The not so Real World

I enter the gym to find two cast members of MTV's new Real World season (Brooklyn) working out on my favorite machines. Cameras are hovering around the dudes and a big fluffy boom mic is swaying over their heads. I make sure I get on the rowing machine between these two Real World punks. I'm gonna be in this fucking shot.

In 1992 when the very first Real World season started in NYC, the cast was actually cool. It was a GOOD show. Granted, I was 17 years old and trapped in high school. After watching five seconds of that show I knew I was destined to live in New York city. And that's exactly what happened. Ha!

Hence, it was kind of weird to meet these new Real World people... they must have been 3 or 4 years old when the REAL real world aired. These kids don't know what it's all about. I miss Eric, Julie, Norm, Heather, Becky, Kevin and the guy who played in the grunge band.

Saturday morning

I get off at Morgan Avenue on the L-line, a pretty rough neighborhood I would say. I think it's Bushwick, maybe East Williamsburg. I can see the huge Marcy housing projects from where I stand, which is in Bed-Stuy (a friend of mine told me that many high profile rappers are from the Marcy projects. Oh well).

I walk past warehouses, factories, junkyards with old cars and with rottweilers, and I see.... a bunch of young, white, hipster kids having a smoke outside an organic coffee shop. Huh? How did they end up here? And where do they live? I see no apartment buildings except for the projects, and I know they don't live there. And why does the coffee place have to be organic?

I decide to follow one of them as she stands up to leave, but around the corner she gets on a bicycle, she rides off and flips the bird to a car that drives too close to her.

Is this the "new" Williamsburg? There's always a new Williamsburg somewhere. Anywho, the reason I was in Bushwick was to take my EMS physical agility test... I passed it!!

Wohooo!

When the California polls closed and the projection was - Obama! we heard a roar of cheers and cars honking from outside. We put our shoes on and ran out to join the party. A huge crowd had gathered up the street in the intersection. There was dancing, drumming, climbing up on lamp posts, drinking, toasting, cheering, screaming and jumping. Police cars arrived with lights and sirens from all directions. But, to our great relief, they did nothing to stop the party. The cops just directed traffic around the crowds (thanks NYPD!). A beautiful night.

Praying

I'm nervous about the election. Obama MUST win, must, must, must. Brooklyn, as well as the rest of NYC (maybe not Staten Island though), are heavy into Barack, no surprise there, and the polling booths are packed. Beautiful! I hope the swing states won't do anything stupid. I hope Florida won't screw up. Please, please, please.

To be continued.

Redemption

I got my driver's license! My (second) road test went smoothly. In fact, I was so awesome I got NO points deducted on my test. That's a perfect score. PERFECT. Not many people get a perfect score on their road test. But I did. I'm the best. The. Best. B.E.S.T.

Attacked by the German

German: "Haben Sie gehort das Deutsche blah blah blah gibberish...?"
Me: "....huh?"

- "You're not German??"
- "Nooooo...."

- "But didn't I just speak to you outside? By the bicycles...? You're not here for the German literary club? You're not one of the German teachers?"
- "...nooooo...I'm looking for the gym to play volleyball."

- "I could have sworn it was you I talked to outside!!"
- "Nope. I'm just another blonde."
- "C'moooon we're not ALL blonde in Germany!!!"

Maybe not, but I bet you wanna be!

Unfair

I failed my driver's road test. Big fat failure. Don't get me wrong, I was driving beautifully throughout the whole test - I parallel parked perfectly, maneuvered the broken U-turn without a problem, handled the left turns and the right turns without any incidents. The tester-lady then asked me to make the next right and stop the car. Test supposed to be over.

I signal right, stop at the stop sign, and turn. Tester-lady hits the brakes on her side. "You should not have gone, see that guy?" I look to my left. A freaking homeless person is pushing a shopping cart with cans and bottles in the middle of the street. He is not crossing the street. He's not walking towards me. He's just walking in the middle of the road. Actually, he's walking away from our car. "You fail."

These are the emotions I feel at the moment. They are pretty much the same as the five stages of grief that psychiatrist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross wrote about in her renowned book "On Death and Dying". I go through death and dying emotions every time my ego's hurt. Like today. Here we go:

1) Denial. ("No way!!")
2) Anger. ("What the fuck?!?!?!")
3) Bargaining. ("But...but....but...")
4) Depresssion. ("This blows")
5) Acceptance. ("Oh well...")

