New Job?

On our way back to Chicago via I-80, my husband and I stopped in my hometown to visit my Mother for a Mother's Day hello. Part of the overnight pitstop included, on behalf of Billy's birthday as well as an observance of the day itself, dinner at my very favorite restaurant, The Cellar in Geneseo, Illinois.
The Cellar is a small town steakhouse, with a motto of "food worth traveling for"...While it's basement location and fake brick wall-papered walls might be reason to give pause to it's deeper offerings, the bottom line is the food is delicious. Basic, fresh, grilled, and delicious.
Some of my favorite memories are rooted in this restaurant. Daddy/daughter dates, birthday celebrations, sports banquets, and even the home of my very first waittressing gig, which led to a part-time career in the field and was the origins of a humiliating memory of dumping an entire pitcher of iced tea in the center of 8-top well-dressed round before I even served up the appetizers.
At any rate, I was very much looking forward to my meal.
As we approached the restaurant, we noticed immediately the two police cars parked out front. Within a matter of seconds, we also heard the shrill whir of the ambulace following up behind. As we were meeting my Grandma there, I noticed my parents dart quickly inside the restarant to make sure there were no issues with her, while Billy and I lingered back, not wanting to clog the entrance. Seems as if this split second decision was the difference between "helping" and/or not.
While the ambulance people unloaded and made their way inside, I was met with relief as I watched my Father through the window chatting up my Grandma, realizing at once that at least the victim was not... well, her.
While this fact settled in, I was interuppted by a lone, uniformed woman standing beside me on the sidewalk, holding onto a stretcher- contemplating how to lug the huge steel bed down the 8 steps to the lower level of the restaurant entrance. Without remembering that I am nearly 8 months pregnant, I heard myself mutter, "Did you want me to help you with that?"... thinking while speaking that of course the ambulace worker would recognize my very pregnat state, as well as my heels and quickly deny me.
She didn't. "SURE!" She exclaimed. I immediately did what any wife would do and said, "BILLY- Help her get this down there!". While he took over, the lone woman thrust a large canvas medical bag at me. I stood there patiently waiting for them to get the gurney down the stairs and was shocked when the woman abruptly yelled, "Get that DOWN there, it's the oxygen."
What the hell? I thought. The OXYGEN??? Why is this on ME? I sprinted down the stairs and in the foyer of the restuarant was trying to convey to the masses that I needed to know where the "emergency" was as I was, unlikely as it might seem, suddenly, the "lady with the oxygen". In stilted English I managed to convey my importance and was directed to a section of the dining room, where I came across two police officers as well as some other EMT's helping a non-breathing victim to the floor. Tables had been moved. Patrons were staring. A once bustling dining area was stunned into silence. Again, as I made my way over to the "situation" I again tried to convey the importance of what I held...
I demanded the officer look at me via several attempts of holding the canvas bag at his eye level and yelling, "This is the oxygen, THIS is the oxygen, THIS IS the oxyGEN." Eventually, he was able to hear me and held out his arms to take the life saving oxygen machine.
When I turned around to locate my family, instinct had me searching for our "table", which was thankfully, in a different room altogether and no where near any of this.
As I sat down, I felt tears of overwhelm fill the corners of my eyes as the waittress informed us that the woman was fine and was breathing but was merely choking. Whew.
As my dinner and my family and my celebration came back into focus, I wondered when I had started working for the ambulance services in town.