Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or anything related to Emergency. My deepest gratitude to Universal and Mark VII for allowing me to play with their toys. This story is a result of a personal late night trip to the washing machine. I got my hand caught, but was able to get it free with no lasting effects a few seconds later. This reminded me of something that could only happen to Johnny and a story was born. Of course, he doesn’t make out nearly so well…
Dirty Laundry
By Morningwolf
Johnny got up from the couch where he had fallen asleep and padded out to the laundry closet just off his kitchen. It was almost three a.m. He was tempted to leave the freshly washed clothes in the washer until morning so he could just go collapse into bed. After all, he had to be lined up for roll call in five hours. But, as quickly as that thought entered his mind, Johnny remembered the not so pleasant mildewy aroma that was a result of the last time he had left wet clothes sit in the washing machine overnight. Yawning, he threw open the lid and began transferring the clean clothes to the dryer. This worked just fine until he got to his favorite pair of Wranglers. A few tugs and Johnny quickly realized they were caught on something. No, not something. Specifically the center post inside the washer. The agitator, Johnny recalled. It didn’t take long until he learned exactly why the cylinder shaped device was known by that name, because the more he tugged and pulled on his jeans, trying to pry them loose from the washing machine’s jaws, the more agitated he became. Finally, Johnny gritted his teeth and gave one last mighty heave with all that was in him. He was elated when he felt something give. But elation turned to fear and dread when the agitator began abruptly turning in the opposite direction, pulling Johnny’s hand down into the barrel. An anguished cry escaped his lips as his hand felt like it was being painfully crushed, and then the crushing sensation stopped, leaving behind a constant piercing ache. He tried unsuccessfully to remove his hand three different ways before giving in to his urge to kick something. That something turned out to be the dryer beside him, and he cried out again as his toes connected sharply with the metal door. Hopping on one foot to deal with the pain from his injured foot did nothing to improve the quality of pain in his hand. Finally defeated, Johnny slumped against the washing machine, making bets in his head whether or not his hand and foot were broken as he did the only thing he could do…waited there until morning.
The men of station 51’s A-shift were lined up ready to be counted, all except one. Captain Stanley’s inquiring mind wanted to know where the junior member of his team might be this morning. “Anyone seen Gage?”
All eyes drifted in Roy’s direction, causing him to shrug his shoulders. “Why does everyone always assume I know where Johnny is? I haven’t seen him since we got off shift the other day.”
Cap tilted his head in the direction of his office. “Well, why don’t you go call him? See if he’s going to grace us with his presence today.”
Roy went to do his captain’s bidding, more than slightly concerned about his partner’s whereabouts. After he allowed Johnny’s phone to ring fifteen times and then one more for good measure, he informed his captain that Johnny wasn’t answering and that maybe he was on his way. After another half hour, and another attempt at calling, a still alarm was called into dispatch, and five concerned shift mates were on their way to Johnny’s apartment.
Johnny found that trying to sleep standing up with your hand caught in a washing machine was no easy task. Still, he was so tired that he found himself drifting, only to be jerked awake as his body would slump and put pressure on his injured hand. As long as he was perfectly still, it didn’t seem to hurt much, so Johnny did his best to remain perfectly still. A little after eight a.m. he wondered whether his buddies at the station missed him. The ringing phone a few moments later was his answer. The minutes wore on, and the phone rang again. After it was finished, Johnny relaxed slightly. Surely the guys would be concerned. They would be here to rescue him from his predicament any minute now. Looking down, Johnny realized he was standing in nothing but his red boxer shorts. As he stood wondering how long it would be until he lived this one down, he felt himself beginning to drift off again. Actually falling asleep this time, his feet slipped out from under him, and Johnny went down. The only problem was, he was still holding hands with his washing machine. A tortured cry tore from his throat as his weight became too much for his arm, and he simultaneously heard and felt a pop as his shoulder was jerked painfully from its socket. Scrambling with his good arm and good foot, he righted himself once again, and leaned on the devilish appliance, panting.
Cap knocked on the door. “John? It’s Cap’n. Stanley. Are you in there?” He made a motion with his hands for the other men to keep it down as he pressed his ear to the door.
Johnny was never so happy to hear his captain’s voice. “Cap? Yeah! I’m in here! Hurry! Bust the door down if you have to!”
