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911: Tales from Dispatch

21 Mar

If the callers decorated cakes, they might look like this.

One of my dear friends works as a 911 dispatcher in a major US city. I never want to be the Little Boy Who Cried Wolf, so I tend not to call 911 – even when it’s probably warranted.

(To wit: after going over the top of that Prius last month, the witnesses had to convince me to call 911, and when I finally did, I asked the dispatcher to send a police officer but not an ambulance.)

Apparently other Americans don’t have this qualm, because I get a text or email from my friend about once a week highlighting the latest bullshit she’s been subjected to. For your amusement, here are a few of her anecdotes.

 

Please let this woman edit the dictionary:

Wow. I asked a caller for her telephone number and she says – like I’m the stupid one, “Telephone number?! I don’t have a telephone number. I have a cellophone number.” I tried to explain (don’t ask me why I bothered) that her telephone number was indeed her cell phone when she once again insisted she didn’t have a telephone number and I gave up.

Nice. A Cellephone number. Do you think she covers her left-overs with Telephane?

Stop wiggling your tail at me:

Just had a report of a car driving erotically.

I’m still not clear on why 9-1-1 was called for this:

Oh my. This young man was saying he was at his friend’s crib and his baby mam came over and there’s a no trash passing sign in the front. I asked him if he thought it was funny to call his child’s mother trash. He said his apartment entrance had a no trash passing zone posted. He sounded young, so I pictured one of those fake parking signs you can buy in a gag store. Turns out it was actually a no trespassing sign. He just couldn’t read it.

Get your mind out of the gutter:

Early during the job, she received a call from a woman reporting a man who was asleep on a bench.

“His pants are kind of pulled down. And all his junk is all over,” she said.

My friend replied, “So he is exposing himself?”

The woman paused for a fairly long time, then responded, “No. His STUFF is scattered all around him. What do you mean, is he exposing himself?”

A big THANK YOU to the 9-1-1 workers out there. Thanks for tolerating our general stupidity.

You may call him the Gipper, but at least 77 people call him Lifeguard.

7 Feb

Yesterday would have been Ronald Reagan’s 100th birthday, so NPR ran a story discussing his life and legacy. It was a generous, human look at an actor-turned-politician.

From what I hear, people apparently adore the man. I won’t say anything beyond that, because my last few attempts to write a sentence ended up with: a) an essay about Alzheimer’s, and b) imagining how I would feel about a puppy becoming the POTUS. While both are debatably relevant to this post, neither is especially helpful nor likely to endear me to you, my patient readers.

So what I learned while listening to NPR’s profile that was REALLY fascinating to me is that Reagan allegedly pulled 77 people out of the water when he was a lifeguard. (They interviewed #70, who said that “Dutch” was a really great guy.)

A few observations…

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Computer says “no.”

4 Feb

Based on the unemployment statistics, it sounds like the market is filled with overly-qualified people seeking work. And yet I continue to run into people in customer-facing roles whose only demonstrable quality is a pulse.

Last night I went to the library to pick up a book I had put on hold months ago. My book club just selected it as our next pick, so imagine how thrilled I was to receive an email notifying me that the book was ready and waiting for me at the library. Awesome timing!

So yesterday, despite feeling like crap (meaning I was coming down with a wicked cold), I hoofed it to the library on my way home from work, anticipating the reward of a hot bath, mug of tea, and escape into the novel’s initial pages.

But the library had other plans for me. If the librarian helping me had had a sense of humor, she might’ve screamed, “You’ve been Punk’d!” and pretended Ashton Kutcher was going to pop out from under the counter. Instead, she just frowned at the computer screen and said, “Computer says it’s unavailable.”

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I just learned a new word.

3 Feb

I wish I hadn’t.

Here’s the word I wish I could scrub from my vocabulary: VAJAZZLING.

If you don’t know what it is, think, “Beadazzler meets bikini area.” Um, yeah.

Seriously? I’m pretty sure our pioneer ancestors would have neutered themselves, had they known their descendants would actually spend time and mental energy on such a thing.

Although, who knows? Maybe pioneer women stuck corn kernels to their nether regions for a little bedtime bling.

Making friends in the Windy City…

23 Jan

Saturday we grabbed lunch at Elephant & Castle in Chicago. (I know, I’m not a fan of chains either, but it was damn cold out, it was one block from our hotel, and it had a selection of over a dozen good draft beers. So take that.)

Anyway, there was a woman <in her early forties with bleached blonde hair and a loud attention-seeking voice> seated at the bar with three older male companions.

Her voice was so intrusive that Alan kept cringing.

“Honey,” I said to him, but as if I were talking to her, “I’m sure you were cute when you were 20, but you’ve doubled in age. Not so cute at Volume 11.”

Alan added, “And now you look like leather.”

Then he cackled and forecast, “You’re probably going to get me in a fight!”

“No,” I told him. “Those aren’t fighting words. But I’m working on some.”

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