Dazed and Confused

Weird things are afoot in my neighborhood. Our neighbor's house got broken into, another neighbor was mugged, there was a collision at our corner this weekend (ok, so, this happens all the time...) and there was an unconscious woman on my sidewalk Saturday. Yeah, that was a little different. Our friends Michael and Abby were expected for dinner and when they showed up a little late we were ready to give them a hard time. Best excuse ever for tardiness: "There's an unconscious person on your street, we called 9-1-1." There's a what? Where? What they thought was a big black trash bag on the sidewalk turned out to be a lady and they couldn't wake her up.

My first aid instincts kicked in! [I'm the designated First Aid/Safety Monitor on my floor at work. In four years I've only been called upon twice; once for a bleeding finger which I totally valiantly saved and once for a guy who passed out which I botched horribly. OK, I got the call 911 part right, but that was about it.] So, forgetting my first aid failure at work: my first aid instincts kicked in! What to do? I grabbed a blanket off my daughter's bed (one good enough to warm someone, but kind of small so it will be easy to clean later! I actually thought this...) and rushed outside. The unconscious person was no longer unconscious. I remembered from my training: consciousness for a previously unconscious person is a good thing! But apparently Michael couldn't get her to talk or acknowledge him in any way.

She was sitting up, almost cross-legged with the most dazed expression on a person's face I've ever seen. She was a twenty or thirty-something latina(?), dressed nicely, like to go out, with a buttoned up black coat. With her black hair I could see how she may have looked like a trash bag in the dark. It was pretty cold out, low 40's, it's a really good thing Michael and Abby found her. I wrapped the blanket around her and sat down on the sidewalk facing her. I gripped the blanket on both sides so if she flopped backwards I could hold her up and keep her head from smacking on the bricks. Again, my first aid instincts kicked in! "What's your name?" I asked. "shfege skjd lrtysghssss," she replied. It was clear she thought she was answering me, but nothing remotely coherent came out. I tried to keep her talking even if I couldn't understand her. Consciousness is good! I remembered. "shjkowpj sjhdy akjdg dkjdw," she continued. Was she drunk? Stoned? Assaulted? Crime had been up in the neighborhood. Maybe someone hit her on the head with a tire-iron scrambling her poor little brain. Hm, no blood. Come to think of it, no bag. How often does a woman go out but not carry a bag? Now I'm in some crime drama trying to piece the clues together. The clues that are right in front of everyone, but only I can put them all together.

Finally I ask, "Having you been drinking?" And although I don't know what she says and I don't smell a whiff of alcohol on her, her "sshjdos ak dlkewi" reply clearly is meant to mean "No shit, Sherlock." At this point she indicates her contempt for Michael, who's diligently looking out for the ambulance, by saying "dfgfsoih" and flipping him the bird. She seems to think about it and decides to flip it at me too. Now I feel like we're getting somewhere.

"Hey, I know what that means!" I I laugh and tell her not to worry, we're there to help her and she's going to be okay. Last thing I tried before EMS got there was to ask simpler questions. My initial barrage had been what's your name? what day is it? where are you going? etc, but none of her answers made sense. I realized simpler communication was in order. "Do you live in Washington, DC?" "SYhessh," she told me. Cool. "Do you live on Capitol Hill?" "Yehm." "Do you live on 10th Street (where we were at the time)?" and that's when the professionals rolled up. Just in time because I was running out of questions.

As the sirens and flashing lights approached my befuddled patient grabbed me hard with both hands as if to say "don't let them take me." I was sort of touched that she'd gone from flipping me off to seeing me as some sort of protector. The EMS guys were putting on rubber gloves and asking her much of the same questions I had when Abby found a cell-phone in the pile of dry leaves on the sidewalk. I had one more burst of detective-think "Aha! Her phone! With 2 missed calls! Clearly someone is trying to reach our victim here! In moments we can call them back and get much needed information on her!" But then I looked around. An ambulance, a firetruck and 5 EMS guys had arrived on the scene in less than 6 minutes from the time Michael called 911. I closed the phone and gave it to one of the guys as they moved her to the ambulance. I got to be the First Aid/Safety Monitor for the night. Someone else would have to play detective.


GAME ONE
FIRST PLACE $30:
Old Fart's Heart Gets Jump Start 32









SECOND PLACE $20
A Lotta Resigna 30









THIRD PLACE $10
Hulk Hogan Loses Custody of Right Half of Tank Tops 29










I Shot Sean Taylor 16
Sean Taylor's a Little too Good at Intercepting Projectiles 17
I Heart Tranny Hookers 24
Come On Feel My Pulse 27
Sean Taylor Got Shot? Who Saw That Coming? 25
Arctic Cruise Captains 18
Bills and the Over 24
Clavins 27
The Young and the Breastless 17
Is It Too Early for a Sean Taylor joke? 23
Blowin' me in the Wind 26
Warm Pile of Leftovers 27
The Wide Stance 18
Sean Taylor's Body Guards 20
0 for 10 13

GAME ONE - Ethnically Offensive Magazines
FIRST PLACE $30:
Washington Redskins Weekly









SECOND PLACE $20
Macaca Illustrated










THIRD PLACE $10
Wopular Machanics 29










Pictures: Niggas Can't Read 19
Macaca 22
Round Eye Can't Drive 18
Jewsweek 25
Camel Jockey Racing Form 26
Wetback Weekly 18
Clavins 20
Spics with Sticks: Hispanic Baseball Weekly 14
NY Review of Gooks 14
Ranger Spic 20
Jap Fancy 18
SuckaMacaca 26
Family Circle Jerk 19