Jot a note to your future roommate relating a personal experience that reveals something about you.

Hey roomy, come to the local chili festival this weekend! I had a blast there two summers ago — and not only as a chili aficionado. Let me explain. I was a Palo Alto Fire Explorer in high school, so during the summer I staffed first aid stations at Bay Area festivals and triathlons. Well, that Saturday morning two years ago was quiet as usual — a few Band-Aid cases and requests for sunscreen. But around noon, the emergency radio started squawking. Dispatch told me to respond to an unknown medical emergency at a nearby field. I didn’t know what to think, but I grabbed my trauma bag and jogged out. I soon reached the wet grass and saw my medical supervisor questioning someone — probably a relative. Then I saw the patient: a Hispanic boy of about ten years, kneeling on the grass. It turned out his name was Bryan — which incidentally is the name of my brother’s best friend, too. Apparently, the Bryan in front of me had broken his right clavicle while playing some sport. I asked a fellow emergency responder to grab me a splint. By the time we finished treating the injury, the ambulance technicians had arrived. “Don’t worry, Bryan, you’ll be fine,” I told him. I squeezed his hand as he was lifted onto the stretcher. He looked at me dubiously at first, but as he was carried into the ambulance, he smiled briefly at me. I waved to my patient — no, he was not just my patient. He was Bryan.

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