Run-In With The Police

Rose had been in the US for maybe six months. She drove an old Ford Taurus provided by the agency that hired her and shared this car with two other nurses she lived with. One night, after having worked a long 12 hour shift at the hospital, she decided, before she heads home, to stop by an ATM, which is located just across the street from where her apartment complex was. Not realizing that this was a drive-thru ATM, Rose parked her car directly in front of the ATM. With the engine still running, she got out of the car, walked to the counter, and proceeded to do her business. A few minutes later, she headed back to her car only to find out that she locked herself out---with her purse and other belongings inside. She looked around the area hoping to see someone but there was not a single soul who could rescue her from this ordeal. She didn’t have a cell phone to call a friend to bring her a spare key. After a quick self-deliberation and consideration, she decided that since her apartment is just across the street and a short walking distance, she could walk to her home, get the other car key, and head on back. Sound reasonable? So she did just that. When she got back, she was shocked to see that her car was surrounded by several police cars with their lights on, several policemen with their guns pulled out, positioned and aimed towards Rose’s empty car, with their radios actively in use. When Rose was cleared to step up to the “scene,” she approached a police officer who was standing at the front passenger side. The police officer informed her that they got a 911 call about a car left abandoned with the engine still running near an ATM. Thinking of the worst possible scenario that this could be a hold up or possibly an attempted abduction, a crime team was immediately dispatched to the scene. Rose was so nervous and pale as she recounted her story to the police. After the officer heard the entirety of her story and was convinced of it, he got the other officers to settle down, and calmed the scene. At this moment, the police officer discovered something minute but of significant value that could have eventually solved Rose’s problem initially… her front passenger door was NEVER locked.

Mrs. Smith

Just to give you an idea, and also to refresh your memory and understanding of familial relationships, kinship in the Philippines (at least in the household where I grew up) not only refers to the immediate relatives but it also extends to a long list of generational levels especially if we carry the same last name regardless of how common the last name is. Having said that, to regard a person as being connected to another person by affinity becomes a generalization in most cases. This reminds me of an encounter that I had on my first US job as a nurse at a hospital in the South that occurred on my first day. Since it was my first day on the job, and not to mention, my very first day at a US hospital, everything seemed to be self -focused, work-driven attitude, and not really paying attention to external factors such as remembering names of co-workers as they are introduced, etc. Mrs. Willie Smith, the shift’s charge nurse, was busy writing the patients’ assignment for the shift, and everybody else was patiently waiting. As the caseload assignment was handed to us, I noticed there was another nurse whose name was Judy Smith. So I instantly and excitedly asked Mrs. Willie Smith, “Are you two related?” Mrs. Willie Smith just stared at me with a bewildered look, and the rest of the group did just the same thing. I realized later on that Smith is a very common last name in the US, and it also turned out that Mrs. Willie Smith is African American and Mrs. Judy Smith is Caucasian. That explained all the prolonged strange looks.

NARS Tidbits

Here’s a collection of short narratives of interesting and amusing Pinoy incidents in America from many of my readers and their acquaintances. Some are funny, some are not, some are naively comical that are downright embarrassing, and all are true.


Are You Free Tomorrow?
It was late Friday night, I worked a 12-hour shift 7A to 7P. My car was parked at the third floor of the hospital garage. I stopped by the counter in the first floor to talk to the parking attendant to pay up my dues for the day (mind you, this happened 15 years ago so we still did not have electronic pay up system at the time). Knowing that I was working the next day which was a Saturday, I asked the guy this question, matter-of-factly: “Are you free tomorrow?” This Caucasian guy in his late twenties looked at me strangely, with his big blue eyes, quite surprised at the question, most likely wondering, how up front this young (demure) Asian girl is. I realized at that moment that I just actually asked a guy for a date without even knowing it! Before he even utter a word to accept or decline my “date” invitation, I immediately told the guy, that I was asking him if the parking is free tomorrow. And he regrettably answered yes. Yes to parking not to my “date” request.


3000 Miles
Maricar, a friend of my friend, is a nurse who just arrived in the US. She focused her time working overtime so she can get herself a new car. Finally, after rigorous hard work and plenty of overtime hours, she managed to make the car purchase. Being the responsible new car owner as she was, Maricar planned to keep her scheduled car maintenance such as oil change, tire rotation/alignment, etc., every three months or every 3000 miles. For her first 3000 miles oil change, she went to her car dealership maintenance department. Maricar arrived on time but she decided to drive around the dealership area several times for at least 5 minutes before finally driving her car through the maintenance work area. The following was the conversation that took place between Maricar and the maintenance guy who didn’t seem to understand the reason why she had to drive around for five minutes before finally getting in.

Maintenance Guy: “I am just curious. I saw you when you arrived but you did not get in right away. Why did you have to drive around several times?”
Maricar: “Oh. When I arrived at your shop, I noticed that my mileage was only 2,998 miles, which is 2 miles short of 3,000, so I drove around your area to make it to exactly 3,000 miles. So here I am for my 3,000 miles oil change!”

Green Light Means GO

This is a personal favorite. I take ownership of the lack of social grace and ignorance in the driving rules, as well as the slight senselessness, should I say (I’m trying to avoid using the word stupid here, ok?). So, I’ll cut to the chase. I come from humble beginnings in the Philippines but from a very loving family, so I really didn’t have the luxury of owning a car or even driving one, thus, I didn’t have to deal with traffic rules, right? Before I came to the land of the free, I took some driving lessons. That’s well and good. I even got myself an International Driver’s license which means that when I get to the US, I only have to take the written exam but won’t have to go through the road test. Finally, I got my first US driver’s license and was excited to drive around the interstate with plenty of questions to our US guide who was so glad (and patient) to show us around. Then we came to a full stop at a red traffic light, with me on the wheel on the first row situated on the middle lane on a four-lane road. And then I asked: “When the lights turn green, who gets to go first?”

Night Shift's Big Poo-Poo

At long last, my very busy 12- hour shift at the Emergency Room is finally over! The night shift staff walked in and I’m ready to give my report, turn over my patients, and head out the door. Typically, I would just endorse my patients to a nurse or a paramedic assigned to my patients, but for some reason, the night shift staff, that comprised of three nurses and two EMT-Paramedics, unanimously decided that night that I give my report to all of them, instead to just one since they reasoned out that they will all be taking care of the patients anyway. I agreed and I didn’t oppose at all. Naturally, I would document my last entry into the computer charting. I typed in: “Report about the patient given to the incoming shift, (and I enumerated all their names: Mary S, Christine O, John B, Beth C and Melissa A---not their real names of course, for privacy purposes). And then I left. The next morning, I was back to work. While walking towards the ER entrance door, I could see from outside that the chaos and busyness in the ER have subsided and the night shift staff were sitting comfortably at the nurse station. As I entered, I noticed in their faces a different aura of anticipation to my arrival and a sense of amusement in their smiles, with funny stares that followed me all the way to the next room where our lockers were located. Taped up to my locker door was a piece of paper of my narrative report that I typed in from the previous night which they highlighted in yellow that read: “Report about the patient given to the incoming shit (Mary S, Christine O, John B, Beth C and Melissa A).” Darn it! I inadvertently omitted the letter F in the word SHIFT, and you know what the outcome was! And we all burst into laughter!