It’s a dim, noisy and unassuming room. Four posters, one on each wall, seem out of place. They’re scenic posters of beautiful places -the snow-covered mountains of Austria, an icy lake in Norway, a quaint fishing village in some faraway country. I suppose the posters are there to make us feel serene in the otherwise chaotic setting. There are four rows of small, unadorned and rather dingy cubicles, five in each row. I find one that’s unoccupied and set up camp. I’m surrounded by a computer terminal, tape recorder, multiline phone console, cup of coffee and a small photograph of my son. It’s 0800 hours. I take a deep breath, say a little prayer and hope that I don’t make any mistakes that might get me on the 6 o’clock news. This will be my not-so-happy home for the next 10 hours.
“911, what is your emergency?” It’s my first call of the day. The woman is crying but calm. She has tried to wake her elderly husband. With the push of a button I connect her to the fire department. They ask if she wants to attempt CPR, but she says, “No, he’s cold and blue … I’m sure he’s dead.” I leave the sobbing widow in the hands of the fire dispatcher and disconnect from the call. I’m feeling sad, but I must move on. I have more incoming calls to take.
It’s busy this morning. The orange lights in each corner of the room are shining brightly, a constant reminder that nonemergency calls have been holding more than 90 seconds. My phone console appears to be glowing, covered with blinking red lights. It’s almost hypnotic, like when you sit in the dark and stare at a lit Christmas tree, or gaze into a flickering fireplace. But then I remember that each fight represents a person -a person with a problem, someone in crisis.
A loud bell is ringing. It means an emergency call is trying to get through but the lines are jammed. AU operators are already on a call. I quickly put my caller on hold. He’s just reporting a burglary that occurred over the weekend.
Fortunately, most of the 120,000 calls each month are routine. There are those who are lost and need directions; some are victims of thefts, burglaries, assaults, and need to make police reports; others are angry and need to complain; some are lonely and need to talk. There’s the ever-present pressure to treat each caller with the respect and dignity that we all deserve. This can be especially difficult when a citizen yells insults and calls us obscene names. We try not to let it affect us-to remain in control. We must keep answering those blinking lights.
“911, what is your emergency?” This one’s serious. A bad traffic accident, head-on collision. “Yes, sir, we’ll get right out there.” I get officers started and advise the fire department. Now everyone in the vicinity of the accident is calling. “Yes, ma’am, we’re on the way.” “We’ll be out shortly, sir, thanks for calling.” My supervisor comes out of his office to advise us of something. He always looks serious, but this time it’s different. He looks worried and upset. He tells us that two of our detectives were involved in the collision. He doesn’t know who they are or how badly they’re injured. My heart stops momentarily because my husband is a detective. I quickly call the office and confirm that he is safe. I’m relieved but still stunned. I look around the room at my friends and know we’re each praying silently that the officers are OK. But there’s not much time for sentiment. There are more calls to take, more decisions to make and more pressures needing attention.
This is not a fun place. But I glance around at my coworkers and am proud to be part of this team. They are dedicated men and women who are doing their best to serve the public, in spite of the adversities. Some operators have been here 20 years, others only a few months. Some are burnt out, tired or just waiting for something better to come along. Most of us are trying to keep a sense of purpose and, oddly, a sense of humor in what we do. We have to, because the things we hear are often frightening or even gruesome. We must sound unaffected and keep our callers calm.
“911, what is your emergency?” It’s just a boy on a pay phone getting his kicks by calling me vulgar names. He hangs up before I have a chance to educate him on correct 911 usage. We get a lot of trivial calls, pranksters, hang-ups, citizens complaining to us about a noncrime situation, something they should handle themselves. People call us because they don’t know where to turn. Everyone must be treated fairly and with respect. It’s a difficult balance to maintain.
My super-visor again comes out to advise us. His face shows a sadness I’ve never seen in him. “The officers were killed in that accident.” A quietness descends over the room. I suppose the bells are still ringing and the lights flashing but I don’t hear or see them. The typing stops; talking ceases. I just want to get out of here and cry, but I have to stay and do my job. I have to keep going. I can break down on my long drive home tonight; for now I have phones to answer, people to help.
I answer a call. It’s an irate man calling from his cellular car phone. He says he’s in a hurry to get to work and there’s a major traffic jam blocking his way. “Get some dammed officers out here to direct traffic; I pay my taxes and I expect you people to do your jobs. Listen, lady, I’m gonna be late for an important meeting!”
I bite my hp to keep from saying what I want to. “Yes, sir,” I “there was a serious accident in that area and officers are on the scene. Please be patient, we’re doing the best we can.”
