Cordelia ,'Potential'
A place for Buffistas to discuss, beta and otherwise deal and dish on their non-fan fiction projects.
So you, with the black leather jacket (assuming it's not happening in the fall in NY) feel individually responsible. Pretty cool.
I've only witnessed one scenario which needed a 911 call, and since the first person to reach the victim announced herself as a nurse, I hared off for the phone (without saying I was going to do so, which is contra-protocol). The call took forever, since the operator seemed convinced I'd been hit by a car and needed an ambulance.
I think that's the way CPR works, too -- you pick out one person and say "You! Call 911."Yes, I think so. People just get frozen in this state where they think it isn't their place, and can't even process that they have to help. You need to break the spell.
Like Customer Service Hell, but macabre,ita.
I think that's the way CPR works, too -- you pick out one person and say "You! Call 911."
They do specifically teach that in CPR class. I've been through the class a number of times, although I still suspect it will all leave my brain when faced with an actual CPR situation. The sequence that you practice is, "Ask the person if he's okay. If he's unresponsive, designate someone to call 911. Check for breathing...." You're supposed to get the person you're designating to say something like, "I'm calling 911."
Genovese! Yes. And ita, I think Tawana was Brawley, not Bradley. My memory is a strange and wondrous thing.
I can't imagine NOT helping if someone is screaming in the street. We check things out, every damned time.
BTW, the "duh, I thought YOU were going to do something" scenario you all are describing is called the Bystander Effect. The more bystanders there are, the lower each bystander feels is his/her responsibility.
Yeah, Brawley. Brain fart.
For Photo #10
Bloodstains
It wasn't malice. Kathy wanted her wedding held in the little church in Kew Gardens. She wouldn't take no, and Tony backed her up, the way he always did, so the wedding was in Queens.
My mother hated it. She had good reasons to hate it, remembering that night, the Genovese girl screaming outside, my mother pulling down the shade, staying clear.
Ghosts.
She nearly refused to come to the wedding, but of course she was afraid people would talk.
Where we're standing? Right where Kitty died. I wonder if my mother sees invisible bloodstains, on her shoes, on her hands?
BTW, the "duh, I thought YOU were going to do something" scenario you all are describing is called the Bystander Effect. The more bystanders there are, the lower each bystander feels is his/her responsibility.Bless you, Nutty. I've been trying to remember that. All day.
The same picture Deb used, here: [link] I don’t know who my mother thinks she’s fooling with that dye job...nobody’s hair is really platinum. And her smile’s so fake, like I don’t know she’s Been Crying Her Eyes Out for weeks. She cries and I puke cause I’m knocked up....I would’ve married Bobby anyways, probably, but it’s not been...what-do-you-call it a glamorous engagement. But I’m not showing yet, at least. We love each other, right? Smart girls have babies too, right? Maybe Ma will make a good nonna after all. Congratulations to me.