Leave it to NYC to rob me of my 911-virginity. I've never had to call 911 before (Adam has--when his brother was hit by a truck as a child) but I've had lots of nightmares about trying to dial that or another important number and I couldn't for the life of me punch the right buttons. But then a few weeks ago, my time came. I was driving East on the Belt expressway (I've been told we don't call them "freeways" here) when, in one of those slow-motion moments, I noticed that there was a head floating in the middle of the fast lane on the West-bound side. Something clicked in my brain telling me that all was not right in time for me to look over and see a man in the middle of the fast lane. He was sitting serenely, with his back to traffic. My brain had two thoughts in a nano-second: "He must be protesting something" and, "Is there a mental hospital near here?" I debated if I should call 911 and even dialed 311 but hung up on the first "please press one..." This man is going to die! So I called 911, gave them my location, and a surprisingly detailed description of the man and hung up, shaken beyond belief and wondering if he would be hit. I searched the web for news of any weirdness on the Belt later that day but found nothing. So much for my "first time."
Last night, Adam and I were awakened out of a dead sleep by the sound of a gunshot. We had heard what sounded like rockets or firecrackers periodically the last week or so, but this one was different. We've both fired a hand gun, thanks to Adam's old roommate Jake and a bunch of 2-liter jugs filled with water in a Springville canyon, and so we knew this wasn't any firework. My first impulse was to run to the window and see what was going on. But Adam threw his arm over me and yelled at me to get down. Ok, maybe he wasn't that dramatic, but we were both really shaken and scared. We didn't hear any other noise, but at 1:11 AM, it seemed like calling 911 was the right thing to do. So, once again, I dialed and told them my name and what happened. NYPD called back and asked, just like the 911 dispatcher, if anyone had been injured... "No..." How many shots were there? "Just one..." Did we see anything? "Um...no--we're in bed." They asked if we wanted to meet with a police officer and we declined. They said something about officers being in the area and that was it. We slept fitfully the rest of the night; my dreams were filled with crime and violence. But everything seemed perfectly tranquil when I left for work this morning. My co-worker laughed when I told her how we'd called 911. Maybe, since I've already done it once, it's made it all the easier to do it again.
P.S. Before he rolled over and went back to sleep, I did tell Adam that, if someone was shot on our street, we were MOVING. To Utah.
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Gunshots or no, I hereby declare that you are not allowed to move away.
So there.
:)
You actually are more likely to die by firearm in Utah than you are in New York. In fact, New York is the fifth least likely state to suffer a fatality by firearm in.
http://www.vpc.org/fadeathchart.htm
That chart lists the rates per 100,000 by the way.
You're so funny Emily. If it makes you feel better, I've called 911 more times than I can count over the last few years. More here than in AZ, but still, it was about time you lost your 911 virginity. And good riddance, I say. :)
I called 911 when I came home and my house had been broken into, the dispatcher told me not to go into the house in case someone was still there but I had already gone in to get the phone...oops..
Is it really going to have to take that, because if it does, I might make a trip to Brooklyn to take a hit for the team here. :) Just teasin' of course.
Scary.
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