Andy Anderson is a former Firefighter & First Responder for Suqualena VFD, Paramedic with Metro Ambulance, former part-time SWAT Medic with DPS backing up MBN & MHP. He currently works as a part-time Deputy with Lauderdale County Sheriff’s Department’s SWAT Team, ER Physician at a Level I Trauma Center, Medical Director for Central Mississippi EMS District, and Medical Director for Hinds CC Paramedic program. He also teaches firearms classes at Boondocks Firearms Training Academy.
Andy AndersonBy Andy Anderson
In every workplace, there’s always that one person who seems to carry a dark cloud overhead. For us, that person was Medic B.
Now, I won’t use real names here to spare any embarrassment, but if you’ve been in the field long enough, you’ve undoubtedly met someone like him. B had the uncanny ability to stumble into situations most people would instinctively avoid—and not just figuratively. If trouble had a GPS, it would’ve locked onto B every single shift.
Take, for instance, the simple hazard of dog poop. No matter how obvious or avoidable, if it was on a scene, Medic B would find it. And if there was a hole in the floor, he’d step in it. Mud puddle? He was in. Blood? Absolutely. It became almost comical, though not for B, who endured the brunt of our teasing with an exasperated smile.
But one scene stands out vividly in my mind: a house call to a gentleman who had a peculiar relationship with urinals. Rather than emptying them, this man would fill one, set it down, and reach for a new one, creating an obstacle course of urine-filled containers throughout the house. Navigating the scene was like walking through a minefield—one wrong step, and disaster.
You can probably guess what happened. Medic B, with his signature blind confidence, walked straight through, sending urinals tumbling left and right. By the time we loaded the patient onto the stretcher, the floor was a glistening minefield of spilled urine, and the stretcher wheels picked up every bit of it. The ride to the hospital was less about patient care and more about holding our breath as the odor filled the ambulance.
And then there was the highway crash call. The ambulance had pulled over on the shoulder, and as Medic B stepped out, he discovered—too late—that the driver had parked next to the bloated carcass of a dog. The pop under his boot was audible, but it was the smell that hit like a brick wall. None of us could tolerate it. Medic B and his shoes were ordered to undergo immediate decontamination before being allowed back into the station.
Though B’s misfortunes often became the punchline of many shift stories, his ability to soldier on in the face of such relentless bad luck was admirable. Reflecting on those days now, I realize these quirks and mishaps are part of what makes life in EMS so memorable.
Every paramedic has their own trove of stories, each capturing the chaos, humor, and humanity of the job. While Medic B’s streak of misfortune might not top the charts in terms of heroics, it’s a testament to the unpredictability of our work and the unique personalities that keep us going. These stories deserve to be told—not just to laugh, but to remember the people and moments that shape our lives on the job.
Because if we don’t tell these stories, who will?
