Your Guardian Angels: The Last Train (Vanity)

Fair warning again: street language is in use, and it's not a pleasant story. If you are easily offended, please don't continue reading. Still, it is a severely edited though accurate extract from our Patrol Log, a real "slice-of-life".

You can't make up stuff like this, and you'll never see it on TV: nobody would ever believe it. It can only happen in Real Life.

On the way back from Patrol, The Lads from our Henderson Chapter and I needed to catch The Last Train out of Auckland, as usual.

The train was late. For a while, I thought that perhaps we had missed it. No matter: I'm bone-tired, my Antient Knee Injury is giving me Merrie Hell, my feet are killing me from a long Patrol, every muscle aches and I frankly don't care if I have to wait until 7 AM: there's a nice long bench over yonder, room enough for two of the three of us to stretch out and relax. We'll take turns sentry duty, two of us will sleep, one will stand guard: two-hours-on-four-off, I'll take first watch...

Leadership has its privileges, and one of those privileges is to let The Lads rest first: lead by example. Rule #1 is to never ask The Lads to do something that you won't do. Rule #2: always do it no matter what, no excuses. That's what being the Leader is all about. Rule #3: if you always observe Rules #1 and #2, chances are one of The Lads will one day Volunteer to go first. When that happens, that Lad has made the crucial step toward becoming a Leader and no longer a Follower...

...and developing aimless individuals in to Followers, and then into Leaders is what Guardian Angels is all about.

Alas, 'twas a moot point, because The Last Train soon arrived in a hiss and a roar and a huge puff of diesel smoke. An antique engine, The Last Train to Henderson.

We found our seats, in the last carriage, and waited and waited -- no worries, the last train is usually a while in leaving, as there isn't another one until 7 AM...

...eventually this officious train conductor comes thru the train and demands everybody move to the front compartment (I suppose for her convenience). So Taniwha and I get up to move thru, as requested (Alex was already there).

And sitting there, slumped over, is this guy, about 30 years old. He looks asleep.

"Mate, we gotta move to the front compartment", I say, trying to shake him awake...

"AY MATE! GOTTA MOVE SEATS!" a bit louder. I'm looking for vital signs now: no breathing that I can see. Strong odor of alcohol: bourbon (what a surprise!). Feeling for a pulse at his neck... none. At his jawbone... none. Not even a ghost of a pulse.

I'm beginning to freak. Now, some pats to his cheek. Now, a few rather harder ones -- no response. Now an ungentle whack. Pinch the earlobe, hard. Rake the ribs with a sharp finger. Nothing. Not responding to discomfort or pain. Check his eyeball -- it has disappeared into his eye socket...

"Hell!" I cuss to myself. He's still warm but clammy, and I'm thinking I've got a real-live-dead-guy on my hands, if that makes any sense.

This guy is somehow dead or dying: he's on "The Last Train" alright.... I reach to my Duty Belt for the Aid Kit with a view to performing CPR and Taniwha grabs his cellphone and is about to call 111 (your "911")...

Mind is racing -- trying to remember the steps, looking for the mouth-to-mouth shield. Crikey! I'm just a Volunteer, I should be at home watching TV or drinking beer with me mates or something, not doing this stuff!

The guy stirs, opens his eye, grumbles and invites us to Eff Off. "Thanks for the gratitude, Pal!" I think to myself as I frog-march him unceremoniously by his funny bones and lead him to a seat in the front compartment, where he begins to snooze, snoring rather loudly. We're all watching him: he is p-ssed as a parrot, and I toy with the idea of calling the ambulance anyway. Still, he is now semi-conscious, p-ssed but sorta in this world rather than in the next...

A few moments later, directly across from him, a couple teenagers sit down: one is very sober, the other is extremely drunk -- also three sheets to the wind, drifting in and out of consciousness.

I quickly do the maths: Crikey! That much vodka all at once would kill me, and I'm 265 lbs. He's half my size. I'm about to call 111, badly worried.

The drunk kid starts to vomit, and the sober kid tells him not to, to hold it in and swallow it. The drunk kid is doing his best to hold it in, swallowing and nearly choking.

Q: "No! No dude! Don't make him hold it in: he could choke! That would kill him. If it needs to come up, it's better out of his stomach. He needs medical attention."

The drunk kid then takes careful aim, and a massive chunder goes flying across the aisle, covering the other drunk guy with a huge all-encompassing spray of vodka-and-guts-juice-and-whatever-he'd-eaten-probably-Italian. He wakes from a troubled alcohol-induced stupor, wondering why he suddenly smells of someone else's vodka-and-dinner.

(an unexpected response: I nearly guffawed in surprise but decided to watch carefully instead -- this had the makings of a Drunk Fight...)

D1: "You know... VAPID. Like *why* did your mate just chunder all over me? He's VAPID, man. Didn't you go to school, fag? You're VAPID, too. Did you ever read 'Catcher in the Rye'? 'To Kill a Mockingbird?' 'The Grapes of Wrath???'"

(WTF does this have to do with the price of tea in China? I'm asking myself. Then I remember and kick myself: silly me!!! He's a Drunken Scroat living in a different alternate reality. Anything coming out of his mouth right now is either bulls--t, abuse or vomit...)

D1: "He's so p-ssed he can hardly move!" The two drunks stare at each other as if they'd like to leap across the aisle and kill each other... except they can't move. Paralysis-by-hard-liquor: in one case, cheap vodka, and in the other case, Jim Beam...

