This is an actual conversation I just had with a dispatcher for the Gulfport Police Department:
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| <Insert joke here> |
Dispatcher Nancy: “This is Nancy. This is a recorded line…”
Me: “Hi, My name is Cathy. I’m in Gulfport. Can you have the Gulfport patrol sergeant call me?”
Dispatcher Nancy: “Certainly. And what is this about?”
Me: “About a pig one of the officers lassoed this morning.”
Dispatcher Nancy: “OK, what’s your number?”
Me: “Yeah, because that’s a totally normal request.”
I gave her my number, but the point is here, Florida – and of course, by extension, Gulfport – has to be pretty high up there on “regular everyday weirdness” if that request didn’t even make her break stride.
If you’re just stopping in this blog from somewhere else, like New York or Chicago, please know that we are in no way an agricultural community, unless you count the chickens.
Also, if you think I’m making any of this up for effect, I’m not. I don’t have to. I live in Gulfport. Don’t believe me? Read the full story here.
