The More Things Change…

by pjmcbride

So we got on the front page of the paper for a story on Dispatch To Get Monumental New Radio Upgrade. A photo of the operations room (a/k/a Bridge of the Starship Enterprise) was featured, plus a close-up of a couple co-workers, to which I can only say, Better them than me. My work-related publicity is limited to being The Person With Their Back To the Camera in an old episode of “Rescue 911.” I had actually been called in on overtime, because they needed someone to really work while the other person was pretending to work for the camera. I think Channel 14 News also got a closeup of my hands typing once, which was a good deal, because I wear lots of rings. So the viewers got their money’s worth. Yes, I know how much you have to pay to watch broadcast TV.

FUN FACT: Yes, I wear lots of rings, but the feel of jewelry annoys me and I always take it off as soon as I get home.


We had a tour come through the other day–well, not through, but with their noses pressed to the glass as if we were in a zoo. Now I understand why monkeys throw feces at visitors. Not that we threw any, of course.

My personal problem (you knew I’d get to it, didn’t you?) was that I was not very busy at the moment. The sheriff’s department can get busy, but it’s usually in fits and starts, and no one had done me the favor of running off a country road into a ditch, or hitting a deer on the highway. So I did a lot of looking back and forth between screens, as if there was some ongoing situation I was monitoring. I was glad when a deputy finally asked for a tow truck. Look! I’m talking on the phone now!


For a week I’ve had a disgusting blistering itchy rash on my arm, which looks like poison ivy, although I don’t see how it could be. I’ve been wearing long sleeves, lest my habit of promiscuous hugging leads to my co-workers getting cooties. (Note: I do not, in fact, have a habit of promiscuous hugging. Get away from me.) So I’ve had to face this beautiful spring weather in long sleeves and long pants (the latter because I still have a dog bite on my leg. I will let you know when this is no longer the case). So last night I lay in bed thinking about cellulitis. Or maybe it’s the first symptoms of rabies? I do, after all, have a dog bite on my leg.


I dreamed I was an expensive hooker. I had a mink coat and everything (although, in all honesty, the mink coat was a hand-me-down from a previous resident of said house of ill-repute). But I left the house to meet a client, wearing my football-jersey-type orange shirt with white sleeves, and a glass bead necklace. A co-worker said something catty to the effect of, “Way to look high-class!” and I said, “I don’t have to dress up.” An odd thing for the owner of a mink coat to say.