Dispatchers have a tough job. They have to learn how to speak in an arcane tongue. They must be able to deal with frenzied people on the phone, who are in life-threatening situations, and give them sound, protective advice. They coach mothers with unexpected deliveries. And, they bear the wrath of A-holes who got a well-deserved ticket.
Another thing they sometimes deal with is boredom. This leads to pranks.
We had an crotchety, old dispatcher named Nick. Nick didn't like many folks, but he despised our new Chief, a retired Army colonel who was a pompous turd. And the feeling was mutual. We'd just had a new five-button phone system installed, providing four more separate lines. When a call came in for the Chief, the dispatcher would put the party on hold, call the Chief and tell him what line to pick up. Call for you, Chief. Simple enough, huh? Not if Nick had your number.
Course, Nick would do it when there was no call, just a lit button on the line he'd punched. He'd listen for the Chief to pickup, then he'd begin tapping the buttons machine gun style. The Chief, trying to follow the lights, went insane. You could hear him bellowing down the hall. Finally, to cover himself, Nick would complain to the Chief that the new phone system sucked. Then, privately, have a good laugh.
But paybacks are hell and Nick had his own nemesis to deal with: a fella named Bob. Bob was even older than Nick but with the exact opposite temperament. While Nick was loud and volatile, Bob was calm as a clam. For some reason Nick disliked him almost as much as he did the Chief.
Our swivel chairs then, didn't have a simple lever to adjust the seat height. You had to get down on your knees and spin a wheel on a threaded post until it was the height you wanted. Bob made sure that the seat was lowered to the bottom just before Nick went on duty. This put Nick's chin at desktop height. Nick would be infuriated. Being old, and a little rotund, he couldn't bend over that easily.
We had a middle-age gal named Dorothy who was a smoking fiend. But, she only smoked at work. Never at home or anywhere else. When asked why she just didn't quit all together, since she didn't smoke most of the time, she'd say, "I'd don't need it at home."
And there was Betty J0, a hard-worker who struggled for years making ends meet on a dispatcher's salary. Until she married a rich man.
And we had June Holzhausen, who we'll feature some time in a special entry.
Then, there is my favorite dispatcher. The first time I saw her, literally, I knew she was going to be the most important part of my life. She was a petite, lovely little woman and an excellent dispatcher. She could handle the most distraught callers and had an encyclopedic memory for names and people. Perfect for the job.
Course, in just a few months I had to fire her. They had this rule, nepotism, in the City, that relatives couldn't have a worker/boss relationship. The rule also applied to wives and husband. So when we were married. . .
That was many, many years ago and she's still my favorite. . .everything. Sandy. Her picture is at the top. See what I mean?
Photo by Ray Barnett
Another thing they sometimes deal with is boredom. This leads to pranks.
We had an crotchety, old dispatcher named Nick. Nick didn't like many folks, but he despised our new Chief, a retired Army colonel who was a pompous turd. And the feeling was mutual. We'd just had a new five-button phone system installed, providing four more separate lines. When a call came in for the Chief, the dispatcher would put the party on hold, call the Chief and tell him what line to pick up. Call for you, Chief. Simple enough, huh? Not if Nick had your number.
Course, Nick would do it when there was no call, just a lit button on the line he'd punched. He'd listen for the Chief to pickup, then he'd begin tapping the buttons machine gun style. The Chief, trying to follow the lights, went insane. You could hear him bellowing down the hall. Finally, to cover himself, Nick would complain to the Chief that the new phone system sucked. Then, privately, have a good laugh.
But paybacks are hell and Nick had his own nemesis to deal with: a fella named Bob. Bob was even older than Nick but with the exact opposite temperament. While Nick was loud and volatile, Bob was calm as a clam. For some reason Nick disliked him almost as much as he did the Chief.
Our swivel chairs then, didn't have a simple lever to adjust the seat height. You had to get down on your knees and spin a wheel on a threaded post until it was the height you wanted. Bob made sure that the seat was lowered to the bottom just before Nick went on duty. This put Nick's chin at desktop height. Nick would be infuriated. Being old, and a little rotund, he couldn't bend over that easily.
We had a middle-age gal named Dorothy who was a smoking fiend. But, she only smoked at work. Never at home or anywhere else. When asked why she just didn't quit all together, since she didn't smoke most of the time, she'd say, "I'd don't need it at home."
And there was Betty J0, a hard-worker who struggled for years making ends meet on a dispatcher's salary. Until she married a rich man.
And we had June Holzhausen, who we'll feature some time in a special entry.
Then, there is my favorite dispatcher. The first time I saw her, literally, I knew she was going to be the most important part of my life. She was a petite, lovely little woman and an excellent dispatcher. She could handle the most distraught callers and had an encyclopedic memory for names and people. Perfect for the job.
Course, in just a few months I had to fire her. They had this rule, nepotism, in the City, that relatives couldn't have a worker/boss relationship. The rule also applied to wives and husband. So when we were married. . .
That was many, many years ago and she's still my favorite. . .everything. Sandy. Her picture is at the top. See what I mean?
Photo by Ray Barnett
Wow, that is a great photo.
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