It was the first warm day of spring and my partner was driving. I knew she would make her way over to the water so we could enjoy the beautiful weather people watching, as we sat by the walking path along the East River. Despite not having a small screen to stare at, here there was much for two young EMTs to see during their downtime between calls, including helicopter flyovers and ships passing along the river. The sun had brought out many of its worshipers, grateful to experience a spring thaw after a long, harsh winter.

My partner was a vivacious, happy woman who exuded friendliness. She waved and smiled at passersby, occasionally cheering on runners with an encouraging “you can do it!’ and blowing kisses at babies being wheeled by in carriages. A man walked by, taking his shirt off, and she called out an appreciative “looking good!” She spent much of the morning being an excited cheerleader for midtown Manhattan’s river walking public. I didn’t have my partner’s endless energy but I joined in for the occasional wave and clapped on the runners struggling during their first foray outside after what I assumed was a long sedentary winter. I would look up from my novel or magazine or whatever it was we entertained ourselves with, back before the internet took over everything, and added to a double thumbs up or an encouraging cheer. When the’ looking-good’ guy came back on his return trip I joined her in a wave of encouragement. He acknowledged us with a big toothy smile.

We were lucky to have a slow morning. Our only assignment had been cancelled even before we had put the vehicle in drive. It was a lovely, lazy day and I was happy that humanity was finding ways to enjoy it that didn’t cause them to need an emergency room. But then, we finally did get called for a job nearby. It came in as an ‘unknown’. The caller had hung up before contacting the dispatcher who would have asked some questions to better prepare us for what was on the scene. We pulled up to a building that we later found out was staff and student housing for a local university. After taking out our minimal equipment requirement at the time, we headed inside for one of the most bizarre events of my career.

We knocked on the door and at first I didn’t recognize him, but my partner did. “Oh wow! We just saw you by the water!” she told our still shirtless ‘looking-good’ guy. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

We walked into the apartment and noted that a small table had been set up with two place settings. “Hi,” he told us. “I’m Dave, by the way. Nothing’s wrong, actually. I hope you don’t mind that I called 911 under false pretenses. I thought you pretty ladies deserved a nice homemade lunch. I just wanted to surprise you, and do something nice for two of our hardworking civil servants.”

Well, that is a surprise,” said my partner. She was much more outgoing than I was. I didn’t really know what to make of this. Quite honestly my internal creep detector alert was starting to ping. By the look on her face I felt my partner’s was pinging as well. But she was very cool about it, as always. I learned everything about remaining calm under pressure from her. She looked at the neatly set up table with its sparse offerings. “So you really made us lunch?” she said cautiously, looking around and studying the surroundings, as I was.

“Yes!” said our excited friend, giving us his biggest, toothy smile. “Sit down. I hope you like tuna fish. Who doesn’t like tuna fish sandwiches? I’ve got a secret recipe for the mayo. Don’t tell anyone, but my special ingredient is chili powder. Tell me if you like it.”

My partner and I traded suspicious expressions. There was no way I was eating that sandwich.

Thankfully she took the lead because I was seriously paralyzed by indecision and the thousand different thoughts that were racing in my head. “How did you know you would get the two of us?” she asked. “I mean, they could have sent any unit here, not just ours.”

“Well, I thought of that,” he said, proudly. “If a different ambulance showed up I would have told them that the person I called for had left already. Then I’d wait a little while and call back for you guys. Come on, sit down. I’m dying to hear your opinion on the chili powder.”

My partner cautiously sat down for some reason, as did I. I felt that we were employing the same technique we use with violent psychotics, making them think we are comfortable and pretending to go along with everything. The man had positioned himself between us and the door and I felt that it was probably the smart thing to do for the time being, given the circumstances.

“The dispatcher is paying attention to our unit. We can’t really just go and have lunch at someone’s apartment,” I told him. “And we have to fill out paperwork for all our assignments. So I have to ask, are you going to want to go to the hospital?” Look at me, being ever the true medical professional.

“Nah,” he said. “Give me your A. C. R. [ambulance call report] I’ll sign the R. M. A. [refusal of medical assistance] See, I’ve done a little research.” Now that was a bit stalker-ish and disturbing, especially given the inability to instantaneously Google things in those days. He came over and took my paper that I had held out for reference. He flipped over the pages, folded it down, and signed his name with a flourish at the exactly correct area on the form. Then he sat down on a recliner and folded his hands on his stomach. He smiled at us proudly. He had covered so many of the bases. What else had he thought of?

“You don’t think this is all a little strange?” said my partner. She seemed to be losing her patience.

