This duty must be rather boring for them - so far all they've done is check blood pressure once or twice, give out a couple dozen bandaids, or say, "No, we don't provide asperin (brand names deleted), we're only here for emergencies."
Fortunately for the City (which contracted with the ambulance company), bandaids are classified as emergency first aid.
They have put in a lot of time studying anatomy and medical procedures - to move upward, career wise, and become full-fledged paramedics. They also watch the crowds - especially the girls - the few times any crowds actually appear. (Maybe that's why they spend so much time by the gate, watching the street - at least there are people - many of the feminine persuasion - walking by.)
Oh yeah. It's another abominably boring morning at the protest site: zone: lot: camp: cage. Danial is watching the med techs to see how they get through the hours. The result of his observations you have just read.
Host Danial is still disappointed that the Filipino group did not have any dancing last hour - he'd heard a rumor that they would, and was hoping for more than just speeches. A little bit of culture might have helped make the first hours of this day be more than just another ABM (abominably boring morning).
The Farm Bureau is onstage now, five or six guys talking about some agricultural thing or another. Voices echo over the empty asphalt lot (how many times have I already written those words? Empty asphalt lot. Empty asphalt lot. Yeesh. Bring On the Crowds!).
Three cops come into the tent, nod at the host, and then one asks the medicals, "Any emergencies yet, gentlemen?"
"Naa-" Barry says, "nothing.""Hell," the officer says, "glancing at Danial's scribbling pen, but shrugging it off, "we had ourselves a little medical-related run-in with the Secret Service yesterday afternoon over at the Convention. We escorted some beautiful young woman through their lines into the very-VIP first aid station."
"What was the matter?" Barry laughs, "Weren't you qualified to give her CPR yourself?"
"Ha! Would've liked to - she was hot - wearing a tight little miniskirt - but no, all she was was hot - heat exhaustion."
"Heh heh - very punny - she was hot - heh!"
"Yeah, well, the Secret Service really chewed us out. Oh man, they like to bite our heads off yelling - 'Why the hell didn't you check in with us before you took someone in? Who is she?' Damn, she's only a governor's daughter, come on!"
The group - all male - laughs, half at the strictness of the S.S., half at the thought of a beautiful damsel in distress.
"Yeah," the officer almost continues, "I...." but now he stops in mid-breath. A small group has just walked up to the table.
Five young Republicans. Clean cut, yet not stodgy, their incredibly fresh faces shine with just the right shade of tan. Dressed in perfect summer casual wear, they bear credentials around their necks.
"Hi!" How do people get to speak here?"
Cop who was telling the story looks at the host, "Danial, time to put down your pen and go to work!"
"Well, the applications for permits to use the public address system were all turned in more than a month ago...."
The Farm Bureau, before they went down to the stage to start this hour, gave me a jar of orange honey. Mmmm... at least I get something tasty from all these volunteer hours. What? You say I also get this journal? Well, sure, that's something, if you believe in gambles; but momma always says a jar of bee-squeezings in the hand is worth more than two still a-flowering out in the orchard.
Meanwhile, on the same planet, a congressman, state senator, and county supervisor all appear to speak during the Farm Bureau time. But like so many of the groups yesterday, today and tomorrow (and both days before/after), the Bureau has not organized an audience. Would that they had taken the lessons so successfully learned by the Latinos and Gays. But no. Two of their three full cases of free honey will sit untaken, even after giving a jar to everyone who came to see them, as well as one to every cop on the lot. No one listens to voices of elected officials echo over the stuporous parking lot; words shimmer in hot morning sun, glint off windows, and finally reflect away into practically nothing but the host's bad writing. (And not even that - no quotes made it past his ears this hour.)
Or go browse the "Table" of Contents.