"Are you a, errr... an, ummm... an ambulance?"
Regularly, at least several times a shift, as I pull up outside an address, someone will open the door, turn their head back towards the house, and announce my arrival.
"The ambulance is here!"
The last time I checked, I was not a vehicle; I did not have flashing lights on my head (although the bald patch reflecting in the moonlight might give that impression); and I definitely did not eat diesel as one of my five-a-day fruits and vegetables. So why is it that nobody seems to know who we are, what our title is, or, quite often, what we do?
At least, in the meantime, a group of holidaying kids, a bunch of my children's school friends and some new neighbours now know.