The note of panic in Johnny’s voice alarmed his superior. “Chet, hand me the pry bar!” He accepted the offered tool and made quick work of the task of getting Johnny’s door open. Once inside, he went in search of his errant paramedic. “John? Where are you, pal?”
Roy followed right behind his captain as Chet and Marco waited by the door until they were needed. Roy called out too. “Johnny? Where are you?”
Cap and Roy were speechless upon finding Johnny, in his boxers, leaning on the washing machine, in obvious distress. Cap was the first to speak. “What the…” His words said it all.
Johnny sighed. “Well you see…my jeans got caught around the agitator…”
Cap’s smile lit up his voice. “Were you wearing them at the time?”
Johnny continued. “And when I…” He glared at Cap. “Very funny. And when I tried to get them out, something happened, and the thing started turning and pulling, and well…my hand got caught. Then, earlier I slipped and fell and I think I popped something in my shoulder, because man, it really hurts.”
Roy had been giving Johnny’s body a visual once over. “And what did you do to your foot?”
Johnny looked down sheepishly. “Oh, that. Well I…uh…sort of kicked the dryer.” Johnny rolled his eyes at his partner who seemed unable to be of much assistance at the moment due to almost hysterical laughter. “Do you think you could find me something to put on at least?”
Cap chortled a reply as he motioned for his senior paramedic to tend to his partner. “Sure, pal. Hang on. Chet! Come here a minute, pal!”
Johnny rested his head in his good hand. “Great…just great.”
Chet came bouncing into the kitchen and cleared his throat at the sight of Roy assessing Johnny’s swollen foot and his captain leaning over the washing machine, both hands inside. “What’s the matter, Gage? Get fresh with one of your appliances again?”
Roy, always the master of the quick quip, retorted. “He can’t answer that, Chet. It’s an ‘ancient Chinese secret…’” Both men exploded in laughter.
Cap straightened up from his task long enough to give Chet an order. “Chet, why don’t you check in that laundry basket over there and see if you can find a pair of pants for John?” He keyed his handi-talki. “Mike? Can you bring up the K-12 and some forcible entry tools?”
Johnny turned to look at his captain, his eyes blazing. “Cap!”
Cap gave Johnny’s good shoulder a pat. “Don’t worry, pal. We’ll try some cooking oil first.”
Johnny breathed a sigh of relief. “Sheesh!” Roy was at his shoulder now, and his painful prodding only served to further grate on Johnny’s frazzled nerves. “Ow! Roy…knock it off, would ya?”
Roy’s reply was matter of fact. “You have a dislocated shoulder, and it looks like your foot’s broken too. You really should get off of it.”
Johnny’s glare was meant to kill…or at least maim. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Man, you’re grumpy this morning.” Chet chirped over at Johnny while going through his laundry basket which was sitting on a kitchen chair. Johnny’s retort was lost at Chet’s next words. “Hey, Gage! Please tell me this isn’t yours…” Chet was holding up a skimpy white teddy that looked suspiciously like a nurse’s uniform.
Johnny rested his forehead against the lid of the washing machine. “Oh, man…” Without looking up, he seethed, “Chet, give me that!” When Chet began dangling it playfully just out of reach, Johnny turned and looked toward his superior for help. “Cap!”
Cap stifled his chuckles long enough to deal with the bushy-haired fireman. “Chet, how about giving John a break, huh?” He waited until Chet was burying the costume back in the basket before leaning close to his junior paramedic offering a pat on the back. “Way to go, pal.”
“Ow!” The pat on the back caused Johnny’s already painful shoulder to spasm.
Suddenly Cap was all business. “Okay, John. Let’s get you outta here.” He glanced over at Roy who was setting up the biophone. “How’s he doin’?”
Roy looked up at his captain. “Well, his right shoulder is dislocated. I’m pretty sure he’s got a few broken bones in his foot. I won’t know about his hand until we can get it out of there.” He nudged Johnny’s leg gently to get his attention. “Do you have feeling in your hand, Johnny?”
Johnny closed his eyes, once again leaning his head against the lid. “Yeah…I can feel it all right.”
Marco and Mike entered the kitchen, each carrying various pieces of extrication equipment. Mike was the first to speak. “What the…”
Marco sat the pry bar on the floor. “This looks like a scene out of one of Chet’s B movies. The Washing Machine That Ate the World.”
