You can all rest easier, because I’m now CPR certified.
I had my class on Monday night, and I can now shout, “You, call 911!” with the best of them. I was a bit disappointed with the instruction, however. While I appreciated them showing us how to administer chest compressions, use a defibrillator, and give rescue breaths, they never showed us how to do so with passion. We practiced the techniques in such a sterile way, that one would have thought we were resuscitating a newborn android. They never demonstrated how to deliver the chest compressions in a frenzy while allowing tears to well up in our eyes. They never showed us how to scream, “Breathe, dammit! BREATHE!!!” “You’ve got too much life left in you!” “You’re too damn stubborn to die!”
Regrettably, this particular CPR class didn’t teach us any of the important stuff that makes for some of our finest action moments in cinematic history. They never showed us how to give up hope momentarily before delivering a final blow to the chest out of frustration that ironically starts the heart of our loved one. We never learned how to jump from a galloping horse to a train. We weren’t taught how to leap from an exploding helicoptor. We weren’t even shown how to pensively pull a half-charred photo of our parents out of the ruins of a housefire. In short, we didn’t learn jack-shit about how to save somebody’s life in an emotionally moving way. It was all this droning horsecrap about “calling 911″, and “checking their pulse”. Bo-ring. If I needed a clinical experience, I would have gone to the class on how to administer an illegal, unregulated proctal exam.
Anyway, long story short, if any of you ever feel like choking on something, come on over to my house and I’ll be happy to hook you up with some sweet abdominal thrusts.