So, as I may have already made plain, a long, long time ago, and very far away, I was a medic for Da City. At that time, let us be generous, resources were poorly matched to demand. This was evident in every arena, from 30 minute EMS response times, to fire responses by engine companies several first alarm districts away, to police response hours after the call originated. Even the “Public Safety Answering Point” was over taxed, and under resourced.
On one occasion, I had need to call 911, myself. Imagine my surprise when the answer was a recorded message that stated, as nearly as I can recall, “You have reached the 9-1-1 emergency center. Please stay on the line! All of our operators are busy answering other calls. Your call will be answered.” Even more disturbing, this message replayed on a, seemingly, endless loop, auguring ill for the likelihood of a prompt response.
So, fast forward a couple of years. Poor Mallory, in a fit of bad judgment, had moved in with me in my house in Da City. She lived with me for several years, all the more remarkable when you consider how difficult it must have been to live with me (ask The Plaintiff!), layered upon the fact that Mallory was an exceedingly nice woman, from the suburbs of Da City. She appeared to grow accustomed to my habit of arming myself in my own home, for I had seen the results wreaked upon folks who had not done so, and had found it unappealing.
So, this was in the era of rotary dial phones, and tape home answering machines. A rotary dial phone is kind of like a cell phone, except that it did not cost you around $100/month, did not have an answering service built in, had no internet access (“Internet? What is this ‘internet’?”), and had no “apps” with which to clutter it’s screen, In fact, a rotary dial phone had no screen, simply a rotary dial (cleverly named, no?) which, when spun, turned back to the starting position and emitted a series of clicks, that by some Black Art, allowed The Phone Company (for, in these misty past times, there was only one Phone Company) to connect you with other people, with whom you could talk (kind of like texting, with annoying sounds, emotional subtleties and intonation thrown in).
This “answering machine” of which I speak, allowed the user to record a personalized message, enticing the caller to leave a message so you could know to phone them back.
Being a sarcastic sort, I recorded the following message on my personal home telephone answering machine: “You have reached the 9-1-1 emergency center. Please stay on the line! All of our operators are busy, answering other calls. Please leave a message at the tone. Your call will be answered….eventually……we hope.” (BEEP!)
Mallory was disturbed, to understate the thing, when she called me once and encountered my (I thought) clever message. She remonstrated with me, citing copyright violations among other concerns.
I responded, “Mallory, I really, really doubt that Da City wants to take this to court either as a criminal matter or as a lawsuit. Should they do so, be certain that I will do my level best to ensure that every single television station, radio station, and newspaper within hundreds of miles of Da City, knows of the court date, and is enthusiastically invited to show up. How do you suppose Da City will appear, with their transcript read aloud, under oath, in open court, against my parody thereof? That might be very, very entertaining!”
Besides the merriment it caused me, that message also had the not inconsiderable benefit of dissuading telemarketers from bothering me!