Bronson and I are “sitting 89,” which means we’re at our unit’s regular cross street location, waiting for a job. It’s quiet, so we’re listening to the police radio over Bronson’s illegal PD scanner.

I take it off the dashboard and tuck it between our seats, out of sight. “I don’t need to get fired over this,” I tell him.

He laughs. “We work for the FDNY. You can’t get fired.”

He’s right, and knowing this makes me even more determined to quit and go to work for a private hospital instead of this city agency that, like many others, is loath to fire bad employees or to reward good ones. “It chugs on,” I say, “at a low standard.”

He shakes his head. “Not the paramedics. They’re good. But our fellow EMTs leave much to be desired.”

I watch him furtively manipulating the dials on the scanner. “You don’t say.”

The scanner crackles, and a police unit calls an ambulance for an “intox” – a drunk – in an area where the next EMS unit over would normally be assigned.

Bronson flies. “Let’s get flagged,” he says, hitting the gas so hard that I hold onto the door handle for dear life. He’s going to tell dispatch that PD flagged us down, so the other unit will be called off. This is not allowed, but our area is dead, so what the hell?

“We’re just as bad as the rest of them,” I say.

Bronson disagrees. “The rest of them would be taking their old sweet time.”

The old EMS ethic of rushing to pick up jobs is gone since the merger with the FDNY. “Everyone seems to be lazy now,” I say.

“Not the paramedics,” he says.

“You should become a medic. You’ve got the brains. What are you waiting for?”

“The next medic class is who knows when. I should quit the FDNY and take a private class somewhere, then go work for a hospital.”

As usual, we’re thinking alike. “We both should.”

We think about this for the rest of the ride, until we pull up and see a PD vehicle parked by the sidewalk. “Flagged by PD for the job,” Bronson tells dispatch, and they call off the other unit. We get out and talk to the police, who are standing over a prostrate figure in baggy pants – eyes closed, head resting on a crumpled leather jacket. “Twenty-five-year-old male Hispanic,” a police officer says. “Intox.”

We try to talk to him. No answer. Bronson slaps his cheeks. He opens his eyes and attempts to focus on us. “Hey there,” Bronson says. Nothing. “Hello.” Still nothing. He passes his hand before the man’s face. “Breaker one-nine.”

“No ingles,” the man slurs.

One of the officers speaks a little Spanish. He tips a cupped hand to his mouth in the universal sign for drinking. “Mas cervezas?”

The man closes his eyes. Bronson and the officer hoist him up by his arms and his pants fall down, taking his boxer shorts with them. The officer says, “Pull your pants up! You’re flashing the world!” He makes no attempt to do so. They get him into the ambulance and deposit him onto the stretcher. I cover his legs with a blanket, then strap him in while Bronson tries to get his information. “Name?” he asks. No answer.

“Nombre?” the officer says, pen poised over his pad.

Nothing.

“F- it,” the officer says, scribbling. “He’s a John Doe.”

“You mean Juan Doe,” the other says.

We need to know some sort of medical history, or at least make an attempt to ask. “Do you have any medical problems?” Bronson says.

“Besides alcoholism,” I mutter under my breath.

The man opens his eyes. “No ingles.” Bronson folds up his paperwork, slides it into his breast pocket, and puts his pen away. “Age?”

The man’s eyes close. “No ingles.” He’s quiet on the ride to the hospital. Once there, as we’re rolling him through the sliding glass doors, he opens his eyes and pats himself down with his hands. “Damn,” he says. “I left my good jacket.”

Bronson’s eyes light up. “So you do speak English!” He takes out the paperwork. “Name?”

The man looks Bronson squarely in the eye. “No ingles.”

Bronson folds the paperwork away. “Son of a -.”

Ms. Klopsis is an emergency medical technician who works on an FDNY ambulance in Brooklyn. This column details her observations and experiences. Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of patients.