"L.A., Squad 51, 10-8 to Rampart."
"Squad 51."
So that was Gage and DeSoto, off to get supplies. Or hit on nurses. No nurses
here to hit on. No nothing here to hit on. I can't believe I'm stuck here
for a month.
"L.A., Station 127 back in quarters."
"Station 127."
Good. They were out for a long time. They deserve a rest. Dang, that hurt
my toe. Time to use the mic button on the desk. Foot pedal be damned! Dispatch
wasn't designed for people in walking casts. I should have taken them up
on their other offer, long-term disability at three-quarters pay. Noooo,
I had to get greedy and say I'd work. An efficient use of my time off, Brice
said. Screw him.
Here we go with the damn teletype again. An LOL with SOB in 110's response
area. I should send out Gage just to tick him off. Nah, Sam is watching me
kind of close. I'd better behave. I'm hungry. Where's the damn bee-bop button
for 110's?
"Squad 110, elderly woman with trouble breathing. 1122 Main, 11-22 Main,.
Cross street Brewster. Time out 1700 hrs."
"Squad 110, 10-4, KML873."
I'm still hungry. I can imagine the conversation I'd be having with Brice
right now: "Let's stop for a burger." "No Bob, it's too early for supper."
"But just a little something to tide us over." "Perhaps you would have fewer
complaints about the constrictiveness of your bunker pants if you reduced
your caloric intake." Screw him.
"L.A., Truck 16."
"Go ahead, Truck 16." Sigh. My stomping grounds. I can't wait until this
hell is over.
"We'll be 10-7 to the drill, 23-78 Stevenson."
"10-4, Truck 16."
"Seemed like half the department is heading to that damn drill," I say to
no one in particular.
"Hmm," Sam grunts back. Maybe if I was a fully-involved structure fire, instead
of a dumb firefighter with a broken foot, he'd be more interested. Makes
me miss Craig. Lately he's fixated on inventing a better pair of scissors
to cut clothing off patients. "Trauma shears" he calls them. He claims they
can cut through a penny if they are designed right. I'll believe it when
I see it. Oh, there goes the teletype. Time for my act.
"Engine 51, trouble alarm, 1900 W.
190th place. 1900 West 190th
Place. Cross street
Wilson. Time out 1720 hrs."
"Engine 51, 10-4. KMG365."
Trouble alarms are a pain in the ass. This one's at a bank. I've sent Engine
51 to this one three other times today. They're going to kill me. Dang, now
the public phone is ringing and Sam is looking daggers at me. I'm hungry.
"L.A. County Dispatch, Bellingham speaking."
"Yeah, is this the fire department?"
"Yes it is." Damn it, I just realized my cup of Coke is condensing all over
my response cards. Hope we don't get any box alarms today. Ha. "How can we
help you?"
"Yeah, OK. There's this car that crashed into the house next door to me."
"What's the address sir?'
"Selma and Adams."
"Anyone hurt?"
"The guy in the car looks like one of those hippy druggy dudes. And there's
an old couple who lives in the house."
"OK, we'll send someone right out. Thank you sir."
Time to peel apart those response cards. Sam has them memorized. I think
he needs to get a life. Selma and Adams, Selma and Adams. Stupid me forgot
to ask the guy for a real address. Isn't that 51's district?
"L.A., this is Engine 51."
"Go ahead, 51."
"We're in service returning. The keyholder turned it off this time."
"Stand by for a response, 51."
"Standing by, L.A."
Time to yank Gage and DeSoto out of the cafeteria.
"Squad 51, are you available?"
Pause. Pause. Pause. Put down the coffee already, Gage.
"Squad 51, available."
Reach for the button. Double-damn it. I just knocked over my Coke toning
out 51's.
"Engine 51, Squad 51, car into a house." Need an address, quick! It's not
like they'll miss a car in a house. What block is Adams again? Think! "Uh,
1200 Selma. 1200 Selma. Cross street Adams. Time out 1801 hrs."
"Squad 51, 10-4."
