Filipinos are very familiar with 911 because of the tv show which ran for many years on, if I remember correctly, Channel 9 on Sunday evenings. That is why around my third month here in the US, when a car accident happened near the park by Evanston beach where I was doing my afternoon run, a woman with a phone here in her ear asked me urgently if I knew the name of the streets of the accident. I could only shrug my shoulders wishing I could be of help, when another woman hurriedly approached the phone woman, "are you calling 911?" and supplied her the street names when she got an affirmative response.

That was my first 911 experience. It left me feeling that I just stepped inside the tv screen and was a bystander to situations I have watched being played out in many episodes.

The second was about a month after that when Tom and I were on our way out of Dominick's Supermarket when I saw the bagger with a pinched expression on his face, walking in an odd gait towards us. I could immediately sense that there was something wrong with him when all of the sudden he toppled over, thankfully, to another bagger near him. He was having an epileptic seizure and the cashier ran to the manager's booth, telling them to call 911.

Tom and I bumped into friend outside the exit and chatted with him for a couple of minutes when we heard sirens. Screeching to a stop in the parking lot was an ambulance and a fire engine. I will soon find out later that these two vehicles always seem to come together.

As another filipina Cielito would say, who lives in the heart of downtown Chicago, sirens are a constant daily lullaby. When I was still waiting for my work permit and stuck inside the house I swear I would hear sirens 3 times a day, everyday. Maybe because around 3 blocks down south of where we live is a halfway-house (a rehabilitation center where people who have left an institution, such as a "mental" hospital or prison, are helped to readjust to the outside world). Words in quotes mine, as this applies more to the residents of the said building rather than the one I crossed out.

I almost had a firsthand experience with 911 too. One Friday night on my first Lenten season here, I came home from a favorite eat-all-you-can fish and chips pub and grill feeling funny/sick. We had to walk to the condo with me doubled up in pain. As soon as we reached the condo I blacked out 3 times. In between bouts of consciousness I heard Tom asking me if he should call 911. The thought of all these strangers making a fuss and assisting me on a very personal business inside the bathroom (not mention the possibility of a tv camera following us, har-har) was all it took to for me to vehemently shake my head. I was convinced that this food poisoning can be eliminated and flushed out (puns intended) by myself. After a couple of hours and several trips to the john, I was fine albeit with a tender stomach for the next couple of days.

I knock on wood in the hope that that would be the closest Tom and I will get to calling 911. Although it is reassuring to know that help are just 3 digits (and is said an average of 9 minutes) away.

Currently listening to: Madonna's "Confessions On The Dance Floor"
Currently reading: The Prize Winner Of Defiance, Ohio
Currently watching: Swingers (Vince Vaughn)