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.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
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.
"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.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
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:
Thanks, pal.
Dispatcher Sassy Pants
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.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.
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
I spent the day in NYC with my life partner in the sarcastic arts and mutual aficionado of all things British, Dispatcher Snarky Pants. We found an authentic chip shop full of cute ex-pat Brits, took in an August Wilson revival, and pretty much snarked at the throbbing mass of humanity that is NYC on a Friday night. Hey guy in Times Square - free hugs? Really?
Cut to 0300, we're on the interstate headed back home - and stuck behind a very drunk driver for a very long time. We are, of course, not calling this in because we're not in home territory. Yet. We figured, had there been a wreck Snarky Pants is an EMT; and I'm certified in phone dialing and giving CPR to Resusci Anne. I could've dialed 911 like a mofo while Snarky Pants dealt with the gore.
As we approach the exit for Boringtown, Snarky Pants pulls out her cellphone. I shoot a look that says you are not about to become an erratic driver caller, are you really? She intently pre-dials her phone: we are getting this asshole pulled over if he gets off at our exit. Sure enough, the drunk man exits for Boringtown. Snarky Pants dials. We give chase. Or whatever semblance of chase a 4 cylinder Dodge can give.
Sassy Pants: He's speeding up!
Snarky Pants: Of course he is-- he can tell you're following him now!
Sassy Pants: Well I'm sorry! I think I missed the day in dispatcher spy school that covered how to tail a suspect!
Snarky Pants: MI:5 - season 4.
Sassy Pants: Touche.
In the end, drunk man pulled into a development before an officer could get to us. We found this rather unsporting of him since we had been stuck behind him on the interstate afraid to pass for fear of an MVA for the better part of 25 miles.
I spoke to the responding officer my next shift in, making sure to begin the conversation by apologizing profusely. He assured me that they had prior contact with the subject and was very likely "drunk off his ass". And then he gave me shit for the rest of the shift for being "that caller".
Cut to 0300, we're on the interstate headed back home - and stuck behind a very drunk driver for a very long time. We are, of course, not calling this in because we're not in home territory. Yet. We figured, had there been a wreck Snarky Pants is an EMT; and I'm certified in phone dialing and giving CPR to Resusci Anne. I could've dialed 911 like a mofo while Snarky Pants dealt with the gore.
As we approach the exit for Boringtown, Snarky Pants pulls out her cellphone. I shoot a look that says you are not about to become an erratic driver caller, are you really? She intently pre-dials her phone: we are getting this asshole pulled over if he gets off at our exit. Sure enough, the drunk man exits for Boringtown. Snarky Pants dials. We give chase. Or whatever semblance of chase a 4 cylinder Dodge can give.
Sassy Pants: He's speeding up!
Snarky Pants: Of course he is-- he can tell you're following him now!
Sassy Pants: Well I'm sorry! I think I missed the day in dispatcher spy school that covered how to tail a suspect!
Snarky Pants: MI:5 - season 4.
Sassy Pants: Touche.
In the end, drunk man pulled into a development before an officer could get to us. We found this rather unsporting of him since we had been stuck behind him on the interstate afraid to pass for fear of an MVA for the better part of 25 miles.
I spoke to the responding officer my next shift in, making sure to begin the conversation by apologizing profusely. He assured me that they had prior contact with the subject and was very likely "drunk off his ass". And then he gave me shit for the rest of the shift for being "that caller".
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The one where I get left for another dispatcher
Our radio system sucks. It's old, it's dodgy, I hate it, and the cops hate it, obviously. Depending on the district, weather, and where the officer is transmitting from I find myself repeating things a lot. I also get to have bionic ear moments where I pick out whole transmissions from nothing but static - which is cool, but I'd rather it worked better.
There is one department, The Dub, that is off our crap system and self-dispatches separate from the county on so-fabulous-you-could-hear-a-pin-drop digital. Digital, mind you, that I cannot hear. They often work with neighboring departments that are dispatched off the crap system - so they have given them - wait for it - digital portables that they can hear The Dub on. There are things that go on between these departments that I get completely cut out of. Dub dispatch is good with letting us know where they are, and mostly the officers are very good about giving me a heads up - grudgingly I try and accept that they have equipment belonging to another in their cars.
