Pros
A handful of really cool providers.
Cons
Rest is a something you won’t ever be afforded during 24-hour shifts, with mere snippets of sleep punctuated after running all morning, afternoon, evening and night is then by the necessity of profit you’ll be attending pre-scheduled dialysis patient pickups as early as 4:45 am, six days a week. Furthermore, the quality of the equipment is completely unacceptable, with plenty LP-12’s. While the proprietors/owners of Tri-County reside comfortably in their expansive 10,000-square-foot residence. As crews contend with aging trucks on the verge of collapse, one can’t help but wonder if the owners believe rust adds character, or if they simply find solace in the sight of disintegrating bolts. Day crews benefit from modern lift systems, whereas our 24-hour counterparts contend with manual lifts, reminiscent of a bygone era. There is one 24 hour truck with a lift system though. But hey they did get one new ambulance for the first time ever essentially. A tale of two stations unfolds: Station One in Mentor, a veritable patchwork of leaks and decrepitude, where crew members find themselves relegated to broken chairs amidst the disarray of mismanagement. You’ll be in a an small office sized cramped bunk room with plywood bed and paper thin mattresses on a bunk bed. Meanwhile: Station 2, situated on 222nd and Euclid Avenue, bears an uncanny resemblance to a makeshift shelter. On the bright side, you enjoy exclusive occupancy as the sole crew stationed there, and administrative tasks are conveniently overlooked. However, the darker reality unveils itself in the form of mold-ridden facilities, ceilings adorned with the remnants of leak-induced destruction, and waterlogged drywall near the bunk rooms reminiscent of a floodplain. The bathrooms, seemingly relics from the '80s, persist in emitting an odorous reminder of their age, despite diligent cleaning efforts and ancient bathroom fixtures emitting an odor so potent, one wonders if they serve as a deterrent for loitering. Notably, one bathroom adjacent to the bunk rooms endured a sewage leak, resulting in a veritable cesspool of urine and feces necessitating the intervention of biohazard crews. Cabinets, devoid of wooden faces and cloaked in layers of grease, holes in the walls from crews throwing knives at them, and outdated amenities serving as reminders of better days long past. Tread cautiously, for the carpet in the bunk rooms harbors a trove of grime capable of staining the soles of your feet literally the color black due to the owners never getting the bunk room carpets cleaned. In a baffling display of penny-pinching, the owners opt to furnish the station with their hand me downs from home – worn-out couches (which endure the abuse of bariatric employees leaving behind skin flakes and stench all over it), outdated TV sets, and even their own eating utensils and plates used from home for your enjoyment at work. This absurd practice not only reeks of cheapness but also highlights a blatant disregard for the comfort and well-being of the crews. It's a stark reminder of their skewed priorities, prioritizing thriftiness over providing a professional and comfortable environment for their employees. Not to mention stories of crews joking about the infamous history of basement stairways doubling as urinals. Are you contaminated? Need to wash off blood, pee, puke? Perfect, the laundry detergent doubles as a floor cleaner too! That will save them a few dollars every year. Let's delve into the dispatchers' practices, particularly the nighttime dispatchers that are unsupervised. They often cozy up to their favorite crews, selectively assigning calls based on personal preferences, especially during late night hours. Expectations might be skewed, as they prioritize certain crews, even if it means disrupting the established rotation. Consequently, you might find yourself burdened with an extra call, despite not being next in line. They're adept at manipulating call logs, leaving gaps to conceal their favoritism and disregard for other crews, then filling in the gaps later. Moving on to crew safety, expect to be on the go constantly, as they'll assign additional calls to keep you busy, prioritizing profit over your well-being, especially during early hours of the night. You might end up with exhausting 2am 4-hour Youngstown call or trips to downtown UH and Cleveland Clinic, risking falling asleep at the wheel due to sheer exhaustion. If you dare to express fatigue, the response is typically dismissive, with suggestions to rely on energy drinks. Having life insurance feels like a necessary precaution to work their. Let's talk benefits? They're downright miserable. Say goodbye to any hope of 401K matching; it's gone. Insurance? Oh, sure, it's available, but be prepared to shell out a fortune, especially if you have a family. And don't get me started on the quality of those watered down insurance plans – they're constantly downgrading them just to save a few measly bucks on overhead costs. Family hospitalization is now $15,000-$20,000 a year too. You read that correctly. Next the Admin - the human embodiment of a paperweight. She's like the admin minus the ownership, yet somehow manages to be less useful than a doorstop. The administrator who does a lot of the training with longer hair shines like a beacon of competence in comparison, openly lamenting the owners' questionable decisions while the other shorter hair administrator flounders about, taking orders like a well-trained parrot. If scheduling were an Olympic sport, Barb would be a gold medalist in getting it wrong 80% of the time. Forget about school schedules or family emergencies; her memory is as reliable as a leaky pipe, and her interrogation skills rival those of a rookie detective if you have an emergency at home, family etc. Her mere presence could deflate a balloon of morale faster than a pin at a birthday party. People pretend to tolerate her while secretly plotting escape routes from her incompetence and to get out of sight. And let's not even get started on her medical “prowess”; after 20+ years as a medic, she still couldn't tell a sinus rhythm from a 3rd heart block if her life depended on it or start an IV even. But hey, at least she'll remind you incessantly of her "vast" experience in a feeble attempt to assert dominance. Let's delve into the world of the owners -the male owner known affectionately as "Fire Felon”, by those around the county due to his white collar alleged crime questionable past. They reside in a grand mansion, sporting fresh luxury cars each year including a Ferrari, while somehow leaving the ambulances in a state of disrepair and rot. They and casually toss around houses for their offspring like Monopoly properties. Yet, their obsession with profit and billable reports edges towards a “gray” area to make sure they can actually bill for them. The wife; the day-to-day operator, could give a masterclass in running a company into the ground with her consistent string of poor decisions. The husband co owner, Well, he’s relegated to the garage in Willoughby, fixing trucks and dodging arguments with his wife in the office like it’s an Olympic sport. Yet, despite their flaws, the husband a surprisingly chill dude to shoot the breeze with! Then there's the son of the two owners “the marketing heir”, more adept at perfecting his golf swing with his frat bro’z than going to schools to pick up new EMT’s or paramedics or…. actually advertising, and negotiating pay with him is a fruitless endeavor. Novice or seasoned, your experience won't sway them. Welcome to the owner family spectacle, where luxury cars shine, but ambulances, employees, facilities, paychecks and equipment languish in neglect. Seems they've kissed their Lake Health contract goodbye, likely drowned in a sea of mishaps after the staff who awards the contract got a tour and scent of what actually goes on. Lastly, the finance director. He's a master at squeezing every last cent, even resorting to time and number manipulation to deny you what's rightfully yours when you bid adieu and eventually leave to go work somewhere else. In their eyes, you’re nothing more than a disposable commodity. Whether you stick around for a decade or just a few days, you’re as valuable to them as your last call. It's bad enough that word has spread across multiple counties and among rival companies. You stand alone in its struggle with staffing shortages, lagging far behind other companies who are swimming in surplus of paramedics. Competitors are dishing out $60K to $70K for medics, leaving you far behind in the financial race and benefits.