Natalie Wright, P.C.
/* Style Definitions */
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
felt tears well in her eyes. What should she do? What had my dad said? Why hadn’t I paid closer attention? There was
something about getting the driver’s insurance information. But that would
require her to get out of the car. Fat
the cops. Yes, she was supposed to make a report. That she could do. She didn’t
need to leave the safety of her car to dial.
fingers shook as she pressed the three numbers, 911. She put the phone to her
ear and heard it ring three times, then five, and six. Isn’t anyone going to pick up? I have an emergency here!
an operator came on the line.
what’s your emergency,” he said. The operator sounded as bored with his job as
she was with folding clothes at her job.
was just in a car wreck,” she said.
and half of L.A. Welcome to the club,” he said.
didn’t know what to say to that. He
doesn’t even seem to care!
she finally said. “That’s great, but I really need a cop to come here and
your location?” the operator asked.
. . .” What’s my location? She hadn’t
paid attention to street signs as she texted and listened to music and
otherwise tried as best she could to pass the time in the traffic jam without
being bored out of her skull. She looked up and around for exit signs or other
markers, but she was in a spot without any signs. Shit, I don’t know where I am.
not sure exactly. I’m on the 405 between Culver Boulevard and Santa Monica
the hell am I supposed to dispatch someone to you when you don’t even know
where you are?”