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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.

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I think there’s probably a lesson in here somewhere.

16 Mar

This has nothing to do with the rest of this post. But it's so disturbing I had to share. (Image source: http://www.tmz.com)

Thankfully, she’s been out of the news so long I couldn’t remember her moniker. Hence I found myself googling, “woman who wants to be Angelina Jolie” and “woman with too many babies” before I stumbled upon it: OCTOMOM.

While I believe whole-heartedly in Zero Population Growth, I wasn’t googling that Waste of Space  because I wanted to mount my soapbox. No, it was actually because I was trying to come up with a good comparison to make this statement come to life:

Today I used so much KY Jelly I think I may have outpaced Jenna Jameson and the Octomom combined.

Now I have your attention, don’t I?

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I suppose this justifies kids owning cell phones.

24 Feb

When I was in second grade, a McDonald’s opened in my small, five-stoplight midwestern town. It was a pretty big deal, so pretty much the entire town’s population – including my mom, my seventh grade sister and me – turned up for the grand opening.

Middle school is not the time when you want your little sister clinging around, so Alicia did her best to ditch me and hang with her friends as soon as we entered the restaurant. My mom had other plans, however, so after securing our tray of food, she seated us at a table next to where my sister sat with her friends.

Alicia tried to ignore me. I tried to pretend I was part of her table. My mom tried to mediate, making us each a bit more accommodating of the other.

And then I went to the bathroom.

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It really should come with gloves.

6 Feb

As a child, I couldn’t stand Vicks VapoRub. I just rediscovered it yesterday and have to say: I am a fan!  Since Thursday I’ve been battling some sort of sinus/chest thing. Its started in my sinuses and migrated to my throat and chest.

Yesterday I couldn’t speak without having to (unsuccessfully) clear my throat mid-sentence. If you’ve experienced this, then you know precisely how frustrating it is. Which explains why I kept interrupting my sentences to blurt, “Goddammit!” as if I had a case of full-blown Turrets.

I finally broke down and went to Safeway on a mission to bring home any medication that boasted the magic word “expectorant” on its label. While checking out Mucinex, a tub of Vicks happened to pique my curiosity so I added it to my basket as well.

It’s hard to identify what the exact benefit of Vicks is, but my chest feels looser, so that’s a start. I don’t see much risk to continuing to slather it on since it’s the only thing I’ve found that provides some degree of immediate relief. Although I suspect the next time Alan comes over he’s going to wonder why my entire condo smells like menthol.

Oh, and a tip to the uninitiated: after applying Vicks, go wash your hands. Immediately. I learned this the hard way. I forgot that I had Menthol Hands and made the colossal mistake of rubbing my eye. Holy Mother of Mary. Not only was I temporarily blinded, my wet eye felt HOT then COLD. I thought it might throw itself out of the socket in an attempt to crawl to a glass of ice water.

So I guess that’s a ringing endorsement: I’m willing to continue using a product that almost blinded me. Maybe I should approach Vicks and see if they want to sponsor me. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the better testimonial quotes they’ll find.

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Open mouth (write Christmas card), insert foot.

29 Jan

Look - there's a book about me!

I’m a bit old fashioned when it comes to letters – I like to write them, I like to receive them, and I tend to believe email is a poor substitute for any sentiment that isn’t really urgent.

So it’s probably no surprise that I take Christmas cards fairly seriously, carving out hours before the holiday to write them. (And yes, I actually write in my Christmas cards, following the example my mom set when we were growing up. It seems to be a disappearing practice.)

Except this year I made a mistake. I sent a card to one of my cousins and FORGOT to include one of her children in the greeting. I addressed the salutation to her, her husband and their son. No mention of the daughter. OOPS.

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