Bizarre emergency calls to the police
THE operator sighed before advising: “You have rang the police, Sir. The events described in this call do not constitute a criminal offence.”
I looked again at the Wagons Wheel biscuit and blurted angrily: “But they used to be so much bigger. And the chocolate was really thick.
“Seriously,” I pleaded, “someone needs to look into this.”
“The size of your biscuit,” sniffed the woman, “is not a matter for police and, therefore, this constitutes an inappropriate use of our 101 call system.”
“You’re going to let them get away with this?” I stammered. “Goodbye, Sir.” “And have you tasted Cadbury Creme Eggs, they...,” I managed to stammer before the phone purred.
Was I alone in reading the recent bombshell about the bizarre, trivial calls fielded by our thin blue line and feeling a tad uncomfortable? Was I the only one to devour news of the complaints about haircuts, wasps and dog mess and become hot with embarrassment?
Was I so wrong in lodging a complaint about my neighbour’s gaudy
Hawaiian shirt, which was clearly not in keeping with the street-scene? To pull that fashion statement off, you really needed an erupting volcano.
And if that builder dares to again reveal the crease in his backside, I’ll have no hesitation in, once more, raising the matter with police. Perhaps, this time, not via 999.
I’ve scrutinised the catalogue of silly calls to the force’s non-emergency number and concluded some may have been dismissed too lightly.
I have a degree of sympathy for the gentleman who asked: “Hello, I’ve got a query about an ice cream van. His chimes are far too loud, they go right through the building. Is there a certain decibel they should be?”
That is a fair question. Possibly not a question for police, but a fair question.
The operator should have ascertained what metallic tune was being played before pointing the caller towards the local council. If it was a chime version of Black Lace holiday classic Agadoo, the ice cream man deserved a visit from the now defunct Serious Crime Squad.
I know the misery and damage those chimes cause. My Italian fatherin-law ran an ice-cream business and subjected one worker to five years in a van that belted out the Theme from Love Story.
He was dragged through the window of his brightly painted vehicle by a burly night-shift worker who bellowed: “Where do I begin? I begin by shoving one of those cones where the sun don’t shine.”
The ice-cream man now stumbles through streets, drooling and warbling: “Di dah di dah dee... just hurry up and die, Ali MacGraw... da dee di dah....”
The woman who reported a spider - “there’s a spider on my doorstep and it won’t budge. I can’t leave the house” - received similar short shrift. Presumably, officers advised her to look it up on the web. Other callers complained: • Why does Tesco answer my phone when I’ve rung my daughter’s house?
• Can you give me a lift home – I seem to have mislaid my shoes tonight?
• I’m at the balloon festival and there’s something strange in the sky!
• I want to report my hairdresser – she’s left me looking terrible.
A police spokesman said: “If you are genuinely in doubt over what to do then, of course, we are here to help.”
That, I fear, is a serious own goal. I’m “genuinely in doubt” over how to make a Victorian sponge cake. Should I ring the police?
He added: “All we ask is for members of the public to take that little extra time over whether their issue warrants a call to police.”
One time-wasting call was made by an expectant father. Flustered, he bellowed down the line: “Please help, my wife is having contractions. Her waters have broken. I think she’s going to give birth any minute.”
“Just calm down, Sir,” said the voice on the other end of the phone, “your wife will be fine. Now tell me, is this her first child?”
“No, it’s her husband,” said the flustered caller. “Her first child’s only three.”