WELCOME TO THE FIRST (HOPEFULLY NOT MY LAST MENTAL BREAKDOWN) DISPATCH CONFESSIONAL
THIS IS IT. THE DEBUT. THE FIRST POST. THE START OF SOMETHING MESSY, REAL, AND PROBABLY HELD TOGETHER BY UNDER-MEDICATED SARCASM, EMOTIONAL DUCT TAPE, AND WHATEVER CAFFEINATED BEVERAGE YOU’RE CURRENTLY CLINGING TO.
THIS LITTLE CORNER OF THE INTERNET IS PART BLOG, PART DISPATCHER SUPPORT GROUP, PART “SCREAM INTO THE VOID” WITH OTHERS WHO GET IT. I’LL BE SHARING UNFILTERED THOUGHTS, CHAOTIC WISDOM, AND MAYBE A FEW UNDER-MEDICATED RANTS. WE WANT TO HEAR YOUR STORIES:
- THAT CALL THAT NEARLY BROKE YOU.
- THE SHIFT THAT MADE YOU QUESTION EVERYTHING.
- THE MOMENT YOU NAILED IT—AND THE ONE THAT NEARLY NAILED YOU.
- WHAT YOU’D SAY TO YOUR CALLERS IF PROFESSIONALISM TOOK A LUNCH BREAK.
- WHAT YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY WILL NEVER FULLY UNDERSTAND ABOUT THIS WORK.
THIS SPACE IS FOR US—THE HEADSET WARRIORS, THE CALM IN THE CHAOS, THE ONES WHO TALK PEOPLE THROUGH HELL AND STILL CLOCK OUT LIKE NOTHING HAPPENED.
IMPORTANT NOTE: UNLESS IT DIRECTLY INVOLVES A CALL FOR SERVICE, RELIGION AND POLITICS ARE STAYING IN THEIR OWN LITTLE LOCKED CABINETS. WE’RE NOT HERE TO HOST THE COMMENT SECTION VERSION OF A FACEBOOK FIGHT. WE’RE HERE FOR DISPATCHER THERAPY, NOT A THANKSGIVING DINNER DEBATE.
SO LET’S GET LOUD, HONEST, MESSY, AND MAYBE A LITTLE UNHINGED—BECAUSE IF WE DON’T LAUGH ABOUT IT, WE MIGHT JUST CRY INTO OUR CAD TERMINALS.
I’LL START (WITH MY ORIGIN I GUESS BECAUSE I HAVE NO FREAKING CLUE WHERE TO BEGIN).
DAY ONE: WELCOME TO THE DUNGEON
WALKING IN ON MY FIRST DAY, I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO EXPECT—BUT I DEFINITELY DIDN’T EXPECT THAT ROOM.
ONE DOOR. ONE DIMLY-LIT, BORDERLINE-FROZEN BOX. MANUALS STACKED IN PRECARIOUS TOWERS. A TINY WINDOW THAT DIDN’T OPEN (WHICH WAS UNFORTUNATE, CONSIDERING THE ROOM HAD ITS OWN AROMA). MY TRAINER AND HER PARTNER LOOKED LIKE BLANKET-WRAPPED SURVIVALISTS—AND HONESTLY, I STARTED QUESTIONING IF I HAD JOINED A DISPATCH CENTER OR A FALLOUT SHELTER.
BUT THERE I WAS, ALREADY DROWNING IN NEW-JOB STRESS AND PRAYING MY ANXIETY MEDS WOULD HOLD THE LINE.
THE SUPERVISOR GREETED ME AT THE DOOR, INTRODUCED ME TO THE FLOOR, AND HANDED ME WHAT SHE CLAIMED WERE “A FEW” FORMS. THAT “FEW” TURNED OUT TO BE A MOUNTAINOUS STACK OF GOVERNMENT PAPERWORK—BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY, YOU CAN’T ANSWER PHONES FOR 911 UNLESS YOU LIST YOUR CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND, YOUR BLOOD TYPE, YOUR FAVORITE DINOSAUR, AND FORFEIT YOUR FIRSTBORN.
THE QUESTIONS, THE MEDS, AND THE MOMENT I OPENED UP
AFTER MEETING MY TRAINER, I WAS HIT WITH THE STANDARD “GET TO KNOW YOU” QUESTIONS. HARMLESS, SURE—BUT AWKWARD AS HELL WHEN YOU’RE SOMEONE WHO HAS MASTERED THE ART OF HIDING PANIC ATTACKS BEHIND POLITE SMILES. I DIDN’T WANT ANYONE TO KNOW THAT I COULD GO THREE DAYS WITHOUT SLEEP THANKS TO ANXIETY THAT HITS LIKE A FREIGHT TRAIN.
