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EYE ON EUROPE |
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OR....911?  "Am I hearing things or did this guy just ask if we could stop at Starbucks before we go to the hospital?" |
Coffee comes first when
you need a caffeine fix
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Our "Eye on Europe" columnist, who's based in France, occasionally returns to the USA for visits with family members here. This column is from his recent visit to the Boston area. |
of TheColumnists.com
I hear stories all the time about the American backlash against expensive coffee but I don’t believe them. On a recent visit to Boston the dominant odor--after garbage--was the airborne aroma of coffee. Bostonians seem incapable of walking down the street without a large beaker in hand. Cars now come equipped with double coffee holders, right-sized for the huge Starbucks variety, just the ticket for keeping drivers on edge.
One afternoon in the upmarket suburb of Brookline I felt the craze gripping me, too, and I started shopping around for a hit. Starbucks and two imitators were both packed, however, and long lines formed for their takeout customers. Rather than go without, my daughter and I bit our collective bullet and pushed open the door to Dunkin’ Donuts, known more for its coffee than its very cheesy donuts. We were hoping no one would recognize us.
The black girl at the counter, Cassandra, had a vocabulary of about nine English words (“Large?” “Very large?” “With milk?” “Four dollars please” and “Next”) but when I discovered she was Haitian we broke into French and my daughter and I got special service. She prepared our small cups (called “Large”) and took our seats. Cassandra was relieved to be able to communicate for once and took seven dollars off me with a big smile.
A few minutes earlier we had noticed a shabbily dressed man of about 40 having trouble negotiating the slight incline up the street at Coolidge Corner. Every forward step somehow took him backward. He looked seriously disabled but we had other priorities and so ignored him.
After a few sips of hot coffee there was a loud crash at the Dunkin’ doors and I saw the gentleman sprawled halfway into the open door face down. I was stunned but several customers entering the establishment were not. They simply stepped over his body and took their place in line for their caffeine fix. Nothing was going to stop them, certainly not a fellow citizen in distress.
My daughter, who has some experience with the emergency services because of her occasional asthma attacks, rose calmly from the table and approached Cassandra. “Call 911 now!” she shouted. Poor Cassandra made big cow-eyes and slowly reached for her cell phone.
“Hurry up,” my daughter pressed, but this emergency was beyond Cassandra. “Give me that,” my normally reserved daughter barked, and she grabbed the phone and punched out 911. “Man face down at Dunkin Donuts, Beacon Street. We need an ambulance!”
It took three minutes flat for Brookline’s vaunted emergency services to arrive, sirens blaring, and the street was lit up like a Christmas tree with flashing lights from a fire truck, an ambulance and a police car. About a dozen men in various uniforms sprang into action.
First to reach to “man down” was an Irish cop. He straddled the man, shook him by the shoulder and shouted, “Get up Danny! We just did this yesterday!” Danny’s body seemed made of liquid. It just wobbled. He did not respond.
The Irish cop stood aside, clearly disgusted, and said to no one in particular, “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?” Perhaps the officer had similar cases in his Irish family.
Watching the professionals deal with Danny was like watching pit crews at the Indianapolis 500. In about two minutes he was lifted onto a stretcher, covered with a blanket, strapped in and whisked off to a hospital.
Dunkin Donuts customers were unfazed. Even Cassandra was back at the counter collecting large sums of money from the coffee addicts. Life in Brookline returned to normal.
The next day I was driving up Beacon Street and saw a fire truck, an ambulance and a police car in emergency mode, their crew dealing with a person flat on his back. My daughter had a good look. “Hey that’s Danny again,” she said. We didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
©2009 by Michael Johnson. The illustation is from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column first posted April 13, 2009.
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