Perhaps it was because it’s my Monday. After all, I left my phone where I laid it on the dining table on my trailer with every intention to pick up on the way out the door. But something distracted me again and it sat on that table where I left it. 

Anyway, I get to work and of course that’s when I realized the phone isn’t in my shirt pocket where I normally put it when I’m not distracted. 

I then clock in, sign in, and see where I’ve been assigned. Restrooms and so I go about getting that set up and continue to do my restrooms, hopeful of a nice and quiet day. It’s forecasted for very hot weather today, in July no less. Who would have thought? 

Anyway, most of the restrooms are reasonably clean this time and I do what I can to make them shine more and go on to the next. At the second to last restroom before my break, I see what looked like a black backpack lying on the floor. I merely glanced at it and figure the owner is in the stall doing his personal affairs, so I continue with my work. I don’t think anymore of it as I move to the urinals and slowly make my way to the furthest stall where the “pack back” lays. I’m still ignoring the object on the floor until I finished the last urinal and turn around. 

To my knowledge packs don’t have long black hair and a black hoodie sweatshirt. He appeared passed out, or worse. I didn’t have the courage or the expertise to find out and immediately called my supervisor, but she wasn’t answering. Thinking I might not be on the correct channel—some radios are used in the outdoor concert venue—I got another coworker to call her and tell her what’s happening. 

Five minutes later one of the security officers shows up strolling at a casual gait with not a care in the world. I’m not panicked but a little concerned by his lack of hustle. After all, I’m only assuming the worse here, that he might be another statistic on the fentanyl OD train. 

“What’s the problem?” He asked slowly as though he had all the time in the world. 

“He’s passed out on the floor at the end stall,” I replied trying to maintain a semblance of calm myself. I followed him into the restroom, and he beats on the door.  

Nothing. 

“Security, open up please.” 

Nothing. 

He unlocks the door with his fingernail and opens it. 

Nothing. 

“Hey, wake up.” He shakes him.  

Nothing. 

Another security officer comes in and assesses the situation. 

“I’m not liking this,” I announced with an edge of concern and fear in my voice. 

“Security to Dispatch we’re needing EMTs here stat,” the first officer tells the dispatcher on the other end of the radio.  

“I’m going to block the restroom,” I stated as I move as quickly as my disabled feet can go, push the restroom cart out to the entry way, and turn it just so to keep people out. 

I don’t know if it’s just me or if it seemed like there was no urgency to this situation. The EMS came loaded on a gurney with their equipment as if on a stroll on a winding trail. 

They stopped at the restroom entry, and they grab a couple items on the gurney and go inside. Then the urgency kicked in like a mule kick. The woman EMT runs out and grabs the third bag. That’s the one with the Narcan and runs back inside while at the same time calling in the cavalry—fire department and ambulance—to get this person out of here before she have to draft another report that no one wants to write. 

I’m still out-front telling men there are other restrooms they can use just not this one right now. “It’s a medical emergency,” I told them. 

“A what?” As if my use of those three words are completely alien to them. 

“It’s…a…medical…emergency,” I pronounced slower. 

Tribal Gaming Authority people show up and take charge of the situation inside while I continue waiting for the rest of the party to show up. I hear the voices inside urging this guy to wake up and when he finally does come to, police, ambulance and fire department show up at the same time and now the customers who were even paying any attention at all to this drama, take notice. At least this portion of the casino are abuzz with all manner of questions and curious looks. 

Finally, he’s brought out escorted by three police officers in handcuffs. The gurney is too wide and the entry meanders around like one of those seashells that circle about. In my old age I can’t remember. I know I’ll ask Google. They know everything. Planispiral gastropod, that’s it. 

Anyway, they put this long-haired guy who looks totally gassed on this gurney and cart him to the waiting ambulance outside. 

There was another situation but that can wait another day. The title of this tale speaks for itself. After all, he’s an addict who looked like he doesn’t want to change his lifestyle. For him he just sees life as an empty vessel and death as an easy escape. 

Key Themes 

• Urgency versus complacency: The narrator repeatedly notices a gap between the seriousness of the emergency and the slow, casual response of others, creating tension throughout the scene. 

• The unpredictability of ordinary workdays: What begins as a routine restroom assignment quickly turns into a crisis, showing how sudden and unsettling everyday life can become. 

• Addiction and self-destruction: The unconscious man becomes a symbol of addiction’s destructive cycle, especially in the narrator’s final reflection on lifestyle, emptiness, and escape. 

• Responsibility in crisis: Even without medical training, the narrator takes practical action by reporting the situation, blocking the restroom, and directing customers away from danger. 

• Frustration with public indifference: Customers’ confusion and curiosity highlight how people can treat emergencies as interruptions or spectacles rather than serious human situations. 

• Dark humor and personal voice: The narrator balances anxiety with dry humor, casual digressions, and blunt observations, giving the piece a distinctive conversational tone.