For the people who have known me longest, the statement "Oh, I drive an ambulance now" never fails to elicit a laugh. This isn't because anyone thinks I'd be bad at it per se, but because those who know me know that, generally speaking, driving is my least favorite part of modern life by far. When I do drive somewhere, I sit with my seat all the way up, tense on the wheel, and I tend to drive slow enough to guarantee someone will always be tailgating.
While this has kept my record clean as a whistle thus far, these are generally not traits associated with ambulance driving, although we are encouraged not to speed, even with the lights on. It doesn't pay for itself; you'll get there a minute or two faster at best and at worst you flip a top-heavy, incredibly expensive ambulance.
I got my first taste of driving a couple weeks ago. I would liken it to driving a u-Haul full of your stuff. It's incredibly heavy, slow around turns, and very wide. Backing up is an exercise in prayer, since you can't see behind it at all without someone spotting you.
And what's the first call I drive to? The ski resort parking lot on a very, very busy day. There are kids running in all directions, the lot is pure ice, and of course no one is getting out of my way. To top it off, I have to back into a space that is approximately exactly the size of the ambulance and has a wooden fence on either side. I manage to do it with the help of a spotter, knuckles white and nerves shot. I'm glad I'm not this nervous around patients.
It's an odd feeling, sitting behind the wheel of an ambulance. Think of how you feel when you see a set of flashing lights behind you; there's a moment of shock and panic, no matter how calmly you deal with it afterwards. The way in which drivers react can be erratic, and that, coupled with a truck you can't see behind, comes with giant blind spots, and costs about $100,000 without the equipment in it is why I don't think I can pull this job off in a major city.
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