We Become What We Hate (or at Least Gently Mock)

I have become what I accused my other journalist friends of being.

I was hanging out in one of the parks downtown, taking pictures and relaxing. Down at the far end of the park, I noticed an ambulance moving through at a not-insignificant rate of speed. It wasn’t hard to notice, of course, what its with white-and-radioactive-green sidepanels and whirling red emergency lights moving through an otherwise tranquil scene of parkbenches and lush greenery.

My first thought? “Thank gods I’ve got my camera.”

Bogotá’s a little strange—all that beautiful, soft grass and an army of “Keep off the grass” signs. There are footpaths aplenty, but they’re circuitous and I had a possible accident to investigate.

Luckily, the footpaths are spaced closely together enough that, using my gringo superpowers—namely, long legs—I leapt from path to path to catch up to the paramedics.

…Who, as it happened, were strolling sedately toward the public toilet.

I felt a flash of irritation. Not, as one might assume, because they could have endangered public safety by rolling through a park at a speed that could be called “brisk” by automotive standards. Though there is that, too. I was peeved by the fact that those emergency lights did not, in fact, signify an emergency.

Yes, I am now an ambulance chaser.

Send lawyers, guns and money,

J.