OK. Pay attention now — this is important. More people are having heart attacks in cafés and restaurants these days.

It’s probably from consuming all that sugar and fat and sitting around watching Jerry Seinfeld reruns, adding more fat around their belly button.

I’m tired, so I’m gonna give you a chance to a become a local hero by jumping up and saving one of them.

You’ll get your face in the local paper, and, if you’re lucky, get mentioned in Amy Calder’s hot new column.

Who knows? The story could get picked up by a Hollywood studio and the next thing you know, you’re the star of a new Netflix series.

Let’s get started. Let’s say you’re having coffee and a Danish at the Holy Cannoli coffee house in Waterville, and then suddenly a guy sitting nearby drops to the floor. WOW!

What do you do?

A. Try to revive the person by shaking him.

B. Blow in his mouth, pull out gum.

C. Massage his chest where the heart is.

OH BOY! Unless you are a doctor, you probably don’t know where the heart is. Feel around — not there — no, not there — more to the left — OK

. You’re gonna lose him. Start hollering.

“Is there a doctor in the …”

LOUDER!

“IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE?”

Here comes the big news. There isn’t. There aren’t any doctors left. Most of the doctors these days have skipped the low-paying white-jacket and stethoscope jobs and have become specialists, doing hip replacement on rock stars like Mick Jagger or plastic surgery on the faces of fading movie stars.

Never mind all that, this guy is not breathing. Let’s try this ….

“IS THERE A PA-C IN THE HOUSE?”

(Whispers) Look at this crowd will ya? They’re scared they’re gonna catch something, and nobody knows what a PA-C is anyway, and by the time you try to explain that, the person on the floor will be talking to Jesus.

To save you time, and the life of this guy on the floor, stand back.

“IS ANYBODY HERE A PHYSICIAN’S ASSISTANT-CERTIFIED?”

Suddenly, a cute blonde in the corner wipes a chocolate muffin from her lips and raises one hand.

“I’m a physician’s assistant-certified!”

She rushes over, and with expertly trained chocolate stained hands, brings the victim back to earth — a miracle.

I wrote this short story simply to dramatize a question that’s been haunting me.

Where have all the doctors in Waterville gone?

I came to Waterville 40 years ago, all tired out from the fast life in Hollywood, and was pressed into fetching a doctor. The phone book had 125 of them.

So out I went and fetched one. I got one who laughed at my jokes and I hired him and we were together for all of those 40 years. He’s gone now, not dead, just gone. Yes. I called and his wife told me that he went to Patagonia with his son. I had to look that up. It’s somewhere down in South America.

Well, he’s earned that, so I had to get a new doctor. I found a lovely new doctor who is a sweet, serious blonde lady who said she’s a “PA-C.”

A what? “That’s a physician’s assistant-certified,” she said.

And then she handed me a slip of paper and said “I’ll see you in June,” and went off with her family for two weeks in Aruba.

I’ll bet that Aruba has real doctors. Book me a flight.

J.P. Devine is a Waterville writer.