Adventures with the Fire Department OR, why you should NEVER listen to your friend Tiffani

One of the drawbacks of the triple digit Vegas heat is that one is prone to swelling, most notably the fingers and feet. This normally is not an issue: stay away from salty foods, drink lots of water and wear thonged sandals.
Yesterday, I put on a very cute silver ring with pale green bejewels. When I slid it on my fingers, it felt a little tight but I could still take it off with no issue. I rocked on.

Two hours later, my finger had swollen and it looked like a plump breakfast sausage. Still not worried, I tried the usual trick, lotion. Lubing up my hand, I tried to persuade the ring off of my finger to no avail. My friend Tiffani, who is from the desert, convinced me not to find a jeweler and to instead leave the porky finger alone and let the swelling go down on its own. Against my own better judgement, I listened.

Fast forward to 10:00 last night. My finger was numb. Thinking that this was not a good sign, I decided to consult an oracle for advice: Google. Following advice from Google, I dipped my finger in scalding hot water to "stretch the metal of the ring:" plunged my finger in an ice bath to, "reduce the swelling;" washed some dishes to let the soap, "grease it off;" slathered it in lotion; massaged it with hemarrohoid cream, sprayed it with Windex, elevated it above my heart, and finally elevated it above my head. All this did was make my already, purple finger squeaky clean, generously lubed, and free from anal pain. My finger was now numb and purple.

I went back to the oracle. Google then let me know that an angry, numb, purple finger is decidedly worse than a happy, pink, plump finger and that I should seek immediate assistance. Ok.

In Vegas, things that ought to be open 24 hours (like the police department) close at regular business hours and things that out to close at some time (like 1980 dance clubs) are open 24 hours. Since I'm never quite sure what time the emergency services are acutally open for business, I went back to the oracle. Evidently, the fire department has to tools and wherewithall to remove a ring from a swollen finger. I consulted the LVFD's website. It was incredibly informative with all kinds of information--how to prevent fires, tour schedules, substation addresses--all kinds of information, except their hours of operation and phone number.

With my hand shooting straight up, I was not deterred. I called 211, which is the non emergency number. Evidently,this is one of those services that closes. I called at 11:50 and got a recording that said they were open until midnight, please contact 911 and have a good night or leave a message. Hmmm.

Evidently there is no non emergency number between midnight (11:50) and 8:00 am. This is unfortunate, because I bet a lot of non emergencies happen during these hours.

My finger was throbbing. Swollen, numb, purple and now, throbbing.

Visions of being a 9-digit diva danced through my head.

Throwing caution to the wind, I got in the car (with my hand still elevated above my heart and head) and drove to the closest fire station. It was pitch black. While I sat in my car contemplating the cost of emergency room bill for a ring removal versus having only 9 fingers, I saw two firemen saunter from the building into the carport without a sense of purpose or urgency. They climbed into the truck, checked all instruments, chopped it up for a second, turned the lights and drove (not dashed, mind you, drove) out the carport.

Now, at least knowing they were open, I drove to the next nearest fire station. Hand still in the air, I parked and walked around the darkened building, rapping on windows, knocking on doors and ringing doorbells. No answer. Now, I knew there were firemen inside because I could see cars in the parking lot. Just as I had given up hope, a mini firetruck pulled back to the station. Seeing a damsel in distress with her hand shot upward like many a middle-aged man pre-Viagra, they offered their quick and swift assistance. Evidently, my problem was common because he had a containter full of small metal ring cutters that looked like mini jaws-of-life and whose only purpose is to remove rings from swollen fingers.

Five minutes later, my finger was freed from the bonds of ring slavery.

So, the moral of this story is: Never Listen to Tiffani. OR, I guess you could say it's not to wear rings that are too small in a place where fingers are prone to swelling.