call-out: morrison bridge

I agreed to take any call-outs which happened tonight, because the current on-call operator is on another bridge for the evening's graveyard shift. Of course, this meant that a boat would need a lift, and I'd have to haul my tired ass in to make it happen.

Of course, this also meant that I would have to be on the bridge at 1:00 in the morning after a record high of 93 degrees the afternoon before. It's still in the 80s out there, which is akin to begging every drunk loser in a ten mile radius to be wandering the streets on a Monday night / Tuesday morning, stumbling from bar to bar before last call.

After parking in the lot, I got out and locked the doors, then rounded the car to the staircase. There were no other cars in the lot, so I nearly jumped when I saw a guy at the foot of the stairs which I now needed to walk up. A couple steps closer, I could see that he was out like a light, and I didn't want to shock him by stepping over his body, resulting in a sitcom-like scream-fest (ah! ahh! ah! ahhhhh!), so I offered up a, "Hey."

There was no answer, so I cocked my head a bit and studied him for a second. He was a young punk, what we used to refer to as a crusty some time ago, and he was passed out on his back with a trail of Pabst Blue Ribbon cans leading up the stairs. Ah, memories. He was so still I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. However, it was rather dark, so I asked, "Hey, dude, are you okay there?"

Nothing.

I convinced myself that I could see the slow rhythm of inflating and deflating lungs, probably to make myself feel better about having to step over the body of a fellow human. I didn't want to be callous, but I really had to get to work, and if he was in a bad way, there was little to nothing I could do for him there. In the control room, I called my dispatcher, and got the number for police non-emergency. I felt like a sell-out for calling in the fuzz, but I left my punkitude behind years ago, and am just old enough now to have naively embraced the idea that maybe the cops could do some good in this situation.

I hope they woke him up, and I hope he was pissed about being bothered from sleep and harrassed by the man. I hope I really didn't imagine him breathing, and I hope he lives to realize that PBR is more than simply the cause of and solution to some of life's problems.

I'm gonna go lift a bridge.