Loud piercing and endless, I hear them in my sleep.
Then there is the alarm that sounds when phones aren't answered fast enough,
The air raid siren I call it.
More sounds enter the mix:
Co workers on the phones
TDD's and answering machines
Officers over the radios...
It all blends together into a single roaring noise.
Only occasionally does one pick out
Someone else's call.
(This is how one can be alone in a room of a dozen people)
Occasionally there is a lull.
The quiet cue that not much is going on.
We look up at each other like storm survivors
Conversing for a moment or two.
Then erupts the sound again..
"This is 911 what is your emergency?"
The sounds begins again.
Oh, I really got the feel of the room with your description, well done. I used to be a telephone operator many years ago so some of it I could imagine in my minds eye. Liked the surprise ending though I was think call centre for the shopping channel.
ReplyDeleteI always say thar I know I've been on vacation long enough that I stopnhearing phones in my sleep. When I read the writing suggestion about sound I could hear my wworkplace right away.
DeleteI can't imagine the cacaphony of this 911 job. The camaraderie comes through -- as does the constant intensity. There's much to write about here from a perspective few see. I loved the line, "This is 911. What is your emergency?" For me, that could be the end of the poem!
ReplyDeleteThank you Beth. I wasnt sure about the ending myself. The noise really does reflect the intensity.
Delete"...like storm survivors..." that is great!
ReplyDeleteOn a really busy day thats just how it feels: like a storm passed over and we are all sticking our heads out the door to check for damages.
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