I haven't gotten to the fifth stage. Just knowing Paris Hilton has a driver's license and I don't... that makes me angry. I bet you there were no homeless people around when Paris got her license.

I DID NOT GET MY LICENSE BECAUSE A HOMELESS PERSON WAS PUSHING HIS CART IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD!!

Psychiatric Stuff

My quest for getting into the medical field has taken me to the psychiatric ward. Not as a patient but as an observer, shadowing yet another DPT as she is going on with her work day.

In the elevator ride up to the inpatient psych floor I felt exhilarated. I was going to see REAL crazy people. Sure, I've seen crazy people before, several times - on the subway, at the gym, in offices. But to be in the psych ward, that's another story, that's official; if you have a room here, you must be nuts.

The first patient we ran into did not disappoint. He was shuffling along the hallway in his socks, unkempt, head cocked to one side. Occasionally he stopped and stared into space. But where were the rest of them?

Turned out that most of the patients blended in quite well with the hospital staff. Both parties were wearing regular clothes. The only way to tell "crazy" apart from "normal" was the white patient wrist band. I looked at the wrist-banded people with awe, many questions flying through my mind. What's wrong with you? What's happened to you? Is there any hope? Will you get better? These were the exact same thoughts that went through my mind the first time I met a person who unabashedly admitted she was a registered Republican.

Our first patient was a bipolar elderly woman who had been admitted after feeling suicidal. To top it all off she also had trouble walking. "You know, they're letting me go home on Monday," she said as the PT had her do calf-raises in the hallway, "do you think I'm ready for that?"
"Yes I do, I'm happy for you. How do you feel?" the physical therapist replied.
"Well, I guess ok. Much better than when I got here. I can hardly even remember."
"I was here. You are doing much better. I think you will be fine going home."
"That's good," and then she lowered her voice to a whisper, "because my new room mate over there... she's crazy...screams at night."

I looked over at her room mate. She was sitting on her bed, reading. She's young, college-age, and pretty. No hint of any screaming or thrashing around. Just reading and looking pretty. Her side of the room was messy, socks strewn about, bed unmade, tea cups everywhere, glasses of water, newspaper on the floor. Just like my bedroom at home!!

And that's when I remembered what Amy, my nurse friend, once said: "You know, there IS a huge difference between people who are psychotic and us who are just neurotic. But sometimes it feels like a very thin line."

Drrrrive

I had my third driving lesson today. The instructor makes me turn left a lot. All he says throughout the hour is: "turn left" and "left" and "make another left." He says that I turn too sharply or something. He also tells me to watch where I'm going. I have an old driver's license that expired years ago; it's not like I've never driven a car before, buddy. I still have to rehearse left turns.

Other things he makes me practice is parallel parking. That's ok. I'm not great at it, but I'm not terrible either. I can totally do it.

The weirdest thing he has me do is the "broken U-turn". At first I thought he said "Brooklyn U-turn" and I said: "Wow, there's a BROOKLYN U-turn, what is that like??" But there's not one. Anyway, here's what I don't get: Why teach students to make U-turns in the city?? In my book, nobody should make U-turns in NYC. Just drive around the freaking block if you went down the wrong street. No, let's screw up traffic even more and have a bunch of idiots make U-turns left and right. I really don't get that.

Sleepy

I've fallen asleep a couple of times at work. This might not seem like a big deal if you work in an office or something, but I do massage. I've fallen asleep massaging. Just dosing off, but still. I don't think any clients have noticed yet. This only happens if I have a 7:30am appointment, by the way. I have to get used to getting up early. Although I only need to get up early once or twice a week. Anyway.

...what...huh?

When I'm old I hope I'll remember that when I was young, say in my twenties and thirties, I used to forget things all the time.

For example, I head to the bedroom from the living room and on the way over I forget why I'm going there. Or, I can never find my keys or my metro card. Or, I can't remember why I went to the store, for what...what do I need...what do I need? I buy stuff, go home, and realize that the reason I really went to the store was to pick up toilet paper, the one thing I didn't get.

Or today, I was craving a Sprite Zero (they're good) and headed to the deli. I picked up the Sprite, paid for it, went home and... where's my Sprite? It was nowhere to be found. Went back to the deli - and there it was, still on the counter.

