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It’s a Friday night, Tracy’s birthday, and a party of
seven young women are out on the town in a 1997 Ford Ambulance Limo.
Sandra, the joker of the pack, is keeping everyone entertained.
“Ere, look at him!” She shouts, pointing at a young man with a
beard, “Oi! Beardy!” She yells.
The girls laugh raucously and drinks are accidentally spilt, causing yet more
hysterics.
The banter in the back of the Ambulance is momentarily broken by occasional,
spontaneous waving and cheering out the windows. More drinking. The girls
sing Happy Birthday to an embarrassed Tracy.
“Fuck off!!” She retorts.
Suddenly the radio bleeps and a voice relays a message. Car crash on a busy
road leading into the city centre, three cars are involved, one is on fire,
a Fire Engine Limo has been dispatched, all other ambulances are busy. They
must proceed at speed to the crash site. The driver responds immediately,
turning on the sirens and performing a skilful u-turn on the busy road.
“Hold on, ladies” He advises the passengers. Other cars let the
Limo past. The girls are briefly stunned by the noise of the sirens, looking
at each other with wide eyes, then bursting into a celebratory roar. “YAAAAARRRRGGGGGGHHH!”
“Woooooooooooo!!” Adds Britney, who had been in the middle of
writing a text message to her boyfriend, Gav. The phone now slid across the
floor as the Ambulance took sharp turns. The girls themselves, now standing
and staggering around, using each other for support while laughing and whooping.
A Bacardi Breezer slips out of someone’s hand, hitting the floor and
rolling back towards the doors, spilling its orange beverage in a sliding
circle.
“You can go faster than that!” One encourages. Taking its cue,
the group almost simultaneously breaks into a chant, “Fas-ter! Fas-ter!
Fas-ter!”
The driver responds, smiling in the rear view mirror, he puts his foot to
the floor.
The Ambulance Limo arrives at the crash site within three minutes. The Fire
Engine Limo is already there. Three girls in yellow helmets are staggering
across to a fire hydrant on the pavement with a length of hose, while others
blast the wreckage with fire extinguishers; at least two of them have drinking
straws positioned behind their ears like Britney Spears microphones. A white
Transit van has collided into the side of a red Saloon, now on fire, with
a Renault Clio hitting them both soon after. The driver of the Transit is
sat at the side of the road, relatively unscathed, smoking a cigarette. The
driver of the saloon is laid on the road, having managed to crawl out of the
door after his car erupted into flames, his trouser leg burning slowly as
he lies unconscious, the Clio’s driver and passengers are still in the
car, unconscious and bleeding.
A door in the back of the Ambulance Limo swings open, followed by the other
and the gaggle of laughing ladies emerges wearing nurses hats and holding
booze and medical bags. Two struggle behind with a stretcher. One is left
looking for her phone on the floor of the Ambulance. They make their way towards
the scene of the accident, but Birthday girl Tracy stops and holds onto the
door, breathing deeply. Her best-friend, Kimberly, asks her what’s wrong.
“Wot’s wrong? You alright? Wot’s wrong?”
Tracy waves her away with one hand, the other taking her weight on a bent
knee. She leans against the side of the ambulance and Kimberly holds her hair
as Tracy vomits undigested red alcohol against the white door of the Ambulance
Limo. The others stand around waiting for their friend and are prompted by
the Ambulance driver to help those still unconscious in the Clio. They do
so with rolling eyes.
The girls trot over to the vehicle, Sandra stumbling in her heels on the tarmac.
One of the girls screams on sight of the passengers smashed faces.
“That’s fucking disgusting!” She starts to walk back towards
the Ambulance, “Ere! I’m not touching that.”
The driver walks over towards her with plastic gloves. They talk for a minute,
the driver pointing at the car and then at the Ambulance while they argue.
Meanwhile the Fire Engine Limo team have attached the hose to the fire hydrant,
water is gushing out of the end as the pipe snakes uncontrollably across the
road. Two girls chase it while one crouches over in hysterics. Those with
fire extinguishers have turned them on each other and a confused solitary
female carries an axe around, looking for something to chop. One has returned
to the Fire Engine Limo, turning on the siren while blasting out the old chart
hit; “Who Let The Dogs Out?!” Some girls start dancing in the
road, others warm their hands on the fire and rub their bare arms. A bottle
of Lambrini is passed around and cigarettes are lit.
The Ambulance Limo team have split into groups. One group of three ladies
had now began to remove the passengers of the Renault Clio, and lay them on
the road in a pile. Another girl, Ashley was last seen talking to the driver
of the Transit before disappearing down an alleyway with him. Two of the girls
are carrying a victim, wobbling on a stretcher towards the Ambulance. Another
slowly pulls an unconscious teenage boy towards the Limo by his leg.
It is fifteen minutes before anyone notices the man on fire laid unconscious
next to his car. His legs are badly burnt, black and blistered, oozing blood.
His shirt and legs now aflame. The girls throw a bucket of sand onto the fire,
extinguishing most of it. One girl hurries across with the axe, but someone
else finishes off the flames with a fire extinguisher. The Ambulance Limo
girls are summoned to take care of him. They approach holding their noses.
Tracy has recovered and is washing it down with a fresh Breezer from the on-board
refrigerator.
“One of yous is gonna have to blow into his mouth.” The Fire Engine
Limo crew suggest.
“No fucking way!” Says Tracy, “Its my birthday, I’m
not copping off with some burnt spaz.”
“Well I’m not either.” Sandra adds. Others shake their heads
in agreement.
“Spin the bottle!” Someone proposes. They laugh, followed by a
cheer, “WOOOAAAAAAYYYYY!!!
They make a circle on the road. The Fire Engine Limo crew stand back while
the two girls with straws positioned like microphones have managed to control
the water hose and are now blasting passing cars. Britney steps down out of
the Ambulance, having finished her phone conversation with Gav, and walks
towards the circle. Kimberly takes the bottle and spins it, Tracy stands over
them, exempt from the proceedings. The bottle spins, slows and stops on Sandra,
the others howl with excitement.
“No fucking way.” She says. But she won’t get off that easily.
They are now stood, chanting, clapping and laughing; anxiously hysterical
about the prospect of their friend touching lips with an unconscious burnt
man.
“Do-it! Do-it! Do-it! Do-it!” They shout together. Sandra looks
at them and laughs, looking at the ground. She walks over and bends down next
to the victim. The others cheer encouragingly. She looks at them again and
narrows her eyes in a vengeful stare.
Sandra unwillingly lowers her mouth to his. Their lips touch and she opens
his jaw with her hand, blowing hard. His cheeks inflate, and the girls collapse
into a fit of booming laughter. “Goan lass! Stick yer tongue in!”
Kimberly shouts, sparking more laughter.
Sandra sits up and looks at the crowd wryly. Then lowers again, this time
with her tongue, snogging the lifeless man’s unmoving mouth. Everyone
roars triumphantly, falling over, holding onto each other to support themselves
against the force of the hysterics. The ambulance driver bends over pointing
at the mans nose. Sandra nods and blows once more into his mouth, this time
pinching his nose with her fingers.
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