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Rosie and I decided to spend the afternoon window shopping. Being on Davie, we went into a sex shop that Rosie would later dub the Love Bucket. We browsed for just a moment, teasing each other about sexy-wear that was inappropriate for either of our body types when the clerk (a wee slip of a girl who, aside from her tattoos, looked to be about 14, but clearly was old enough to work in a sex shop) came up to us.
"I hate to ask this, but a man has fallen in the back, and I can't lift him back to his wheelchair. Can you help me?"
Thinking this was like my old man - a stroke victim with limited mobility who had simply fallen, I agreed. So Rosie, the clerk and I went back to... well, to the wanking rooms, to find an old guy lying on the floor in some distress. There was blood under his left arm which immediately told me that I shouldn't attempt to move this guy.
"Call 911", I say to the clerk.
And so I spend the next little while trying to make the old guy comfortable. I introduced myself to the poor old fellow (Doug), and found out that he'd "fallen asleep and fell off his chair". My initial assumption that Doug was a stroke victim bore out since he had all the same symptoms as my dad (one side largely useless, slurred speech, fantastic grip on his good side). He mentioned that he had broken his arm two weeks earlier in a fall and that he thought he had re-broken it. Holding his severely bruised left arm with his good right hand he pulled it up enough for me to see that, in fact, he had a compound fracture that had broken through the skin. That was where the blood had come from.
Well there was damn little I could do to fix his arm. I could have tried a splint if we were isolated in the woods away from civilization (though I had never done such a thing, and only had theoretical knowledge on how to do it), but since we were about five blocks from a major hospital, I figured I'd just watch him since the bleeding had stopped. Instead, I opted for simple thing to make him more comfortable. Basically providing pillows to prop up his head and hold his shoulder steady, and chatting with him.
He also wanted me to empty his ad hoc urinal (an empty Starbucks container), which I did. Between the blood, shaking his wanking hand, and emptying the Starbucks container, I figure I came in contact with at least three different bodily fluids. I could not wait to wash my hands more than Lady MacBeth, and I think I need to check with a Doctor before donating blood again. Not necessarily gross, since I had to look after my old man on occasion when he was incapable of cleaning himself, but worrisome because Doug was a stranger.
I have no idea how long Doug was on that floor - the clerk had only heard his calls after awhile and he wasn't on the observation camera. Also, he was hard to hear over the video loop in the wanking room: Lesbian anal fisting porn on a loop. It was quite distracting (not in a good way) when I was watching Doug. And the clerk couldn't turn it off, though she eventually figured out how to turn the sound down. Seriously, this was on a projection system that filled one whole wall of the room. It was literally larger than life!
As an aside, in addition to Doug's wheelchair, there was also six (!) chairs in the room. Personally, I see masturbation as a activity one does by one's self - or maybe with one other very close person as a way to mix things up. I can't imagine sharing a room with five other strangers. But hey, whatever gets you through the night.
After calling 911, the clerk came back. "The ambulance is on its way. I can watch Doug after I lock the front door."
To my shame I let her do this (I should have watched Doug until EMS arrived). However, before we leave, Doug asks me, in some exasperation, "What am I going to tell people?"
I look him dead in the eye, "you tell them you broke your arm rescuing kittens."
Doug smiles, "Yeah, I'll tell them I was rescuing kittens!"
I come to my senses after we leave the store and I tell Rosie, "We should stick around until the ambulance arrives, just in case". Rosie, of course, agrees.
Then came that eternal wait, where every minute stretches out to an eternity as you wait for an ambulance to arrive. Eventually I see once coming down Davie. Rosie waves it down and I pound on the door to let the clerk know they've arrived. Apparently, they weren't our ambulance (they just saw someone waving them down, so they stopped to help).
They came in and took charge. The clerk thanks us for sticking around (though in the confusion, she couldn't find the key to the wash room, so I ended up going back to the sushi restaurant we had lunch in before this whole incident, to wash my hands). I overheard one of the ambulance driver asking if Doug was alone or if he was perhaps a victim of assault (which he wasn't). It wasn't until the next day that I realized the ambulance guy was probably referring to me as the potential assailant. Oh well, I have the Internet, I don't need to go share the wanking room.
I don't think the clerk is going to be at that job long.
Some hours after our adventure, I saw Rosie off at her job du jour. "I could have done with less exciting things today, and more interesting things," she said. Amen sister, amen.
I hope you're OK Doug.