Cut to two weeks ago. The Dub, being a university town, is expecting some Facebook induced flash drinking mob because it happens to be finals week. My surrounding department, Mayberry RFD, is in The Dub in anticipation of shit hitting the fan. Mercifully, they operate off my system for the night. It's busier than all hell, I keep Mayberry running all night, they keep me busy with self-initiated activity, and come 0400 we are all worn smooth out--but in that we've been through battle together way that makes you think it's a good night. I feel like I worked my ass off for them, got things done properly and expediently, and I feel like part of the team for a little bit.
Late in the shift Dub dispatch calls and asks if I can send Mayberry out to an address in Mayberry - Dub dispatch has an officer there doing a follow up and there's an open door. It's 0400 or thereabouts, this is "not good news. " I appreciate that the dispatcher did not just use the digital and completely cut me out of sending my officers into something potentially dangerous, and I send them on their way.
Mayberry arrives on scene and the lead officer keys up on my radio that I have practically BLED on him for this night and says: "show us on scene, however we will be keeping status with The Dub -- their equipment works better here."
I felt like I had been shot in the heart AND divorced all at once, in public.
After the incident was handled, uneventfully I might add, I gathered my wits about me and summoned Lead Officer Jackass via MDC. I informed him that he had, in fact, left me for a man.... because he liked his equipment better. I furthermore reminded him that I can only work with the equipment I have and until his department decides to be dispatched elsewhere - I'm your momma and don't you dare do that to me again!
This is something that I know LOJ won't think about again. I know I will remember it the rest of my career, because I take this job and his safety very personally. I'm not just the voice on the radio, I'm the one starting back-up your way before you ask for it because I just know. Respect that, and me.
There is one department, The Dub, that is off our crap system and self-dispatches separate from the county on so-fabulous-you-could-hear-a-pin-drop digital. Digital, mind you, that I cannot hear. They often work with neighboring departments that are dispatched off the crap system - so they have given them - wait for it - digital portables that they can hear The Dub on. There are things that go on between these departments that I get completely cut out of. Dub dispatch is good with letting us know where they are, and mostly the officers are very good about giving me a heads up - grudgingly I try and accept that they have equipment belonging to another in their cars.
Cut to two weeks ago. The Dub, being a university town, is expecting some Facebook induced flash drinking mob because it happens to be finals week. My surrounding department, Mayberry RFD, is in The Dub in anticipation of shit hitting the fan. Mercifully, they operate off my system for the night. It's busier than all hell, I keep Mayberry running all night, they keep me busy with self-initiated activity, and come 0400 we are all worn smooth out--but in that we've been through battle together way that makes you think it's a good night. I feel like I worked my ass off for them, got things done properly and expediently, and I feel like part of the team for a little bit.
Late in the shift Dub dispatch calls and asks if I can send Mayberry out to an address in Mayberry - Dub dispatch has an officer there doing a follow up and there's an open door. It's 0400 or thereabouts, this is "not good news. " I appreciate that the dispatcher did not just use the digital and completely cut me out of sending my officers into something potentially dangerous, and I send them on their way.
Mayberry arrives on scene and the lead officer keys up on my radio that I have practically BLED on him for this night and says: "show us on scene, however we will be keeping status with The Dub -- their equipment works better here."
I felt like I had been shot in the heart AND divorced all at once, in public.
After the incident was handled, uneventfully I might add, I gathered my wits about me and summoned Lead Officer Jackass via MDC. I informed him that he had, in fact, left me for a man.... because he liked his equipment better. I furthermore reminded him that I can only work with the equipment I have and until his department decides to be dispatched elsewhere - I'm your momma and don't you dare do that to me again!
This is something that I know LOJ won't think about again. I know I will remember it the rest of my career, because I take this job and his safety very personally. I'm not just the voice on the radio, I'm the one starting back-up your way before you ask for it because I just know. Respect that, and me.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Sometimes I'm the Mood Police too
Saturday night at work and I am sitting the wild wild West. Not much that I can't handle going on, and then the state police line rings. Troopers involved in a hit a run, can I send in surrounding departments to look for the vehicle and suspects? You bet your ass I can.
