Stick to the Plan

bathhouse

#44: Stick_to_the_Plan, Man
It would vex me greatly,
If the sky fell out in a white sheet, frosty break about_
I doubt the plantations managerial capabilities, to help the wage slaves out_
Field first friend!
My slacks are dust crusted, my collar is blue shade_
I learned to trust my first impression, my child eye deductions,
Learned all my life lessons in bare knuckle playground, first grade_
If you went or you stayed, there were salaries paid, to acertain levy resistance, storm wall protections, there were grim calculations the Stonybrook engineers made.
Her fall, her slip in itself as a hapstance was not really enough for this civil servent to abandon his flashing coffin box medical ship.
A bit lip, a sullen think through, what they will-still-may-do for a blue collar like you_
_Cogs turn back to promises; sky falls out, I go back, I get through, I stick to the plan_some fought and most ran_i don’t fidget, or roam_ Our plan, stay put. I coming. I’m gonna carry you home.
Interesting to me what the public asks of we, but ambulance women and men have to think first on their own blood, their own ranks and lovers_the fates of their own family.

Can we not all agree that the white shirts and white collars make hasty their calls, cold calling a thing called impunity.
They told me that there was no way to pass from point A to Point JFK, they said even Chief Peruggia couldn’t get a bus to his mother that day.
But as New York General Winter fell upon my city, told was I to leave my beloved to her own devices, as roads became treacherous, perilous impasses, black ices_ as citizen and civil servent were left to their own means,
And there was I Vasili, with Stanslaw EMT of the Kyrgeze, told to stay at the wheel of 04Henrey3 having no other means, for all of the lower east side’s brokers, drunkards and late night charlie sheans.
“Family Emergency!”
I keyed up the mic.
Snow falling in buckets paralyzing the best of our urban rescue machines.
I’ve been chewed out before, I am defiant it must my BlackHebrewIrish, I’ve got a code and I adhere to that code to its letter, its core.
Stick to the plan, don’t deter, improvise if you must but don’t roam:
Stanslaw nods to me, “Let’s go out of service and go carry your lady friend home.”

And like that 04Henry goes out, and the plan forms around an idea in my head, jettison the stuck truck in the thick of the frosty fuck muck and load our crew in my white honda civic instead.
What’s that about? It will be easier to dig a smaller vehicle out.
1, 2, 3 and there were bosses and captains all yelling at me, but don’t you agree; if the woman you love has broken her leg and lying stranded in pain; the plan is to retrieve her under all circumstances, you take chances! Be they nuclear winter or zombies or sky fall out bizzards or New Orleans type rain. If it makes me insane!-if it costs me my job!- and breaks my back and my wallet!-And inflicts a mountain of tedious pain!; I remain.

Stick to the plan man!

Yelizaveta, just stay warm, just remain where you are we are coming by car_the snow can just keep on falling, thawing thick thru: but Stanslaw and I are the best post soviet emts in the crew and we are fighting our way through the blizzard toward you!
4 hours later, snowpocolypse now! via lurching convoy, sanitiation strikes paralyzed Brooklyn turn pikes, we did get from LES to JFK we used grit and a shovel that’s how. Oi.
Snaking, along, with, motley dig out ready allies made, fall down so thick it obstructs, it clusterfucks: it takes lives. Here now a Real man thrives, love is unstopable love makes the mind hard and lean,
Its wings carried my partner and I not via sky, via civil servents in a honda civic, coffee and catecholamine.
I remember my ladies face. Soviet like ours, leg broken on the floor of the airport. No tears. She was born strong:
“Baby I love you! What took you so long?”
Despite the worst of my fears, and the snow keeps on falling and the sky never clears. And if this was an American movie, hear is the part where the audience cheers!
Stan the man and I, Vasa two city emt, crossed three boroughs to carry her out fearlessly. And the look in her eyes was as if a goddess an angel a thing of perfection was ready to pin a medal on me,
Called her kiss.
But here is the take away, here is what you ought to be learning from this.

We splinted her leg and drove her to Belvue hospital where girlfriends of ambulance men get no questions care. And because of my blue collar and the patch that we wear my slipped and fallen soviet darling got no questions asked about insurance_ high quality care.
I love my city, but beware.
A parable is only important if its contents slightly scare, the cities 13,000 emts and paramedics don’t get nearly their fair share.
Ambulance woman and men die once a month, inglorious bastards of healthcare.
So beware. By our trade we did trade our souls for the glance of a chance for a save, but we broke back mountain slave, they take and they take and we gave and we gave.
Do you have any idea of the number of our blue shirted brothers and sisters we have carried and buried to grave?!
I love my city. I love my four boroughs I’ve got a New Yorker card, I’ve been here all my goddamn life.
But don’t ask me to ever pick a faceless city,
over a woman I love who I’d lovs as my wife.
Posters plastered call my job a calling, but if you pay us like summer camp councilors and make us work in conditions appalling, then just know that were gonna save our loved ones first, next time and each time the sky is falling.
Written by: WSA
Dedicated to: Yelizaveta Kotlyarova

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