September 11th 2008, The Pressure Between My Ears
September 11th, 2008. In other words, another anniversary of 9-11, 911, 9-1-1, or however you want to look at it. The numbers 9-1-1 have multiple meanings to me. And they fuel a flood of emotions when I hear them. I was a cop (please note the small "c") for many years. When the 911 phone rang, it usually sent me into something that was fucked up. My wife is a 911 dispatcher (note the small "d"). When I was a cop, I learned to hate dispatchers, I still do, and always will. I hate my wifes (note the small "w") employer (note the small "e") and I hate hearing about her job. This is because its fucked up, and fucked up people pick up the phone and dial 911 when they have run out of intelligence (note the small "i"). They calll 911 when they hate their neighbor, they call 911 when they are beating on each other (wifes also beat on husbands SURPRIZE!), they call 911 when they get objects stuck up their ass (I'll let you figure that ...