The Grady Bunch: crack whores, bums and burns
Do you have a favorite section in Creative Loafing, Atlanta’s alternative weekly “news” publication? I don’t begrudge anyone their self-gratifying passage through the numerous massage and escort ads, all of which seem to revolve around the Cheshire Bridge area, but I like to read the section titled “Police Blotter” by Lauren Keating. In it the self-proclaimed Blotter Diva compiles these newsworthy tidbits and then according to her “puts them into her own words.”
This week she mentions a few people with less than a full set of teeth as well as a woman who shoplifts by putting $50 worth of fish down her pants. All bizarre perhaps, but what I find most disturbing about other incidents is the number of people who are taken to Grady Memorial Hospital, one of whom was a guy who had a drill bit drilled into his ass. Apparently a fellow construction worker was drilling into a wall and the victim was leaning up against the other side. They took that poor soul to Grady of all places. If you ask me, that’s like being screwed twice.
I know Grady raves about its burn unit and because it serves the downtown area that’s where a lot of unfortunate souls who fall prey to injury in the A-T-L are going to end up, but let’s face it: Grady has always had a reputation as the last place you’d want to go in the event of a medical tragedy. I’ve only been there once with a friend who was visiting his grandfather. I remember as we were riding the elevator back down before leaving there was this haggard looking man with torn clothes and numerous prison tattoos who was holding a blood-and-puss-stained rag over his eye. In the spirit of nervous elevator chitchat my friend asked the downtrodden man if he was here to get that looked at. He told us that in fact he was being released. I remember thinking Released like the pestilence in your wound on the rest of us in this elevator. Gross.
I don’t have a will, but I am currently of sound mind and body. Should someone find me having gone face-first into a Mack truck, I don’t care if it’s right on the Grady curve, please take my ass to Northside.
a friend of mine was mis-diagnosed as having HIV at Grady. good times.
Why did you put the word news between quotation marks when describing the paper?
I suppose news should be an encompassing enough term that someone even as cantankerous as I am shouldn’t feel the need to put it in quotes. I just think Creative Loafing has sadly gone down hill over the past year or so. What used to be a reliably edgy journal with some alternative takes on Atlanta’s happenings has become an advertiser with a few cutesy feature articles thrown in almost as an afterthought. And have you seen the cover of the July 6-12 issue? A second grader could Photoshop something more visually appealing. Some of us like to spank to the sex shop ads and somehow having Cathy Cox’s picture on the front doesn’t lend itself to self gratification.
What a thoughful, well-researched post. Bravo sir! I eagerly await your views on the next thing you know nothing about.
Farmer Ted, you sho’ are a funny guy! Bravo!
I assure you, Ted, the list of things I know nothing about is extensive. For that reasons you’ll be glad to know I shouldn’t run out of topics anytime soon. The hard part isn’t commenting on things I know nothing about but rather commenting on things I know nothing about in a way that would entice people to read what I’ve written. That’s what I struggle with, but since I really don’t show any signs of improvement, you’ll have to settle for my third-grade graduate writing style. At least you’re getting your money’s worth.
You are telling me… You don’t know what it is like having to not only go there once but to have to return knowing what you are in for. I have a 5 year old son that got burned by a sparkler and we have had to go back about 5 times so far. My child was going in for a pre-op appointment because we didn’t have to get any skin grafts and some cracked out bum stole a gameboy case right out of my car with 10 gameboy SP games in it. He could not be calmed down – that was $250 jacked right out of his little heart. I don’t feel bad telling those sorry bums NO when they ask me for change.