I explained my situation to the dispatcher and emphasized that it wasn’t an emergency and she said they would send someone over just to be safe. I thought this meant a guy would show up in an hour or so and check it out.

A few minutes later I hear the unmistakable sound of sirens in the distance…getting closer every second. I start thinking…”please don’t be for me…don’t be for me”. But no such luck.

Up pulls a fire truck with about a half dozen firefighters piling out and walking up to my door.

Now I’m 6′2″ but I felt like a kid standing next to some of these guys. The ones that weren’t taller than me they were about twice as thick. Nothing is more hurtful to a young mans pride than being juxtaposed against the archetype of masculinity.

P.S. It turned out the high reading was from the garage where someone had earlier idled the car too long and it had gradually seaped in to the house.

For instance, the sheepdog/sheep/wolf motif that travels through law enforcement literature explains a lot. But not all the sheep are lying on their fluff and bleating.

So many times I think officers feel alone. Mostly that is realistic skepticism and a life-preserving way to handle dangerous events. But sometimes I think they forget that an appeal or a compliment will bring them help or support back.

Probably no one in the Needle-Witted Hotel would fit that description. But civilians can be trained to be better bystanders, better witnesses, limited volunteers, and so forth. (hey! another topic!)

Go, Salty! And a very good job by the new blue you, too!

Sincerely,
Ann T.

Great story.