As it was a holiday (read: double time and a half) tonight, we are o'erfilled with dispatchers. I was subsequently shuffled to Calltaker Land to get in my currency time for the quarter. Only one phone line to answer and only one thing to do at a time makes for a cranky and fidgety Dispatcher Sassy Pants. All our "customers" being away at the shore for the weekend makes for a cranky, fidgety, and bored Sassy Pants.
Inane conversation with Snarky Pants did follow:
David Bowie...
"It started with Starman, I think. Then, I don't know. I woke up covered in glitter and spandex fighting the urge to dye my hair orange."
On strippers...
"I wonder if vagazzlement could be deducted as a work expense for her?"
On idiots we work with...
"....they get all the messages sent to POLD, any--- never mind. Did I ever tell you about that man who changed my life? The one when I saw him walk in the back of that bar, all tall and lean with them broad shoulders, sweet lips...."
"Didn't inquire. I've decided the solution to sitting next to the complaining is to make up hilarious problems. I was going with refusal to take input not given in received pronunciation. CAD is a classist."
One frustrating ambulance call with a reporting party that seemed to have naught for information or brains.
SP: Is she conscious?
Caller: Man, I don't understand all these questions you be askin' me!
SP: Is... she... awake?
Caller: Man, I don't know!
First she was having a seizure, and then no no... it's not a seizure but she can't breathe. Then the ambulance gets there and the jackass (who has called on a cellphone) has given me the wrong address, patient is actually a whole block away.
I want my radio back.
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