Many years ago, when I was driving an ambulance for my local
EMS provider, I was sure to maintain consciousness about what it was like for
my patient in the back. While I was not
directly providing care from behind the wheel, I was still in a position to make
the patient as comfortable as possible by the way I drove. I would always be thinking “SMOOOOOTH” as I
braked, turned, and accelerated; I always tried to drive like I was on ice, or
like my medic was sipping a cup of coffee.
My attendants were more vocally appreciative than my patients, but that
can be expected; a trip to the hospital in an ambulance is seldom enjoyable.
Having ridden supine in the back of an ambulance, in a
C-collar and strapped to a backboard, I assure you my careful driving efforts were
a significant benefit for our passengers.
Sure, I was safely delivered to the trauma center after the collision
that evening, but arrived with nausea, and hand cramps from trying to hold on
for the ride.
I only point this out because it helps support my lesson
that just getting the job done is not enough.
In the emergency services, we sometimes meet strangers during the most
frightening, painful, grief-stricken times of their lives. Our response and actions are easily
identified when they are heroic, relieving, and life-saving. As we all know, however, few of our responses
provide opportunities for such lofty praise as heroes. Most of the time, we are meeting strangers
during the most annoying, disruptive, inconvenient times of their lives. It is during these times where the little
details must be attended to, not so much for the execution of a solution to the
problem at hand, but for the bolstering of our image, trust, and support of the
communities we protect.
Last night (or should I say, “early this morning”) I was
jolted from my slumber by the piercing screams of the fire alarm sounding in my
apartment building. Finally I get to
play the part of the civilian during an O-dark-thirty fire alarm
activation. My first thoughts were, “wow,
they are right, these things are loud and obnoxious” as I scrambled for clothes
to slip on for my orderly, obedient evacuation.
As I walked down the hall toward the stairway, my next thought was, “where
the hell is everybody?”
Once outside, I
regressed back to my officer days and scanned the building for clues of the
location, life safety hazards, apparatus placement, etc. There were no signs of fire or smoke, people “evacuated”
to their balconies, and the moan of the fire department’s house siren in the
distance. That’s when I had the chance
to “people watch”. It was quite
educational, and a bit entertaining. I
was immediately grateful that I didn’t have pets, children, or the need to wear
curlers in my hair. I was also proud of
my understanding of how fire alarm systems and the fire service operate. Quickly polling the dozen or so residents that
were assembling outside the main entrance, no one reported any indication that
there was any fire in the building, even Johnny Helper who was panting from his
heroic dash through the corridors.
Through the main entrance vestibule, I noticed the elevator
recalled to the SECOND floor, I was quite certain that the first floor elevator
lobby smoke detector was the culprit.
The glowing red LEDs on the detector base verified the readout on the
lobby fire alarm control panel that I was 100% correct in my assumption. After a quick mental self-inflicted pat on
the back, I re-exited to join my neighbors and provide them with the reassuring
news that the building was not likely burning down.
That’s when the bitching began. “What’s taking them so long?” was the
question of the hour. I took the time to
explain that despite living in the state capitol city, our fire department was
100% volunteer, and responders not only had to wake up and leave their homes as
we did, but respond to the station, don gear, staff the apparatus, then make
the drive to our complex. As expected,
most people in the building thought ALL firefighters are paid and stay up all
night dressed in their gear. The
apparatus pulled into the complex in just over 6 minutes, which admittedly
really does seem like a half an hour when you are the one waiting for them to
arrive. Now it was time for me to stop “people
watching”, and begin “firefighter watching”.
Would they be efficient AND provide comforting reassurance to us? Let’s see…
Positioning the BRT (big red truck) in front of the wrong
building didn’t score them any points, but it happens. Arriving with a crew of 5 was comforting, as
I have been a part of much weaker responses.
Crew members were somewhat ready for action with turnout gear, SCBA, and
tools in hand; so far, so good… Then
came the interaction with the residents … totally non-existent. This was a chance for the department to show
why we should fill those envelopes during the annual fund drive, by showing
just a whisper of compassion for the displaced residents; sadly, they did
not. Please understand that I completely
understand the annoyance of the middle-of-the-night AFA call. Unnecessary interruptions to a good night’s
sleep for virtually no reason sucks…I get it!
You are not here to entertain or babysit, I get it!
They entered, paced the hallway, pointed to the detector on
the ceiling, and watched as the maintenance man (who thankfully arrived as quickly
as they did) pressed the buttons on the panel, silencing the alarms and resetting
the system. Job done, time to go! One by one, they exited the front door
without so much as a word spoken to the bewildered residents. No reassurance that everything was OK, no
comforting words to the elderly woman who was trembling from the stimulation of
the alarm, NOTHING! The maintenance man
must have attended the same charm school, not a peep from him either! I found myself doing their job. I answered a few questions, calmed a few
nerves and tried my best to explain the situation to my neighbors. What I would not do, is apologize for the way
we were just treated. In their haste to
depart, they didn’t even recognize that the elevator recall was still engaged,
and the car was locked open on the second floor. I dashed to the maintenance man’s truck (OK,
I walked swiftly) to ask him to reset the elevator. He said he didn’t have the key to do it, the fire
department does! “Um, OK, how about we
go reset the entire elevator controller”, I asked? Naturally, he did not know how to do that,
and was unwilling to learn.
The balconies cleared, and the lot was empty, the night was
quiet once again. I stayed with an elderly
lady and carried her walker as she slowly ascended the stairs to her apartment
on the third floor. At least I wasn’t
going to pass up the opportunity to improve my image, even if it was just for
one person. Eva was extremely grateful
for my patience, concern, and kindness.
Maybe I should do an annual fund drive in the building? Hmmm?
My point is this…
NEVER pass up the opportunity to show your compassion for your customers. The garbage calls are what we do most,
shouldn’t we do them BEST? A kind,
reassuring word or two after a nuisance call, a gentle ride to the hospital, an
understanding ear for a complainant; these are the easy parts of the job we
often neglect. People will forget what
you do, but they will never forget how you made them feel!
ALWAYS BE SMOOOTH!