--- late edit ---
Rosie was going to write up her experiences, but never got around to it. I remember her telling me that the clerk didn't immediately call 911, and instead called her boss to see what to do. What to d was lock the doors apparently. I don't know if she then immediately called emergency afterward, or if Rosie browbeat her into doing it, but they did eventually get called.
"I hate to ask this, but a man has fallen in the back, and I can't lift him back to his wheelchair. Can you help me?"
Thinking this was like my old man - a stroke victim with limited mobility who had simply fallen, I agreed. So Rosie, the clerk and I went back to... well, to the wanking rooms, to find an old guy lying on the floor in some distress. There was blood under his left arm which immediately told me that I shouldn't attempt to move this guy.
"Call 911", I say to the clerk.
And so I spend the next little while trying to make the old guy comfortable. I introduced myself to the poor old fellow (Doug), and found out that he'd "fallen asleep and fell off his chair". My initial assumption that Doug was a stroke victim bore out since he had all the same symptoms as my dad (one side largely useless, slurred speech, fantastic grip on his good side). He mentioned that he had broken his arm two weeks earlier in a fall and that he thought he had re-broken it. Holding his severely bruised left arm with his good right hand he pulled it up enough for me to see that, in fact, he had a compound fracture that had broken through the skin. That was where the blood had come from.
Well there was damn little I could do to fix his arm. I could have tried a splint if we were isolated in the woods away from civilization (though I had never done such a thing, and only had theoretical knowledge on how to do it), but since we were about five blocks from a major hospital, I figured I'd just watch him since the bleeding had stopped. Instead, I opted for simple thing to make him more comfortable. Basically providing pillows to prop up his head and hold his shoulder steady, and chatting with him.
He also wanted me to empty his ad hoc urinal (an empty Starbucks container), which I did. Between the blood, shaking his wanking hand, and emptying the Starbucks container, I figure I came in contact with at least three different bodily fluids. I could not wait to wash my hands more than Lady MacBeth, and I think I need to check with a Doctor before donating blood again. Not necessarily gross, since I had to look after my old man on occasion when he was incapable of cleaning himself, but worrisome because Doug was a stranger.
I have no idea how long Doug was on that floor - the clerk had only heard his calls after awhile and he wasn't on the observation camera. Also, he was hard to hear over the video loop in the wanking room: Lesbian anal fisting porn on a loop. It was quite distracting (not in a good way) when I was watching Doug. And the clerk couldn't turn it off, though she eventually figured out how to turn the sound down. Seriously, this was on a projection system that filled one whole wall of the room. It was literally larger than life!
As an aside, in addition to Doug's wheelchair, there was also six (!) chairs in the room. Personally, I see masturbation as a activity one does by one's self - or maybe with one other very close person as a way to mix things up. I can't imagine sharing a room with five other strangers. But hey, whatever gets you through the night.
After calling 911, the clerk came back. "The ambulance is on its way. I can watch Doug after I lock the front door."
To my shame I let her do this (I should have watched Doug until EMS arrived). However, before we leave, Doug asks me, in some exasperation, "What am I going to tell people?"
I look him dead in the eye, "you tell them you broke your arm rescuing kittens."
Doug smiles, "Yeah, I'll tell them I was rescuing kittens!"
I come to my senses after we leave the store and I tell Rosie, "We should stick around until the ambulance arrives, just in case". Rosie, of course, agrees.
Then came that eternal wait, where every minute stretches out to an eternity as you wait for an ambulance to arrive. Eventually I see once coming down Davie. Rosie waves it down and I pound on the door to let the clerk know they've arrived. Apparently, they weren't our ambulance (they just saw someone waving them down, so they stopped to help).
They came in and took charge. The clerk thanks us for sticking around (though in the confusion, she couldn't find the key to the wash room, so I ended up going back to the sushi restaurant we had lunch in before this whole incident, to wash my hands). I overheard one of the ambulance driver asking if Doug was alone or if he was perhaps a victim of assault (which he wasn't). It wasn't until the next day that I realized the ambulance guy was probably referring to me as the potential assailant. Oh well, I have the Internet, I don't need to go share the wanking room.
I don't think the clerk is going to be at that job long.
Some hours after our adventure, I saw Rosie off at her job du jour. "I could have done with less exciting things today, and more interesting things," she said. Amen sister, amen.
I hope you're OK Doug.
--- late edit ---
Rosie was going to write up her experiences, but never got around to it. I remember her telling me that the clerk didn't immediately call 911, and instead called her boss to see what to do. What to d was lock the doors apparently. I don't know if she then immediately called emergency afterward, or if Rosie browbeat her into doing it, but they did eventually get called.
