Those tissues I keep in the glove box sure come in handy

Ambulances make me cry.  Only the ones that have their sirens going though.  They make me cry.  Every fricking time.

I’m driving along the highway this morning on my way to work, singing along to Spandeau Ballet (do not judge!).  I swear this is TRUE.  I hear the faint song of sirens in the distance and my fingers quickly travel to the volume knob to turn down my tunes.  My attention turns to the rearview mirror and I spot the emergency vehicle making it’s way down my lane about three blocks back.  Everybody is starting to pull to the left and right and stop in the sidelanes in order to make a path through the middle for the ambulance.  In my panic, I cross from the left lane all the way over to the right in order to stop.  Afterwards, I will realize that I could have just pulled over to the left like everyone else in my lane and there would have been ample room to let them through.  I will feel stupid about this meaningless little fact for the rest of the day.  My heart is beating at the speed of sound by now and I barely register the ambulance as it whizzes past us.

When it’s safe to go, I cross back over into the left lane so I can turn at my usual intersection.  Bringing my coffee cup up to my lips I realize that my hand is shaking so badly I dare not take a sip.  Tears have welled up in the corners of my eyes and are threatening to spill forth.  I end up chokey-crying all the way to work.  Over a stranger.

Why does this always happen?  Why?!!!  It’s not like I know the victim in the ambulance.  I’ve never experienced an emergency where said vehicle was a necessity.  I’ve been inside of an ambulance exactly once.  It was when my mother twisted her ankle skiing.  Yes, I said twisted.  Not broken.  Not twisted her ankled followed by a heart attack.  Not twisted her ankle after falling off the ski lift rendering her a quadrapalgic.  Hmph, I no longer want to talk about this.

I just don’t like crying at every ambulance that passes by.

———————–

I got a text message today on my cell phone from a 316 area code.  It said:

Ok ik zie je dan

What does this mean?  Is it French?  German?  Who is Dan?  Do I need to forward this message to twelve friends and then Bill Gates will pay me $236 each time they forward it to twelve friends?  Where is the 316 area code? 

I just have more questions than answers today.  I’m also feeling a little guilty over not responding.  Should I respond?  Tell them they have the wrong person?

Yut dialt wronk number.  Ok ik vicky.

—————————–

Oh hai.  I’m bak.

I have so much to tell you.  Not the least of which is that we moved and have been living in the glorious privacy and splendor of our sweet little family of only 6 (5 peoples, 1 cat) for a little over a month now.

So much to tell….

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5 responses to this post.

  1. TWICE in one year I have been in an ambulance.
    I don’t want to do it again.

    You moved!!! Oh man. I wanna move!

    I can’t do text.

    Reply

  2. I’m so glad I’m not the only one who loves that song.

    Reply

  3. I am the same way with ambulances. I thought it was just me!

    Reply

  4. […] writes about her habit of crying when she sees an ambulance with sirens on–even if she doesn’t know the person in […]

    Reply

  5. You can count me in on that feeling about ambulances too. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.

    … the cell phone conversation… too funny!

    … glad to see you back 🙂

    Reply

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