What followed was slightly controlled utter chaos. We can't hear the state police radio - but they can hear me. Which means coordinating between the PCO at the police barracks, her troopers, my officers, and me. Phone. Radio. Radio. Phone. Assisting units have some vague idea of where they're going, but are in need of directions. Repeatedly. No, north. No, your *other* north. Local unit finds the vehicle in question, and gets a little too excited about it and gives me an intersection that doesn't exist and then doesn't freaking answer when I ask for a correct location, panicking my units that are racing to back him up. I take a deep breath, and calmly explain to all who are listening that his probable location is X street at Y avenue - and huzzah, the dispatcher is right.
I do my best to sound calm and professional because I know it can help keep a lid on the insanity level. If they calm down, they stop acting like retards. They stop acting like retards, things get easier. But, secretly, the inside of my brain is freaking out. It's making mental checklists of officers to yell at for speaking out of turn, giving wrong locations, and just generally NOT listening to what I am telling them. It's replaying the "officer in a car accident" scenario that is my personal nightmare. All the while, frantically trying to put order to this mess, and like attempting to fit an octopus in a mesh bag - something keeps popping out.
In the middle of coordinating three separate-yet-related things (vehicle and suspect #1, suspect #2 on foot, actual crash scene with suspect #3) I'm getting computer messages from other officers in my district -- "are the troopers going to the hospital?" "how bad was it?" "do you know their names?" -- all things, that really, I know can wait. I'm not calling back the PCO in the middle of all this to ask her to stop what's she's doing to relay information that is not going to help catch the bad guys. I balance that with the need to balance the "freak out" factor taking place in my district. They are all on edge. Suddenly I start getting a lot of traffic stops and "occupied suspicious" vehicle action. And I know that right now they need to know and calm down or my night is going to slip slide down the rabbit hole. So I call the PCO back, apologize for having needy cops (but she understands), and get all the extra information. Both troopers treated at the scene and released, it wasn't that bad, their names, and I pass along that everyone responsible is now in custody.
And just like that, we're back to normal. Amazing.
What followed was slightly controlled utter chaos. We can't hear the state police radio - but they can hear me. Which means coordinating between the PCO at the police barracks, her troopers, my officers, and me. Phone. Radio. Radio. Phone. Assisting units have some vague idea of where they're going, but are in need of directions. Repeatedly. No, north. No, your *other* north. Local unit finds the vehicle in question, and gets a little too excited about it and gives me an intersection that doesn't exist and then doesn't freaking answer when I ask for a correct location, panicking my units that are racing to back him up. I take a deep breath, and calmly explain to all who are listening that his probable location is X street at Y avenue - and huzzah, the dispatcher is right.
I do my best to sound calm and professional because I know it can help keep a lid on the insanity level. If they calm down, they stop acting like retards. They stop acting like retards, things get easier. But, secretly, the inside of my brain is freaking out. It's making mental checklists of officers to yell at for speaking out of turn, giving wrong locations, and just generally NOT listening to what I am telling them. It's replaying the "officer in a car accident" scenario that is my personal nightmare. All the while, frantically trying to put order to this mess, and like attempting to fit an octopus in a mesh bag - something keeps popping out.
In the middle of coordinating three separate-yet-related things (vehicle and suspect #1, suspect #2 on foot, actual crash scene with suspect #3) I'm getting computer messages from other officers in my district -- "are the troopers going to the hospital?" "how bad was it?" "do you know their names?" -- all things, that really, I know can wait. I'm not calling back the PCO in the middle of all this to ask her to stop what's she's doing to relay information that is not going to help catch the bad guys. I balance that with the need to balance the "freak out" factor taking place in my district. They are all on edge. Suddenly I start getting a lot of traffic stops and "occupied suspicious" vehicle action. And I know that right now they need to know and calm down or my night is going to slip slide down the rabbit hole. So I call the PCO back, apologize for having needy cops (but she understands), and get all the extra information. Both troopers treated at the scene and released, it wasn't that bad, their names, and I pass along that everyone responsible is now in custody.
And just like that, we're back to normal. Amazing.
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