugger-off-out-the-way of, “and they need a glass of water!”.
As yet more over-excited employees poured through the door, I got on with my shopping. I listened to an argument between a couple over their Christmas shopping budget, the mother despairing over her seemingly ADHD riddled child, the man on the phone to his mother. Everyone in the store seemed to be involved in their own little drama, from the family and bystanders outside to the Tesco staff clamouring to be the hero in the emergency outside to the shoppers, each with their own problems. It was quite fun to just drift through it, my only issue being finding the bananas.
I tried to chat to the lady on the checkout with the sad tired eyes, her badge proclaiming that she’d started with the company two years before I was born. She didn’t seem impressed, her only effort at conversation being how tired she was having been on since nine in the morning. I kept my mouth shut about long shifts, paid, and left.
As I was walking out, I heard a massive commotion by the door. Three young girls, screaming incoherently about something. “Probably relatives”, I thought, before one ran past and grabbed a carrier full of food from one of the checkouts. In all the excitment to get outside and see the flashing lights, they’d left a bag of shopping behind.
I manoeuvred my way around the employees at the entrance, clogging the way in and out, and started towards my car. The patient was now in the back of the ambulance, the response car driver trying to tidy up while dodging relatives and other interested parties. Someone appeared to be taking the wrapper from an oxygen mask as a trophy.
Putting my shopping in the boot, I ended up behind the RV leaving the carpark, the two of us following the red H’s on the roadsigns to our destination. As I peeled off into the staff residences, the ambulance came past me on lights, heading for A&E.
I parked up, and went upstairs to my flat. I stuck the kettle on and unpacked my food into the fridge and cupboard before pouring a nice big mug of coffee. That’s my little panic over. I changed my shirt, clipped on my ID badge, and cleaned my teeth, before throwing my stethoscope round my neck and heading towards my night in the Emergency Department. Guess I’ll find out what all the fuss is about now.
* Is this a good collective noun?
Posted by nickopotamus 
