I was hiking up at Runyon Canyon yesterday with my friend and neighbor Jonas; Runyon is the popular little mountain a few blocks up from my building that the local yuppies and dog-walkers turn to for exercise. While we were up there, an LAPD helicopter repeatedly circled overhead. It seemed like they were looking for somebody.
On our way down, Jonas and I noticed an extremely suspicious person. He was clearly hiding behind a tree, watching the helicopter. After it circled once more and flew away, this guy took off jogging down the hill. At Jonas's insistence, we jogged after him, to see where he went.
We followed the guy back out to the street, where he continued to appear somewhat like a fugitive, glancing behind him, until he ultimately got in a car and drove away. Some 30 minutes later, as Jonas and I were on our way to a happy hour, he was obviously still concerned.
"Do you think I should call it in?" he asked me in the car. "Am I crazy?"
"Call what in?" I asked, having already forgotten about it. "That guy we saw?"
Jonas felt a yearning to perform a civic duty that clearly eluded me, but I told him to go ahead if it made him feel better about himself. Not knowing what else to do, he called 911.
Now, I've never called 911. Never had I needed to. But I would expect there would be some sense of urgency. Instead, our call was immediately put on hold, because "all operators are busy," and the message went on to suggest dialing 311 if it was a true emergency.
Really? 311 is the new 911? Did you guys know this? I thought 311 was just an enjoyable pop-funk band from the late 90's.
The voice recording was followed by about 30 seconds of what it sounds like when you accidentally call a fax machine: horrible high-pitched digital screeching. Jonas and I looked at each other in disbelief. Then, finally, an operator got on the line. It had been about a minute and a half since he dialed in. If I had called at the beginning of being raped by a rapist, I would have been raped already.
Jonas told the operator what we had seen. The operator clicked away on her computer, then said nonchalantly: "Um, I see that there was a helicopter over Western and Crawford............?"
Jonas let that hang, not really knowing how to respond. It wasn't like we were looking for confirmation of the helicopter buzzing Runyon Canyon. We were just trying to be helpful. Jonas told the woman that he was just providing a tip. She promised to "make a note of it," and we hung up.
I can't say I was ever truly concerned about the particular individual we may or may not have thwarted from further criminal activity yesterday. But after the way that 911 call played out, I certainly hope that I never have to rely on an employee of the Los Angeles government to get me out of any kind of legitimate jam.
On our way down, Jonas and I noticed an extremely suspicious person. He was clearly hiding behind a tree, watching the helicopter. After it circled once more and flew away, this guy took off jogging down the hill. At Jonas's insistence, we jogged after him, to see where he went.
We followed the guy back out to the street, where he continued to appear somewhat like a fugitive, glancing behind him, until he ultimately got in a car and drove away. Some 30 minutes later, as Jonas and I were on our way to a happy hour, he was obviously still concerned.
"Do you think I should call it in?" he asked me in the car. "Am I crazy?"
"Call what in?" I asked, having already forgotten about it. "That guy we saw?"
Jonas felt a yearning to perform a civic duty that clearly eluded me, but I told him to go ahead if it made him feel better about himself. Not knowing what else to do, he called 911.
Now, I've never called 911. Never had I needed to. But I would expect there would be some sense of urgency. Instead, our call was immediately put on hold, because "all operators are busy," and the message went on to suggest dialing 311 if it was a true emergency.
Really? 311 is the new 911? Did you guys know this? I thought 311 was just an enjoyable pop-funk band from the late 90's.
The voice recording was followed by about 30 seconds of what it sounds like when you accidentally call a fax machine: horrible high-pitched digital screeching. Jonas and I looked at each other in disbelief. Then, finally, an operator got on the line. It had been about a minute and a half since he dialed in. If I had called at the beginning of being raped by a rapist, I would have been raped already.
Jonas told the operator what we had seen. The operator clicked away on her computer, then said nonchalantly: "Um, I see that there was a helicopter over Western and Crawford............?"
Jonas let that hang, not really knowing how to respond. It wasn't like we were looking for confirmation of the helicopter buzzing Runyon Canyon. We were just trying to be helpful. Jonas told the woman that he was just providing a tip. She promised to "make a note of it," and we hung up.
I can't say I was ever truly concerned about the particular individual we may or may not have thwarted from further criminal activity yesterday. But after the way that 911 call played out, I certainly hope that I never have to rely on an employee of the Los Angeles government to get me out of any kind of legitimate jam.
