Since the day we were born, we are taught that we only dial 911 in emergencies. We’re reminded over and over that it is no joke – we’d be in big trouble if we dialed the forbidden combination unless absolutely necessary.

To curb my curiosity as a child, I dialed ‘the terrible trio’ from a pay phone.  It was innocent enough, since I was under the impression that it would require a quarter for the call to go through (hence the words pay phone). Completely shocked that somebody answered despite my lack of a quarter, I quickly hung up the phone and returned to my usual game – making up 1-800 numbers.

I was just putting my unlawful act out of mind and had no intentions of telling anyone what I had done when a man from the 911 “tracking crew” caught me red-handed still playing with the volume buttons on the pay phones.  When he asked if I had dialed 911, I thought the man was God. How else could he know?!?

Thankfully, I didn’t get in too much trouble. I conned my sister into not telling my parents, and it was our little secret until… well, now.  (Sorry Mom and Dad — you had to find out sometime.)

Within the last two years, I’ve had to make the call twice, and believe me, it’s not an easy decision.  Last weekend, when out for a walk with my sister, I happened to be carrying my phone so we could keep track of time.  I received a call from my younger brother, yelling at me to “Get water!  There’s a fire!  Hurry!”  I hung up the phone and started running home.

In a full-out sprint with my sister at my side, we were trying to devise a master plan to efficiently get water to the desired location – a storage building property, six miles away – without a significant amount of time passing. Garbage baskets?  Coolers?  A really long hose? For every minute it took to fill up containers, I pictured more of our property going up in flames.

I called my brother back and asked if I should call the fire department.  He was still in a panic and sounded unsure of what to do. “Yes!” he replied.  “Err… no – I don’t know!”

Great.  Thanks for the helpful information. I had no idea whether our storage sheds were on fire, or if a campfire was simply getting a little out of control.  Knowing my brother is not one to panic, I dialed the numbers… 9-1-1.

They sent out the local fire departments, and my sister and I were on our way with a few gallons of water for this somewhat ambiguous fire.  We rolled up the driveway, and ran to the scene of the… fire? You call this a fire!?  Taking in the scenery, I noticed several melted rakes and a large area of scorched ground – not a single flame in sight. I came to the conclusion that the fire department was probably not needed.

I looked to my family for an explanation.  Standing there speechless, my mother’s ‘glistening’ face matched her red sweatshirt.  My brother, sweating, out of breath and covered in soot from head to toe, stood continually shaking his head.  My dad, now mowing tall grass around the burnt ground on his vintage ‘Wheel Horse’ lawn tractor, looked as if his life just flashed before his eyes.

(*NOTE: Mowing the tall grass surrounding the fire is what made extinguishing the fire possible for the three stooges.)

Showing up fully-equipped with masks over their faces and tanks strapped to their backs, the firefighters jumped down out of the truck to investigate.  Expecting some type of shed fire, they seemed skeptical of the scene – charred ground behind the sheds.

I’m not sure what the 911 call may eventually cost our family.  We all blamed ourselves, talked it over and thought through what we could have done differently. Obviously we were lucky that no one was hurt, and that the only thing that burned was about 1/50 of an acre of yellow grass.

I regret that we had to get our small town fire department involved, but hindsight is always 20-20.  I guess on this occasion, “better safe than sorry” won out over the parental mandate that we must “never call 911 unless absolutely necessary.”

 

Shootin’ the Wit is a weekly column about everyday life that should never, ever be taken too seriously.