BUT SOMEHOW—WITH MY TRAINER AND HER SHIFT PARTNER—I STARTED TO FEEL… COMFORTABLE. IT TOOK TIME (DAYS? WEEKS? PROBABLY MONTHS), BUT EVENTUALLY, I OPENED UP AND LET MY PERSONALITY SHOW. TO THEIR REGRET, I’M SURE. I’VE NEVER BEEN ONE TO SUFFER IN SILENCE ONCE THE SARCASM FILTER IS GONE.
THE SUPERVISOR WITH SUPERHUMAN HEARING
WHILE I WAS MOSTLY TRAINED BY ONE PERSON, THERE WAS ONE SUPERVISOR I’LL NEVER FORGET. I ADMIRED HER FOR HER KNOWLEDGE AND COMMITMENT. BUT DAMN—SHE WAS FAST. I HAD TO STOP TAKING MY ANXIETY MEDS FOR A BIT JUST TO KEEP UP WITH HER PACE. NOT THAT I WOULD’VE DONE ANY BETTER IF I STAYED ON THEM. SHE WAS LIKE A LIGHTNING BOLT IN UNIFORM.
SHE COULD HEAR A WHISPER FROM 60 FEET AWAY. FROM HER OFFICE. WITH THE DOOR CLOSED. NO JOKE. SHE COULD HEAR THE WORD “QUIET” AND SUMMON CHAOS LIKE A DISPATCHER-POWERED VOLDEMORT. I HATED HOW ACCURATE SHE WAS. AND NOW? I’VE INHERITED THE SAME SUPER-HEARING. IT’S CURSED, AND HELLA ANNOYING.
WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE YOU DON’T BELONG
THERE WERE SO MANY DAYS I FELT INADEQUATE. LIKE I WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH TO ANSWER A PHONE CALL, LET ALONE UNDERSTAND A GARBLED TRANSMISSION FROM A UNIT EATING A HOT POCKET MID-KEYUP. I QUESTIONED MYSELF CONSTANTLY. BUT THE THING IS—IT PASSES. IT REALLY DOES.
WITH TIME AND SKILL (AND A LITTLE INTERNAL SCREAMING), YOU LEARN. YOU DEVELOP WHAT WE CALL THE “THIRD EAR.” YOU LEARN TO DECODE PURE CHAOS, UNTANGLE OVERLAPPING UNITS MID-PURSUIT, AND SOMEHOW UNDERSTAND:
“—-ELEVEN—-HFFZZZZZ—MURMUR—BACK LOT—ZZKKKHHHH—ONE AT GUNPOINT—OVER.”
LIKE IT’S A SECOND LANGUAGE. AND IN MANY WAYS—IT IS.
IF YOU’RE IN THE EARLY STAGES OF YOUR EMERGENCY DISPATCH CAREER AND FEELING UNSURE ABOUT YOUR PROGRESS OR SKILL LEVEL, YOU’RE NOT ALONE. WE’VE ALL BEEN THERE—FEELING LOST, SLOW, OR UNCERTAIN ABOUT WHETHER WE’RE CUT OUT FOR THIS JOB.
TALK TO SOMEONE WHO’S MADE IT THROUGH. ASK THEM WHAT GOT THEM THROUGH TRAINING, WHAT IT FELT LIKE TO BE THE “NEW ONE,” AND WHAT THEY WISH THEY HAD KNOWN BACK THEN.
REMEMBER: CONFIDENCE, SKILL, AND THAT PERFECTLY SHARPENED DARK SENSE OF HUMOR? THEY ALL COME WITH TIME AND REPETITION. BE PATIENT WITH YOURSELF—YOU’RE BUILDING MORE THAN A CAREER. YOU’RE BUILDING RESILIENCE.
FOR THE SEASONED, SALTY, AND DISGRUNTLED VETERAN DISPATCHERS:
WHAT WAS YOUR FIRST DAY LIKE?
WHAT HELPED YOU SURVIVE YOUR TRAINING PHASE?
WHAT KEPT YOU COMING BACK—EVEN WHEN EVERYTHING IN YOU WANTED TO QUIT? LET US ALL KNOW IN THE COMMENTS. AND FOR EVEN MORE STORIES, SCROLL PAST THE COMMENTS; YOU WON’T REGRET IT.
I TRULY APPRECIATE THIS AND I’M GLAD I’M NOT ALONE. IT’S SO FRUSTRATING, ESPECIALLY WHEN THERE’S THAT LITTLE “UPDATE TO…