This is what I shall remember when I'm old: poor memory is nothing new. Just how it's always been. (Have I written about this before...?)

DM f-ing V

A few years ago when I went to the Department of Motor Vehicles to renew my NY State ID, there was a five hour wait for service. A FIVE hour wait (the estimated waiting time is printed on the ticket you pick up when you enter, that's how you know). I actually walked back home, took a shower, read a book, had lunch, watched TV. I returned to the DMV just as they called my number.

Yesterday I went to the DMV again, this time to get my driver's license permit. Everything went smoothly. I took a written test for my driver's license (passed it), got my picture taken (looking fabulous as always), did my vision test (passed it), and paid the fee (credit card approved). All within 45 minutes. Unbelievable.

The only weird part was that the DMV lady who was processing my paper work kept falling asleep. That's never good. At first I wasn't sure what was going on, she just stopped writing and kept the pen glued to the approval document. Was there something wrong with my information?? After twenty seconds or so she would come to it and start writing again. Then she'd dose off again. I became a little unsure of how to act. Should I tap her shoulder and wake her up? "Excuse me, can you just finish writing down the information that will go on MY DRIVER'S LICENSE, and nap later....?"

I decided not to reach over and touch this woman. I decided it would be better to pretend nothing is going on. She's not asleep, she's handling my stuff perfectly.

The dosing-off episodes continued and I started to worry that the lady might be experiencing partial seizures. The symptoms can be quite similar. How awful of me to ignore her seizures! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do, my license, my license, my license, I want my license (or something less selfish).

Luckily, another DMV person walked by and woke the lady up. Sleeping lady with my important documents muttered: "Maaaan, I'm sooo tired today....."

I still got out of there within 45 minutes. Unbelievable.

Babies galore

Every block around where I live and work is crowded with couples and their babies. Strollers, pregnant ladies, daddies with babybjorn carriers, babies crying, babies laughing, babies talking gibberish, babies taking their first steps, more pregnant ladies - this is what I see ALL day long.

Park Slope has long been known as a "baby-stroller-neighborhood" (at least for the past 10 years or so), but the babies are spreading. For example, Carroll Gardens currently has the highest concentration of babies between 1-3 years old per square mile in the country - in the country. How did this happen? Why in Brooklyn?

My theory is that all the hipsters that lived in Williamsburg and Dumbo back in the '90s finally matured and got fancy jobs. No way any self-respecting Brooklynite would move to the suburbs to do the 'family-thing', so they all they coupled up and moved to the brownstone belt to procreate. I think that's cool. I do. I'm not against any of this... Although the whole baby thing has gotten a little bit out of control, can't deny that...

I have to go snuggle with my cats now.

Egg & Cheese please

I go to the coffee shop to get my usual egg and cheese sandwich that I always get during my break at work (=in between massage appointments).

The coffee guy behind the counter says:
- "Hey, you didn't pay for your sandwich last time you were here!"
- "Really, I didn't...?"
- "No, I remember now, now that I see your face and all, you didn't pay last time."
- "Oh, I'm so sorry... let me pay for it now then, I can't remember what happened last time."

And then the coffee guy tells me not to worry about it - "it's fine" - and I think: "cool, that means I got a free sandwich." But then I see the grumpy look on his face and he says "you know, I shouldn't even have mentioned it, since I'm not even gonna charge you" so I say:
"hey, I have a twenty right here, just charge me twice for the sandwich I'm getting now." And he does.

As I sit down to eat I'm thinking it's good that we sorted that out; I don't want to be remembered as the girl who didn't pay for her food, especially since I go there every week. But then I'm thinking, what if this dude is wrong? Maybe I DID pay him and he was just spacing out at the time...

Inevitably, I have to think of him as the guy who charged me twice for a stupid sandwich.

Signature

The unfortunate proliferation of those pushy 20-something-years-old "activists" that stop people on the streets to get a signature (or maybe money) for whatever cause they're into is the biggest nuisance of the summer.

"Miss, do you have a minute for the environment? Just a minute? A few seconds??" they ask, clip boards in hands. I never stop to chat. I don't want to. I have places to be, people to see. It's not that I don't care about the environment. I do. I just don't feel like talking to these kids, they're obnoxious. But of course I feel a tiny bit guilty when I walk on, ignoring the environment.

