An Exercise in Insanity

While walking through the Hillsborough County 911 call center a bewildered woman asked the question we all were waiting for: "someone stole your plants?"

Of course, she was an operator. The stolen plants? Those belonged to the caller. A classmate quickly asked: Is that for real or are you just doing that because we are here?

Well, I stopped listening to what our guide, Harold Lloyd, was telling us and tuned in to the background conversation. It went on for about three minutes. Then, the operator put down the phone with a heavy sigh and let out a baffled laugh. It was real.

That was by no means the climax of our tour.

The crux of the day, if anyone missed it, was the freaking computer setup. Don't mistake my very deliberate adjective. Those consoles could nuke nations. Nay, destroy the very fabric of reality. In wartime, generals would wrap those flat screens around their head, red alert's blaring, arbitrarily selecting locations with satellite imagery to destroy with wanton delight. Not unlike our fancifully mustached guide pinpointing Nelson's home. The pants-tightening luminosity of that call center will haunt and tantalize my dreams forever.

All joking aside. We saw today why Tampa has a 7% sales tax. Their prime real estate is mere feet from Mema's Alaskan Tacos. Also, they staff 130 deputies in patrol cars, 20 short of their mandate. With 10 to 12 operators - addressing issues like stolen orchids - they cover 900 square miles of Hillsborough County.

Perhaps they need the money. "60,000 people a year get booked in Tampa," according to J.D. Callaway, explaining why the Sheriff's office discriminates in what arrest information they release to the public. That creates mountains of paperwork. So much so that information is limited to three record's requests a day, or what Callaway called, "the most access anywhere in the country, that I know of."

To be fair, it is a lot of access. The only exemptions to public records are police and firefighters, their addresses and photos are withheld. A simple request and leisurely wait gets you almost anything you want, though if you want them you may have to go to the courthouse, city jail, or somewhere else entirely.

The roll call room, our first gaze into the world of nuclear control reminiscent of Dr. Strangelove, is where Harold Lloyd mentioned that the operators work 12-hour shifts. It must be maddening and exciting. An emotional 'musical chairs' affair perhaps? Or a Mad Hatter tea party? Everybody change places!