Chet sneered at his friend, having finally found a pair of sweats for his pigeon. Not that it mattered much anymore, as the entire engine crew had now gotten to see him in his skivvies. “Oh, you’re real funny, Marco.” He and Roy helped Johnny into the sweat pants.
Cap looked at Marco. “John said he should have some cooking oil in the cabinet above the sink. See if you can find it.”
Marco went about his task while Roy hailed Rampart on the biophone. “Rampart, this is county 51.”
Mike Morton’s voice spoke back. “Go ahead, 51.”
Johnny sighed a painful sigh at the sound of the doctor’s voice. “This just keeps gettin’ better and better.”
Roy continued. “We have a male, 29 years old, who has his hand caught in the agitator of a washing machine. We’re working on extricating him now. He’s got a dislocated right shoulder and a possible fractured right foot.”
“You wanna repeat that, 51? I thought you said his hand was caught in a washing machine.”
“It is, Rampart. Also, the patient is John Gage.”
Morton paused a moment before replying. “Well, that explains it. What are his vitals?”
“Pulse is 100, respirations are 18, and BP is 140 over 90. Patient is alert and oriented and slightly…agitated.”
Morton snortled. “Good one, 51.”
Johnny sneered at his partner. “I hate you.”
Roy went about starting the obligatory TKO IV. “Be nice, Junior or I won’t give you any of this nice morphine the doctor ordered.”
Marco was looking in Johnny’s cabinet for the cooking oil. “Hey, John! What’s this?” He held up a small jar that looked to be half filled with chocolate. It had a small brush attached. He read the label out loud. “Chocolate Body Paint…”
Chet couldn’t resist. “Hey, Gage! Did the nurse use that on you before or after she checked your uh…vitals?”
Laughter erupted again, but was quickly stifled by Cap who was busy pouring the cooking oil over the exposed portion of Johnny’s hand. “Okay, pal. Let’s see if we can get you free here.”
Now it was Mike’s turn to have some fun. “Hey, Cap. If that doesn’t work, we could try the chocolate stuff.”
Johnny turned to Mike. “You had to pick this moment to become verbose, Mike? Ow! Dammit! Cap, that’s not working!”
Cap stood up and wiped his hands on a towel. “Sorry, John. I guess we’ll have to take it apart. Mike, the electrical box is over there. Cut the fuse for the kitchen. John, where’s your water shut off?”
“It’s in the closet in the hallway, where the furnace and stuff is.”
Cap thought of one more thing. “John, is your hot water heater gas or electric?”
“Gas.”
Cap called over to Mike. “Better cut the gas too, pal!”
Johnny looked lazily up at Roy, a silly grin crossing his face. “Hey, buddy. Whaz the name of this launder…laurda…laun-dro-mat?”
Roy smiled at Cap. “I’d say that MS is taking effect.”
Johnny flopped his head back. “MS? Izzat a laundry detergent?”
Roy knew the best thing to do here was to simply agree. “Sure, partner. Whatever you say.”
Mike called from the hallway. “Cap! Come here a minute!”
Cap trotted off to see what Mike wanted. He knelt down on the floor beside him to see what the engineer was pointing to. There, on the floor, inches from the hot water heater, were two cans of paint thinner. He sighed and rose to his feet. “Gage!”
Cap crossed the kitchen in two long strides and admonished his injured paramedic. “Gage, ya twit! What are you doing storing paint thinner right next to your hot water heater? You DO realize there’s a flame under there, right?”
“Flame…huh?” Johnny’s eyes were unfocused.
Cap continued his lecture. “You’re a fireman, John. You should know better.”
Johnny just smiled up at him. “I am? Fireman? Cool…”
Cap shook his head. “Never mind.” He explained to his men exactly how he planned to go about getting Johnny’s hand free from the washing machine and what tools they should use when they were interrupted by a voice coming from the direction of the door.
“Yooooo hoooo! Johnny? Ooh! Firemen!”
The room fell silent as all eyes were drawn to the voluptuous blonde who breezed into the kitchen. She wore a skimpy halter top and a pair of cut off shorts so short they would have made Daisy Duke blush. She sat a brown paper bag on the counter and immediately moved to Johnny’s side, running her fingers up and down his good arm and nuzzling his ear. “Hey, Johnny Baby. I got those things we talked about. We can try them out tomorrow night.” She took in Johnny’s splinted foot and immobilized shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Hi, Trixie.” Johnny didn’t appear to be feeling any pain at the moment, and it had nothing to do with morphine.