"Engine 51, 10-4."
6 o'clock. Dinner time. Last time I subbed at 51's, Stoker made his fried
chicken. Man, that was good. Now what am I going to do about my Coke, since
I've just capsized the only thing I've been able to put in my stomach all
afternoon.
"L.A., Station 51 on scene. We have a one-story ranch with a delivery-van
through the front porch. We'll need manpower and an ambulance."
"10-4, 51." I probably should have sent a full assignment in the first place.
Something else Sam can get mad about later, I guess. The response cards are
now a puddle of fiberous goo on the desk.
"Sammy, 51's needs a full assignment at Selma and Adams and I can't find
the right response card."
"Hmm," he grunts again and hands me the right card, almost without looking.
He's busy juggling a brush fire and a bunch more stupid trouble alarms triggered
by last night's storms. 16's is up, according to the card. The truck is at
the drill. The squad is in quarters, where I'm sure Brice is driving his
temporary partner crazy showing him how to hang his shirts exactly two inches
apart in a locker. There's no one else available at the moment, so goodbye
drill, I guess. I try once again for the foot pedal to open the mic, since
I'm wiping up my Coke with my shirt sleeves.
"Truck 16, stand by for a response."
An even longer pause, then an acknowledgement.
"Truck 16."
I'll probably catch crap for this later. Oh well.
"Truck 16, squad 16, car into a house, 1200 Selma. 1200 Selma. Cross street
Adams. Time out 1815."
"Truck 16, 10-4." I think I hear a bit of annoyance in Cap's response.
"Squad 16, 10-4, KMG352." Brice's voice. I can't believe I miss it, but I
do. I wonder if they have any q-tips here so I can soak up some of the Coke
from the crevices in the equipment.
"L.A., Engine 51. Do we have an ETA on that ambulance?"
Oh crap. I knew I forgot something.
"Engine 51, ETA five minutes." I hope. I'll have to use the land-line to
call Mayfair, since I think my Coke has disabled my direct ambulance link.
"Mayfair, this is Smith."
"Bellingham at L.A. County Dispatch."
"Yeah, you want us at Selma and Adams?"
"You read my mind."
"We'll be there in 10."
"Make it 5 and I'll buy you supper."
"Split the difference. 8 minutes. I like Chinese."
"That'll work. Thanks Mayfair."
Whew. Crisis narrowly averted.
"L.A., Station 16 on scene."
"10-4, station 16."
I brought the latest Wheels and Gears. I hope this finishes up soon so I
can read it.
"L.A., Engine 51. We have two Code-F's at our location."
Code F's? The elderly couple in the house? Or the driver and someone else?
Man, that's a bummer. It stinks not knowing what's going on. How does Sam
do this all the time?
"10-4, Engine 51." Ow. Time to quit the foot pedal again.
"L.A., this is squad 16."
"Go ahead, 16."
"The ambulance has arrived. We'll be taking the driver to St. Francis. Please
respond a second ambulance. Squad 51 will be taking a neighbor with chest
pains to Rampart. Time out 30 minutes."
"10-4, squad 16."
Neighbor with chest pains? This is getting more interesting by the minute.
Man, I'm going nuts here. Must be the old couple who are the Code F's. It's
taking every chunk of will power I have to stop from asking Craig what the
deal is.
"L.A., this is Engine 51."
"Go ahead, 51."
"Please respond the building department and gas company to our location to
check structural integrity. We'll be mopping up for another 20 minutes or
so."
"10-4, Engine 51."
I'll call 'em up, then maybe get 20 minutes of peace and quiet if the nuts
of La-La County behave. Ya know, I wonder if Chinese delivers here. I'm craving
egg rolls, and the chop sticks would be great for scratching under my cast.
Author's Note: Dedicated to you-know-who at Oak Lawn Central Dispatch
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