John the Dispatcher

There was a dispatcher from the town where I worked. His name was John. He knew I had a problem.

I pulled out of the school parking lot and I stopped at a stop sign. All of a sudden there were flames and smoke coming from the engine of the brand new dump truck which belonged to the town. I stopped the truck, opened the hood, and flames came out. I jumped back in the truck and called John, the dispatcher, whose number was 905. I was so nervous, instead of calling 905, I called 203, which was the number of my vehicle. John called back and said, “Bruce, are you trying to get a hold of me?” I said, “Yes, my vehicle is on fire!” I couldn’t read the street sign to give him my location, so I told him I was about two blocks away from Smith School.

While I was talking to John, the speaker from the radio caught on fire! I could hear him talking to me, but I couldn’t speak because the flames were coming out of the floorboard and dashboard. I jumped out and ran to the passenger side of the truck and opened the glove compartment. It was hot! I pulled out papers and keys to all the town buildings. Then I stopped traffic and kept people away.

When the fire department came, they had gone someplace else first because I had given the wrong location. John, the dispatcher, straightened them out.

BM
12/09