Triple H walked by the first aid/medical area of the backstage and glanced in the door and kept on walking...for another three or four steps before it hit him that he knew the girl in there. He backed up.
"Charlie?", he asked.
"Hey! Yeah, hi Paul, it's me.", said the blonde, blue-eyed paramedic; "How goes? You're in better shape and spirits since the last time I saw you. Has it really been ten years?"
Charlotte Post is a local medic, who moonlights working for the company that provides event medical services to the different arenas in the San Francisco area and was in the arena at the Raw in 2001 where Triple H tore his quad, and did the initial stabilization of the injury and primary care with the ambulance. The man was pissed and and in pain and not so charming.
"wow, ten years. So much has happened to the company and we're always on the move, time gets away from you. I have always felt really badly for the way I was to you.", he said shamefacedly.
Charlie laughed at that. "You're kidding. You weren't the worst person to me THAT day, even. Don't sweat it."
The other employees that worked in medical were trickling in, so Trips headed out. "You're going to be here all show, right?", he inquired.
"I'm last to leave, kid. I don't get to go until it's just me and the night security.", she replied.
"Good. I have a meeting, but I have someone I'd like you to meet, that I think you'd like knowing.", and with that, he was gone and Charlie stood there, just noticing the slack-jawed and wide-eyed faces of her team who were clearly in awe of the Superstar who was just talking to their boss.
"Okay, gang...if we can all close our mouths, and if the girls would please stop fanning themselves and wipe the drool, perhaps we can decide how we're going to manage the drunks and bloodies and god forbid any actual emergencies that might present themselves tonight." Charlie closed the door, and gave out assignments and supplies.
During the actual event, whether it's wrestling or a concert or a team sport or (not kidding) the Dalai Lama, the injuries are few and far between. The public getting to their seats with their food and merchandise is fraught with peril in arenas like this.
Getting out of the arena after a few beers, going from the warmth of the arena to the cold of the outside and the pushing and shoving that invaribly happens is another hairy time.
This night, things were worse than usual-the storylines were heavy at the time, and it was only a month and a half til Wrestlemania. The place was packed, and so was first aid. Charlie was still typing up all the reports when the ring was coming down and the fans that invariably try and make it backstage were still circling the doors waiting for their favorite superstar to exit when she heard a chorus of decidedly feminine squeals shouting "John!" "Cena!" get louder..and then a little louder. She rolled her eyes. She was never ever a fan girl, or a ring rat. Shaking her head, she returned to her work and was transcribing the notes from her evening when her door slammed.
She didn't even look up. The first aid staff were all young enough to be her children, technically-and they acted like it, slamming doors was a common occurrence.
"What is it going to take to keep you kids from damaging my fucking door?!", she sighed.
"oops. My bad.", said the unmistakeable voice of the franchise player, none other than John Cena.