Saturday, April 05, 2008
Husband of The Year
Clint and Co., were dispatched to a medical call recently: An older* woman had ***KLUNK!*** fallen right off of her barstool, and hurt her back and neck. [I use the term "older" loosely; she was not that much older than I; I mean only to clarify that this is not a sorority girl story, of which there are plenty in this town.]
When asked if she'd been drinking, she admitted: Yes. Beer. Number of beers, approximately? "12 or 20" was her answer. Poor little lamb; we all know it's hard to keep track after #3.
A collar was placed on the woman's neck, and a backboard slid under her, when Clint was stopped by another woman in the bar:
"Can you guys call her husband when you get to the hospital?" she asked him, "to let him know how she's doing?"
"Where," Clint asked, "is her husband?"
The woman told him, "He's right there, at the end of the bar."
And I just don't know what else to say about that, that wouldn't be stating the obvious. I'll let you take it from here. Comments, anyone?