Sometimes I reply with a firm "no" as I walk by, just to get them off my back. That makes me feel even worse. Picture this:

"Miss, do you care about missing children?"
"NO!"
or
"Miss, do you support gay rights?"
"NO!"
or
"Miss, do you want to help animals?"
"NO!"

They're slick too. They have one activist facing one way and another activist facing the other way - this way they have you completely ambushed on the sidewalk, whether you're heading uptown or downtown. Here comes the smile, the waving of the clip board and the beginning of the spiel - "Hey Miss!"

I want them to leave.

Active

I just got promoted from being a 'probie' on the ambulance to an 'active'. Wohoo. This means that I will not be stuck in the back during non-calls, and I probably won't have to sit on the milk crate in between the front seats either. Being active means I have passed the initiation period and I get to ride shot gun from now on. Unless a more senior person comes out and takes that spot. That's possible.

"10-4"

I have a police & emergency-services radio scanner at home. I love it. It's totally legal to own one, believe it or not.

My excuse for owning one is that I want to develop a "good ear" for when I'm out on the ambulance, you know, I'll learn all the codes by listening, instead of just memorizing them from a long boring list.

But truthfully, it's also just pretty awesome to listen to. I turn the radio on to see what's going on in the city before I go to sleep - robberies, fires, unlawful urination, cardiac arrests, choking kid, stolen vehicles, smoke conditions, domestic disputes - it all comes spurting out of my radio, complete with addresses, suspect descriptions, and which units are responding.

If listening to this seems a little odd, or maybe even creepy, it's not nearly as morbid as keeping the radio in your private car and driving to the scene of the crime/accident just because you want to see the drama first hand. One of my paramedics instructors said she used to do this before she got her EMT license. Now if I did something like that, I would not tell anyone about it.

At any rate, I just have my radio to learn the dispatch codes.

Hazy

You know it's time to clean the kitchen and take out the garbage when one of the cats starts scraping his paw against the floor as if trying to bury something nasty. It's just so hard to do anything in this humidity, let alone clean. aaaaah.... but I guess if the cats are starting to clean up, I should too.

ER deli

I saw the Medical Director from one of the city's major trauma centers in my deli. Just the other week my ambulance unit worked with him covering an athletic event in the city. We had brought him an unstable patient with an altered mental status. The patient stabilized and the doc said he would get in touch with us to let us know the final diagnosis. But now, what was Doc doing in my deli?

I was just about to say "hi!" when shyness struck me. What if he has no idea who I am? Will he remember me? I may feel stupid having to explain to him who I am, he must see hundreds of EMTs every week. Also, I looked kind of unkempt wearing the t-shirt that I'd slept in last night, my old sneakers with holes in them (you can see the top of my big toes), and my shorts covered with cat hair, front and back. So I kept my head down, filled my cup with coffee and darted out of there.

This morning I was in the deli again, wearing the same sneakers, shorts, and the t-shirt that I'd slept in, when I heard someone shout out the name of the ambulance unit I belong to. I turned around. It was the doctor - he remembers me! And he knows which unit I'm with. "Heeey, how are you?" the doc said. "Good, good, and you?" I answered, and he said "Did you get any other good calls that evening?" And I said "Yeah, we got a nice cardiac call" and he said "Not from the event I hope?" and I said "No, no it was unrelated, so you're off the hook." And then we small talked about this and that and it turns out that he lives in the neighborhood too.

I totally feel important and cool, like I'm part of New York City's medical community at last. Just sharing a deli with this man gives me bonus points. Totally.

Rubbish

One recent morning I ran into the garbage police. It's true, there is such a thing. Or maybe they're called sanitation police, or something. Their uniform sort of looks like that of a traffic cop - the regular dark navy blue pants and a light blue shirt. I really didn't know these officers existed, but they do.

"You mixed recycling with regular garbage!!" the cop yelled to a man leaning on his elbows out the second floor window.
"What...??"
"You're mixing regular garbage with recycling, you can't do that, I have to give you a ticket for this!"

I kept on walking. They check our garbage??? We try to recycle, but when I feel lazy I just throw the cat food cans in the trash. So much pressure to recycle properly. What is happening to the city?