Superman is just around the corner.

I have said, on more than one occasion, that if people saw the way we acted when we were alone in the ambulance that they would kick us out of their home and drive themselves to the ED. They would cringe in disbelief, slam the door, and call the police.

"Are those the two we saw in that ambulance?" one would ask.

'The one's making those weird noises and crying with laughter? Uhm, yeah, lock the door and call the cops," the other would respond.

When we come knocking on your front door, you see two emergency professionals dutifully dressed in white responding to manage an acute emergency. Bags, monitors, radios, badges, and fancy tools laced between belt loops represent authority and confidence. Both traits, regardless of how we act or look, we all posses.

But, when I step back from that front door, I see an enigma. I see what you see, but in a different light. In front of me, on the exterior, I see the confident intelligent paramedic you see. But, in the back of my head, I also see another person in an arsenal of characters that each of us have.

Sometimes I see the guy who but not 5 minutes ago was trying to make the funniest noise for the longest amount of time. The guy who was just belching Dr. Pepper and is later planning on having a Red Bull and donut-eating contest. The one singing Michael Jackson at the top of his lungs and bouncing in his seat. The one that was honking at hookers and blowing them kisses.

Or, sometimes standing in front of me, is the disheveled guy who looks like he just crawled out of a cave. Beard growth of 5 days, stained coffee teeth and hot breath reeking of spicy sausages. Shirttail bubbling out from under his belt and pen marks on his shirt. Once deep black boots fade now into a grayish white at the toes. Papers in his shirt pocket are reminiscent of the old college professor who could never remember what he needed to do next.

Or, standing next to me, might be the starchly-pressed, muscular man with his hair shaved down to the skin of his skull with tattoos crawling up his forearms and disappearing into his sleeve. He smells like diesel fumes and Copenhagen and his black biker boots look like Frankenstein's clogs. He's assertive and direct, but polite and honest.

This job is one big contrast. We sit for hours on end fighting the tediousness of boredom. We fight to stay awake. We unwind and are lulled into a false sense of relaxation and security. And we all share one common trait, an alter ego.

The alter ego that mutes other personalities and takes over. The one that gets done what needs to be done and does it efficiently and correctly. The one that is confident and quick and regardless if you like the decisions, or not, it does what it believes is beneficial to the patient. The part of us, regardless of how we look or smell, that takes over and does an outstanding job.

I'm sure Superman, when not reversing the polarity of the Earth, had a tendency to belch and fart. And Batman and Robin surely played graba** in the Bat Cave in between arresting cartoon felons. And I bet MacGyver, when not fashioning elaborate means for escape from items in his pocket, acted like a teenage girl when his favorite song came on the radio.

I applaud those eccentricities and am happy they are there. Because if they weren't, and we were all as serious as we needed to be all the time, we would be some boring, uptight, angry, burnt-out public servants.

So, regardless of what alter ego stands before you in your doorway, remember that resting beneath that facade is the superhero waiting to go to work.

If you see Clark Kent, Superman is just around the corner.