First was when I passed a bicycle lying next to a busy road with not much of a shoulder, next to a steep incline. Probably it had fallen off the back of someone’s car, but possibly a rider had been clipped by a passing car and tumbled down the hill. Hemmed and hawed a bit about calling 911 over a “maybe” accident, but finally pulled over and called.
Second time, I was in my apartment when I heard what I was pretty sure were gunshots coming from the parking lot. Turns out half the apartment complex had called it in before me. Never learned what that was about. About ten minutes later, I saw a bunch of cops in the parking lot of the shopping center across the road, so it must have been coming from there, not my parking lot.
Last one was actually personal. I was sitting in my home, messing around on my computer, when I heard voices outside my window. I glanced up and saw someone standing there with a flashlight. I said something clever and witty, like, “Uh… hello?” They looked up, clearly startled, then booked it back to an unmarked white van where he had a driver waiting, and split. Called 911, and a police officer showed up about fifteen minutes later. We walked around where he had been standing, she said to call back if I saw the van again, and that was that. Later found out that someone had been going around stealing potted plants from peoples front yards, and reselling them to nurseries, so it was probably that.
I voted, no, but then I realized I might have done so, once. I called the police, anyway. I do not recall how I called them. This was during a short, scary, and wonderful period where I lived on my own on the third floor of an apartment building. I was in a really chipper/hyper mood one day and talked a lot with this one guy called Jeremy. He thought I was flirting with him and asked me out on my first date. (Those words still make me feel really weird.) I said, okay, if he would go to church with me because I was an extremely brainwashed xtian at the time. He agreed, so we went to sizzler together one day, and then to church another. He let me borrow a movie. I think it may have either been part of the Dune series or something similar to it. I told my dad about it on the phone and he told me it was one of the worst movies ever (like wicked/vile/sinful) so I gave it back to the guy without watching and told him I couldn’t go out with him anymore.
He was either really mad, hurt, or confused I’m not sure which, but he showed up at my apartment one day after work and banged on my front door. I didn’t want to talk to him. Had no idea what to say, and he look on his face scared me. (I had a little peephole on my door that I could look out) So I stayed really quiet and pretended I wasn’t home. But he didn’t give up and he sat out there on the stairs for about three hours, getting up every once in a while to bang on my door some more.
I called the police at some point, and I saw them when they arrived through my bedroom window. saw them talking to him and then he left. I lived right around the corner from the police station, so they didn’t have to go very far. I walked to work at 3 am, and I was always glad that I had to walk past it on my way. I felt a lot safer around police back then because I was ignorant about the world a lot more.
Another time, my dad should have called 911, but he called his daughter-in-law, instead. We were staying at her Grandmother’s house for a few weeks. Grandma was in her early 80s, and one day my dad got up and found her dead in her recliner. She had gotten up super early, sat down to put on her socks and died instantly. The police and an ambulance and a fire truck all arrived after either my ex-sis-in-law or her dad did call 911.
I voted no, even though I dialed 911 by accident. It was in the middle of the night and the prefix of the person I intended to call was 922. (this was before I always dial area code)
One time when I was at work my now ex-wife was home with the babies. My oldest daughter was verbal very early and too smart for her own good. She was probably not quite 3 at the time. The ex hears from the living room “The Bad Boys are here! The Bad Boys are here!” She goes into the room and sees the local cops walking towards the door. My daughter called 911 because she “Wanted to see the Bad Boys.” After that we made sure COPS wasn’t on tv when she was awake.
Apparently it didn’t matter that I had the uniform, car and all the rest of the cop flair, I wasn’t a Bad Boy I was just Daddy.
Somewhat amusingly, my wife called it several years ago without meaning to. She meant to dial 411 but realized that she had miskeyed so she just hung up when she heard someone answer. Being Irish, the emergency number stuck in her head is 999, not 911 so she thought nothing of it.
Fast forward ten minutes. Someone knocks on our apartment door: a policeman. Our city’s 911 system automatically dispatches a callout if someone calls 911 and hangs up. Plus, the dispatcher caught a fragment of a woman’s voice (my wife, just as she was hanging up, probably saying ‘oops’ or something) which raised an additional red flag.
Officer politely asks if everything’s ok. I have no idea why he’s here. Long story short, he’s not leaving until my wife assures him she’s fine. Minor hitch: she’s in the back bathroom and can’t immediately come to the door.
Thank heavens he was a patient and understanding policeman.
In their final years my parents subscribed to a service for medical emergencies, aimed at older people like them. They wore a pendant around their necks, with a big red call button. We had some false calls when they pressed the button accidentally, but it was used several times, mainly after a fall. We were told to summon help if either of them fell, and leave it to the paramedics. We were also told that it was quicker to summon help this way to than by making a normal 999/112 emergency call, since for a start the address was known.
Otherwise, just once, to summon the police to report a break-in when I was in Germany.
Twice. Both times because I needed the fire department.
Once to report a literal dumpster fire.
Once when the idiots who installed my stove forgot they needed to connect both ends of the gas hose. (As soon as the stove was installed, I left to do some errands, when I got back, my apartment was full of gas.)