“Well,” said the man, slowing down his speech pattern now that he was comfortably seated. “I don’t think it’s all that unusual. There’s a long list of fantasies that start out this way. Haven’t you ladies ever thought about something like this? A good-looking guy calls 911 but he’s not really sick or injured, he’s just interested in the hot chicks driving the ambulance…”

His research wasn’t as thorough as he made it seem. The nerve, giving us that insulting “ambulance driver” title. How many times do we have to explain it? Look here, asshole, we are medical professionals. We do more than just ‘drive’ the ambulance.

“So you’re just looking to fulfill some kind of twisted EMT fantasy?” my partner spoke to him the way I imagined she spoke to her children when they misbehaved or did something stupid.

“Yeah! Now you’re getting it! Come on. You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. Here’s your chance. I set it all up for us. I’ll go any way you want it.” He started undoing his belt. I started thinking about the emergency button on our radio. I also considered how our chair would make a formidable weapon. Maybe this was how porn videos started but it was also the way slasher/killer/horror scenarios played themselves out as well.

We both stood up and I started inching my way to the door. My partner, however, moved closer to him so she could berate him while looking down at him. I’m not sure if it was intentional, but it was an excellent psychological technique.

“I can’t believe you think all you have to do is call 911 and we’d just jump on top of your junk. Has this ever worked for you before? Have you experimented with other porn genres? Cleaning ladies? Pizza delivery?”

I didn’t think she was really looking for an answer but he interrupted her with a big, resounding “YES!” He told her that he had called for a maid, through a cleaning service, and specifically requested that she wear that silly outfit which makes actual scrubbing and dusting cumbersome and difficult. The cleaning service had the last laugh though, because they sent over a 65 year old balding woman with a thick Slavic accent, who was 6 foot 10 inches and weighed 280 pounds. She came wearing the specified silly outfit. And even so, he had considered it. He though she was into him and probably would have gone for it.

“Well, I’m sorry Mr. Fantasy Man. I’m sorry that you don’t have anyone special that you can act these things out with, someone who you can trust and share a real life with. We are going to have to turn you down. This isn’t something you should have expected to happen. We are going to go now. Please don’t try to bother another crew with this same idea. This was really kind of sick on your part. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. You could probably set up this kind of scenario with someone if you went about it the right way. There are professional prostitutes that specialize in this.”

“Are you kidding?” he told her. “There’s a virus going on. Prostitutes are a really irresponsible choice.” It was the height of the AIDS epidemic. I’m glad he had given it some consideration in his thought processes.

“Or you could get a girlfriend,” my girl continued. “But maybe your obsession with fantasy creeps women out and keeps you from finding a real partner. I hope you get the help you need.”

She followed me out the door and when the door closed we ran down the hall and all the way down the stairs. Once in the lobby we laughed. All day long we talked about what had happened hysterically.

“Wanna get lunch?”

“Anything but tuna fish.”

We laughed as I wrote up the paperwork. I remember filling out the ACR with a semi-accurate representation of what had actually happened. I even think the ‘chief complaint,’ which was a big bold box at the top of the form, stated something like “Help me fulfill my sexual fantasy.” It just proved to me that nobody really reads those things.

Even now, when I see her occasionally, we bring up the “tuna fish man” and it causes us to laugh automatically. What had made him decide on tuna fish? It seemed like an unusual option. It hadn’t been all that appealing, despite his secret ingredient. Just a thin layer of that smelly fish on white bread and no accompanying chips. I don’t even think he offered us a beverage.

We were very grateful that it had been a pretty benign experience and could have ended much worse. I wonder how many other female crews have had to deal with this as well.

About two or three weeks later we were parked somewhere, not by the water, and Dave, our fantasy porn guy, tapped on our window.

“Hi ladies,” he said. “Any change of heart?”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” my partner told him, shaking her head. “What made you knock on this window? Why wouldn’t you just keep on walking?”

He just smiled slyly. When he didn’t say anything she continued telling him how hopeless his idea was, what a pervert he was, how inappropriate that ‘lunch’ had been, how she felt sorry for him. She went on for a few minutes, waited for a response and got none. Finally she said, “Well? Are you just going to stand there and be humiliated? Don’t you have anything to say?”

“What if I told you I enjoyed being humiliated? I especially liked having you do it, the way you did it… What if I said that I had never been so turned on when someone humiliated me? And don’t get me wrong, being humiliated by a woman I’m sexually interested in, that’s high on my list of turn ons, but you’re better than anyone at telling a man off. You really are. Your tone, your face, you didn’t even have to mention my penis and I was already hard. Seriously, you’re even better than my mom and I’ve got some weird ideas about her too…”

“Good Lord,” she said, as she rolled up her window.

“YOU SHOULD BE FLATTERED!!” he yelled as we drove away.