Monday, January 12, 2009


I watch the concert from a safe distance with my earplugs in, but it is still deafeningly loud. There is more black than the average funeral, as weirdly pierced, spiked and tattooed teens wander aimlessly around, charging into the concert room when the main band comes on. Nosebleeds seem to be the order of the day, courtesy of the frenetic mosh pit and flailing arms. A slightly older guy comes storming out of the crowd, blood streaming down his face, his arms, his clothes, the floor. I sigh, glove up and grab a mess of paper towel. Here comes another one.

He storms over to the wall and kicks it, hard, then whips his sweater at the nearest garbage can. I shake my head at his display of temper and walk over when he appears to have calmed a bit. Handing him the stretch of paper towel, I touch his arm and beckon towards the first aid room. He storms into the room just ahead of me, then lets loose a curse and kicks my trash can, bending it in half and sending bloody gauze and other debris cascading over the entire floor. He then proceeds to brutalize the helpless wheelchair, cursing and yelling about the injustice of his nosebleed. "HEY!" I yell, angry that I will have to clean up after his mess, angry that he is disrupting MY safe place, MY treatment room. "WATCH IT!"

He turns with clenched fists and takes a few threatening steps towards me. Thoughts fly through my mind like lightening, "I'm about to get punched, Ryan is going to KILL him, this is going to hurt, WHY didn't I call in my partner or security???" At the same instant that he starts moving, I do as well. Stepping outside, I wave to the nearest security guard, who comes running. Still mad at the guy for being such an ass, I re-enter the room and lose it on him. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?" I shout at him, "SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP NOW, OR I WON'T TREAT YOU, I WILL THROW YOU OUT OF THIS ROOM AND HAVE YOU THROWN OUT OF THIS CONCERT! Now calm down, and sit your ass down, NOW!" He looks taken aback, and as the security guard enters, he finds a blood-covered man cowering on the cot. "Everything ok?" he asks. "Just fine," I answer, "He was just a little upset." He nods and steps out the door, leaving me with the patient who is now extremely contrite, apologizing for the mess, for his anger, even for his injury.

I help him stop the bleeding, clean the blood off his hands and face and send him on his not-so-merry way. The look on his face when I started yelling at him sticks with me, I can't help but laugh as I clean up the mess and remember his incredibly abrupt change in behaviour. I guess redheads have a bit of a temper after all. ;)

1 comment:

Jill Pole said...

...I think I'd have paid good money to see that. But man, I wouldn't want to be him for the world.

Actually- correct me if you disagree on this one- but I think men everywhere are genuinely intimidated by a righteously angry woman.