I did not stay for the overnight portion, so I have yet to hear if remaining staff was spirited away by ghosts. However, I had an interesting experience driving the ambulance back. I had to get gas (okay, “diesel”) and I pulled into a station.
While filling up, this party bus pulls up.
A door opens, and awful music, gusts of alcohol, and a crowd of passengers intent on buying munchies explodes out.
The girls were all in uniform: too-tight tube tops and fuck-me pumps, and the combination of bus steps, alcohol, and fuck-me pumps was too much for one of the sloshier ones. She takes a spill, losing her cup and sending a 10-foot spray of vodka all over.
Her friends were mildly concerned at the bleeding knee, and an odd sense of responsibility settles over me. I rummage for a second in the back of the ambulance, then approach her with some alcohol wipes and bandaids used as props in our make-believe “clinics” at shows.
Her friends were as grateful as their conditioned allowed, but she squealed at the idea of stinging alcohol wipes. As if she were in any kind of state to feel pain!
Anyway, this kind of makes up for all the times I feel guilty driving up to an accident along the road, and then have to watch the people’s heads turn in disbelief as I go drive off without stopping.