UHM, EXCUSE ME; I AM A ROCK STAR.

November 09, 2006

I wrote “Uhm, Excuse Me? I Am a Rock Star” because I was pissed off and needed to laugh at the job before it swallowed me whole. It came after one of those absurd, completely mismatched calls where you’re sent in expecting chaos and instead walk into the bizarre circus of someone else's poorly managed life.

The guy had a minor complaint—chest pain or shortness of breath, I think—but what stood out wasn’t the chief complaint. It was the way he held court. Like he expected us to treat him like royalty for managing to call 911. Meanwhile, his apartment was trashed, his girlfriend was screaming from the other room, and he had the nerve to act like I was inconveniencing him.

The tone of that post was pure defense mechanism. Humor as armor. I wasn’t trying to be cocky—I was trying to remind myself that what we do matters, even when no one else acts like it does. Writing that post was my way of reclaiming a little dignity in a system that had zero interest in giving any.

The “rock star” line? That wasn’t ego. That was survival. That was me trying to convince myself that the long hours, the spit-up on my boots, the endless parade of “emergencies” that weren’t—they weren’t for nothing.

I needed to believe I was something more than a glorified Uber with a heart monitor. And that post? It gave me five minutes of that belief.