Crazy

The craziest storm I have ever worked in five years at the county whipped through this week.

Herewith, the stats for Thursday:

209 calls dispatched by yours truly from 1900-0700
148 dispatched between 1900-0000
20,000 without power
10 sore fingers
2 shots of tequila
31.1 second transmission by a sawed off dick of a cop keying up during emergency traffic to tell me in a  his radio wasn't working whilst at district court. Resulting in...

1 tired and pissed dispatcher. Hey buddy, fuck you.

GCPD

Whilst working my part-time gig at Ghetto City PD, your fearless dispatcher has taken part in the following conversations:

"Why is there a bullet on the floor?" "I dunno, it's not mine." Both officers then look at me  to visually assure themselves that I am, in fact, unarmed. Same police department who's dish drying rack was home to brass knuckles for months.  



"Tell him we gave his stuff to his baby momma."  I cannot bring myself, even after 5 years at GCPD, to actually use the term "baby momma" in conversation. Awkward phrasing follows. 

"The officer said he gave your belongings to your... girlfriend?"

[confused look]

"Ex-girlfriend, maybe?"

[blank stare]

"The mother of your child?"

"My baby momma?"

"Yes."


Currently housing a ridiculously angry 40-something female drunk, who must be fun to live with after a few beers. Keeps switching between absolute coma, wide-awake fits of rage and screaming, and from what I can tell; an utterly shit Tarzan impression. Also housing a 19 year old female, who is simply aghast that one could be arrested for spitting on a cop.

This is my last scheduled shift at GCPD until the fall, unless I'm called in to cover. I'm soaking up all the summer crazy now.

Lazy

Dear Detective [Lazy, apparently],

Since you are unspeakably lazy this evening, the following events are going to occur within the next 24 hours:

You are going to call and ask for temporary felony status for a 3 day old burglary that occurred after closing hours with no weapons involved. I am going to tell you (rightly) that I'm not entering it as it does not fit the criteria (he's not a danger to anyone at this point - you've had 3 days to punch this warrant) and that you should follow established AOPC procedure and get it entered at the on-call court -- which is still open for 2 more hours --  thereby generating the proper warrant numbers and ensuring that police radio only has to handle the warrant once.

I am first going to put out a county-wide GPI (general police info) for John Doe Shitbag, to cover my ass and make you feel better. In the meantime, you're going to mull over the fact that you don't particularly like the on-call judge and don't feel like driving that far.

You are then going to call me back 5 minutes after the on-call court has closed suddenly awash with "new" information that he's possibly headed out of county, is suddenly a heroin user, and is possibly a danger to his ex-wife.

I enter John Doe Shitbag temporary felony. Massive amounts of paperwork follow. Never mind the rest of the legitimate entries I need to do tonight.

In the morning, you are going to your local judge - the one that you like - and properly punch a warrant. This warrant will not be done correctly by the court, as they NEVER are and will arrive here in police radio via NCIC one of three ways:

1. Rejected - because the court clerk didn't see fit to put in information like weight, height, eye, or hair color. This information is apparently not pertinent.

2. Accepted into the system but missing information - SID numbers, scars marks and tattoos, drivers license information, aliases, or any other type of identifying information useful to an officer coming in contact with this subject.

3. Accepted but wrong type of entry - i.e. subject should have been entered with caution, because, oh, I don't know he's an armed felon with expertise in bomb making and happens to be a psychopath and schizophrenic missing his meds.

The daytime dispatcher is now going to spend more time and more paperwork (re-running his criminal history and driver's info) fixing or, in the case of a reject, completely re-entering John Doe Shitbag. All this because you didn't feel like driving to the on-call court.

Thanks, pal.

Dispatcher Sassy Pants

Calltaker Land

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.