A: "Mate, a few minutes ago you were so p-ssed I nearly called an Ambulance for you. Why don't you keep just quiet and enjoy your ride?"

(O! how easy it would be if only one or both of them jumped out of their jolly seats and assault me -- then it's a simple block-lock-throw-yerunderarrest!-out-with-the-cuffs-clickclick and dial 111, the problem is taken out of my hands. Sections 39-48 of the New Zealand Crimes Act 1961 were made for situations like these...)

I'm debating all the while whether to dial 111 anyrate, call out some cops and a pair of ambulances. Desperately searching my long-lost-and-forgotten WW-II-vintage First Aid knowledge: what does it say about Alcohol Poisoning??? And for some reason I'm hesitating. Neither drunks are unconscious -- at least not anymore. Neither appear to be in shock, tho' they are both very much the worse for wear...

The train starts slowing down at the Mt Albert station, where by coincidence all three need to disembark.

I'm still trying to figure out what I should do, and where my duty lies. Mt Albert is miles from where I live, a good four-to-five hours walk home. 1:15 AM. No buses, no trains, lucky to find a cab. Can be dangerous to walk alone thru Avondale on Friday nite, and I've no right to order Taniwha and Alex to go with me...

Friday nite is busy for the emergency services, 111 will be flat-out dealing with real life-and-death emergencies rather than self-inflicted ones. Do I have a legitimate emergency here, I wonder, that would justify calling 'em out? Should I follow the drunks home just to be sure?

I just didn't know what to do. So I decide to give some quick guidance to the sober kid:

A: "Mate, your friend is in a very serious way. Do not let him choke on his vomit, sleep or pass out: if he does either call 111. You got a cellphone? Good. If he gets any worse call 111. Keep him awake. Do not let him dry-heave: he could bleed to death if he breaks a blood vessel inside. Give him plenty of warm water to drink if that helps him get rid of the booze. Get his head into a toilet and make sure he can breathe. Stay with him until (quickly doing the maths -- how fast does the liver process alcohol? Times that by two-liters-less-what-he-just-chundered??) tomorrow evening at very least."

A: "Mate, stow it why not -- like you, he could be suffering alcohol poisoning. You're old enough to know better: he's just a kid. You deserve a mighty hangover. And guess what? You're going to have one, too: a colossal one, and it serves you right and I hope it bloody hurts. That advice I just gave him? Better pay attention: you should follow it, yourself."

Nope. Nice try but no assault, so no chance of doing a Citizen's Arrest and calling the cops and ambulance. Just damn. All three disembarked from The Last Train, and we continued our journey home.

I've had a few hours to think it thru now, still haven't slept. In retrospect, I should have done that one differently. In my view, I should have called 111 immediately. True, the ambulance/cops/fire trucks may not have come out: that should have been their call to make.

It tells me that the focus of our First Aid training should be less on broken bones and burns, and more on urban risks like drugs, alcohol poisoning, needle sticks, lacerations, contusions...

In all, last nite I made a wrong call. Should have called 111. Mea Culpa. Woulda-shoulda-coulda. Goodnite.

Ever thought of being a Guardian Angels volunteer? FReepMail me and I will put you in touch with your local Chapter.

You do not need to be a martial artist, you do not even need to Patrol. All you need to do is Dare to Care about your community and to be willing to do something about it. To be a Positive Role Model for Life. Within your Community and Beyond the Streets.

Do you have a couple spare hours a week? Please contact me.

*DieHard*

God bless you all - I hope someone here at FR does respond (I can't - I am a homeschool mom - I do well to keep my teenage daughter in line.)

I am in awe with this! Many prayers for y'all!

Best regards from Houston, Tx.

Love your accounts of Life as a Guardian Angel.

Our community is so darned boring in comparison with yours! ;-)

Occasional rather incompetent burglar or snatch thief, one armed robbery in the 14 years I've lived here (perps were quickly nabbed by our alert local P.D.) and that's about it.

I once met a fellow with a half-full bottle of whisky and a pit bull named Trouble out on the road, but he was at the happy drunk stage and Trouble is a puppy. So my dogs played with Trouble while the drunk and I exchanged compliments on our dogs, and then we all went home. I still see him occasionally and wave "Hi!" and Trouble wags his tail.

That's the most exciting thing that's happened to me around here in 14 years.

Thanks for the ping.

Drunks seem to be a hard call because we sober folks tend to not want to impose on others (emergency personnel) for what may or may not be urgent, while the drunk could care less. I would probably have done what you did.

Both drunks are lucky to be alive.

You did the right thing, IMHO. I hope you would never give mouth to mouth recussitation without a shield.

The one I really feel sorry for is the janitorial service that has to clean up that mess. Ewwwwwwww.

Looks like you all put your lives in danger every time you go on the beat. Stay safe, mate!

Wow! I don’t think I’d be willing to handle/cuff someone covered in vomit. Whether it’s theirs or someone elses.

Of course these days you can figure out whose it is. It wasn’t always like that.

Great job!

> Wow! I don’t think I’d be willing to handle/cuff someone covered in vomit. Whether it’s theirs or someone elses.

(grin!) It helps to have raised two kids thru the “toddler” phase. Plenty of practise.

Compared with that, this fellow was tame. And besides, that’s what latex gloves are for!

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