Roy answered the woman’s question with a slightly embarrassed tone. “Uh…he got his hand caught in the washing machine there.”
Trixie peered into the tub, then ran her hands through Johnny’s hair, planting a kiss on his mouth. “Oh, you poor thing!” She turned her attention to the others. “That’s the thing with these washing machines. This happens to me all the time. All you have to do is…” Trixie leaned in, and in a few seconds had Johnny’s hand free of the agitator. “There you go, honey. Let me kiss it and make it better.”
Chet and Marco exchanged looks. Mike was busy staring. Roy tried to get past Trixie to look at Johnny’s hand, and Cap…well, Cap needed to be Cap. He clapped his hands together sharply. “Well, I think we can clean up now and let Roy finish this up!” He motioned to the stunned engine crew. “Shall we?”
The men picked up their various pieces of equipment and were out in the living room when they heard, “Oh, Johnny! You washed it for me! Thank you so much! I didn’t think I would ever get all that chocolate out!”
Morton stood back from the table and crossed his arms. “How did you say he did this again?”
Roy was almost beginning to feel bad for his partner. Not only had he stood in pain, with his hand caught for almost six hours, he now had to deal with his nemesis, Morton. Then there was the matter of the “dirty laundry” the guys had found in various areas of his apartment. On top of that, he would probably be out of work for at least six weeks. “His jeans got caught in the agitator, and somehow, when he tried to get them out, his hand got caught. He started to fall asleep standing there and when he fell, he dislocated his shoulder.”
“And this?” Morton indicated the bruised and swollen foot that was propped on a pile of pillows with an ice pack.
Johnny spoke without opening his eyes. “Kicked the dryer.”
Morton nodded. “Ah.” He again palpated Johnny’s right hand which had swollen to about twice its normal size. “Well, we’ll get some X-rays, John. I don’t think you’ll have to be our guest this time, as long as you have someone to help you out for a while. You won’t be able to use crutches, so it will be hard to get around.”
Roy thought about the buxom blonde he had seen earlier in Johnny’s apartment. “I don’t think he’ll have any trouble getting help, Doc.”
Johnny cocked an eyebrow at Roy. “I won’t?”
“Trixie.”
Johnny leaned his head back, a wide grin enveloping his face. “Yeah…Trixie.”
Morton rolled his eyes. “Well, just make sure you’re not engaging in any strenuous…activity for a while, Gage.”
Roy smiled gleefully, not able to resist this opportunity to rag on his friend. “Oh, don’t worry, Doc. Johnny’s in good hands. Trixie’s a nurse. I saw her uniform myself.”
Johnny again spoke with eyes closed. “Shut up, Roy.” He could hear his friend and the doctor chuckling as they exited, leaving him alone with the X-ray technicians.
Two weeks later, Johnny was recuperating at his apartment. Trixie had been doing a good job taking care of him, tending to his every need. This afternoon, he reclined on the couch, watching football while Trixie ran the vacuum cleaner. Suddenly, the appliance squealed like an impaled pig and shut off, causing the lights in the room to flicker momentarily.
“Shut it off, Trix! Unplug it!” Johnny pushed himself up with his good arm until he was sitting with his feet on the floor, being careful not to bump his still sore right foot on the coffee table. “Bring it over here. This has happened before.”
Trixie rolled the wounded appliance over to her boyfriend and sat next to him on the couch, watching as he pulled the canister open and reached inside with his uninjured hand.
“Yeouch! Damn it!” Johnny’s exclamation happened just as the completely full bag exploded, covering him from head to toe with dust and dirt. “Oh, man! Achoo! My hand’s caught! Cough cough. I can’t get it out.”
Trixie stood without a word and moved to the phone. After waiting for an answer, she began to explain. “Hi, Captain Stanley. Do you think you guys could come over to Johnny’s? He needs your help…”
Johnny blanched when he noticed the object Trixie had run over with the vacuum, causing it to malfunction. It was her lacy, black brassiere, the one they had…discarded…on the living room floor the night before. He leaned his head back against the couch. “Oh, man…Why me?”
-THE END-
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