Private Dick.

I don't mind, too terribly, standing out in the middle of the street while snow falls gently upon my uniform and attempts to chill me to the bone. I don't mind, too terribly, working all hours of the night and having to step into 6-foot snowdrifts. And I don't mind, too terribly, those dimly lit rooms with the black and white TV casting its shadows on the altered patient who has not been out of bed, or changed the sheets, in months. I relish those as exercises in humility and patience. Those aspects, as annoying as they sometimes seem, actually make my job personally challenging on a daily basis. There's no routine, and I don't mind that.

What I do mind is my private life being intruded upon. Especially by some "investigator". I'm not the President, and therefore on my days off, when I'm not gallivanting around town in blue pants and a white shirt, I have no official responsibilities to the public at large. I am not a public servant; I am an everyday Joe, a tax-paying, law-abiding, laid-back citizen.

My life away from my job is private. That's why the house isn't in my name, why the phone is unlisted, and getting my social security number is like breaking into Ft. Knox. I don't wear paramedic hats, don't stroll around the block in paramedic shirts, and I especially don't go cruising the town looking for sick and injured people. My private life is just that, PRIVATE!

Obviously lawyers, or insurance companies, or investigators, or whoever it is right now trying to subpoena me, thinks differently. In their cubicle-laden, 9-5 white-collared jobs, they must obviously think that since 40 hours a week I work for the City and County that I must surely always be available for their beck and call. They are mistaken.

Today, an "investigator" decided to try and find me. Because I was sick the last few days I missed a couple of shifts. That blessing-in-disguise foiled their attempts to subpoena me at work. But, instead of pursuing the correct avenues of finding me through my workplace, they decided to go Magnum P.I. on me and hire some paramedic bounty hunter. A private investigator.

First, they got my name. My full name. That's not too hard to do, being as my name is typed on every trip sheet of every call. They then decided to find my social security number, once they have that matching piece of evidence they are certain to not mistake me for anyone else. Who knows, there could be more than one Rocky Mountain Medic in this world. How they got my SSN in disheartening, to say the least.

What next? Let's pull his tax records. That way, they can match my name, SSN, how much I made last year and where I live -privately with my private family. They find the last known address and reverse search it to find the phone number. Mistakenly, I thought if the house didn't have my name anywhere near it, that they couldn't link me too it. Wrong. Every house has a number, and that number was called. In-laws or not, this Investigator has some investigating to do.

A bland, vague, coded message was left stating they were looking for Paramedic Me.

"If you know where he is, gives us a call."

Well, word made it to me that some "investigator" was looking for me. I picked up the phone and called the numbers back, blocking my cell phone number, as the outgoing called bounced off cellular towers. The other end picked up and I was furious.

"We did this, we did that, we couldn't find you so we had to do what we did", retorted the other end of the line.

"Do you still live at this address?"

"What's this about?" I inquired.

"Well, all I know is that I have a subpoena with your name on it about some call you ran. Will you be home tomorrow at 1:00 p.m.?"

I replied, "I have no idea. And if you need to get a hold of me call the office and have them page me."

"Well, the trial is this Tuesday and I need to get you this. I'll be in your neighborhood tomorrow morning." crackled the Investigator.

"Good, because I have no intention of being anywhere near here tomorrow", I said to myself.

So, there's no moral to this story, other than watch yourself. In today's day and age it seems all privacy has been lost. And if someone, say an investigator, wants to find you, then that's what they'll do. They'll find you.

I just hope that crazy crack head that said he wanted to squish my head between his fists isn't smart enough to find out where I live. If so, I'm going to have a whopper of a story to tell. That is if they allow blogging in prison.