Since my plumber related this chilling anecdote I was tempted to stick it in the comments of the previous post – but it’s so horrifying I thought it deserved a whole thread of its own:
The plumber – let’s call him Steve, since that’s not his real name – popped around to a block of flats on his way to my place this morning, to quote on a dodgy stove. He and the caretaker, Davo, were enjoying a nice chat – probably about beer, tits and sport, how do I know what blokes talk about? – when Davo started to convulse with a full-blown epileptic seizure. At the top of a flight of external stairs. In the quasi-cyclonic gusty showers we’re enjoying up here at present.
Steve, being a good bloke, attempted to stop Davo from hurting himself while ringing for an ambulance. Not an easy job, because although Steve is a fit tradesman fond of a bit of a surf in his spare time, old mate Davo was more the World of Warcraft with a pizza in each hand type. Finally, Steve heard the comforting sirens of the approaching ambulance.
“You’ll be right now, mate.” He reassured Davo.
Davo was not now all right. A solitary ambo with PeeWee Herman’s physique arrived and, other than his skill in hooking up machines that go ‘beep’, proceeded to be no bloody good at all.
“Just let him go.” Went his advice to Steve, “He’s going to fall. He’s going to die.”
Steve – being more hero than plumber and more super than man – continued to assist poor Davo until a subsequent ambulance with three crew members arrived to lend a hand.
When there’s a crisis, you call emergency services. You’re secure in the knowledge that the professionals who arrive will strive to assist to the best of their abilities, however difficult the conditions. That’s their job. Right?
Lucky for Davo, Steve was there. Next time my family are in crisis, I’ll be tempted to call a plumber.