I spent 19 years working at Kodak. The last ten were working as an employment law paralegal. I'd earned a degree taking night courses at a local college. When January 2009 came, and I knew I'd be laid off, I assumed--something never safe to do--that I'd be employable.
I contacted all the lawfirms Kodak dealt with and explained that due to the on-going downsizings, I'd been let go and would love to work at SAID firm. Got a lot of responses. Positive ones. But no interviews. Next, I contacted other law firms, certain someone in the city had to be hiring. My resume was polished, and I knew it was just a matter of time before I received a call from one of them.
Fortunately Kodak offered a wonderful severence package. Two-weeks pay for each year of service, and free health benefits for the first four months. By April, when the benefits expired, and I still didn't have a job, I began to panic.
The hiring process at 9-1-1 was underway, but if you read previous blogs you'll see it moved along slowly. Fortunately, my severence pay ended at the end of September. My job with 9-1-1 started at the end of October. I planned for this, and set aside as much money each week as possible, knowing I'd need a bit of a nest egg to get me through 6 weeks without a check.
I can honestly say that I drove on fumes until my first city paycheck.
In class, a lot of the training revolved around a central topic: Things You Should Not Do If You Want To Keep Your Job.
The list was extensive. Each example was filled with more examples of how employment terminated over the years.
No cell phones on the operations floor.
Problem here is simple. If an operator gets a call that requires police need to be dispatched. Let's say the operator knows the suspect the police are looking for. The natural response of the operator might be to text the "suspect" and warn them. Think about it. It could happen.
Cell phones are also a distraction. Face it. People can't drive to the corner store without texting while at the wheel. With emergency calls coming in, operators need to be focused. A cell phone is clearly a distraction. Texting might keep an operator from answering a call immediately, or might tempt an operator to multi-task -- and what I mean by that is: Listen to the caller, type in the information, all while thumbing a text to a girlfriend. Hmmm. Seems like an easy way to make a serious mistake.
No sharing confidential information.
Should be self explanatory, right? It's been told that employees have been terminated for talking outside of work. Sharing specifics about calls taken during a shift. Might seem innocent enough. The way I hear it, someone was talking about a call in a diner or something. They said the name or address of a call they'd taken, and then openly mocked the caller. Problem here? Couple in the booth behind them knew the caller. Word got back that a 9-1-1 operator was blabbing their business in public. Call was made to the office. Complaint filed. Employee ... gone.
The computers at 9-1-1 allow operators and dispatchers access to information "civilians" wouldn't have access to. Warrant databanks, criminal records, medical information. You get caught taking that information off the operations floor and out of the facility at night, you might as well keep walking. No sense coming back to work. Sounds crazy, but apparently, it's happened. And sometimes, criminal charges have been filed against the 9-1-1 employee.
Customer service is key.
What is 9-1-1 but a glorified call-center? We provide customer service to the public. Instead of complaints surrounding ill-tempered cable problems, or computer malfunctions ... we're sending police, fire or ambulances ... so maybe "glorified" is too simplistic.
Bottom line still applies. The caller is the customer. Treat them with respect. It's important to always remember that they are calling 9-1-1 during a crisis in their life. This means they may be irrational, mean, or hysterical. They may not treat the operator with respect. In fact, they more than likely won't treat the operator with respect. Regardless, it is our job to calm them, gather information, and get help out as quickly as possible.
What this means? No hanging up on the caller.
Uh-huh. Got it.
Welcome probie.
My bad. In earlier blogs I kept referring to myself as a trainee. Wrong term. We're probies. Us new people. (Prohbational employees). The title sticks until certification. Cerftification comes roughly eight months out. Our job as probies -- keep your head down, your mouth shut, and your ears open.
9-1-1 is like any place of employment. Different personalities abound. Clicks for one kind of group here, clicks for another, there. Probies should avoid getting caught up in the drama. Our role is to learn. Study. Ask meaningful questions. Keep the nose clean. Focus on the job.
Apparently it's easy to get sucked in. Tough thing is, if you require additional training supervisors and employees are either going to say the probie's been working hard, and studying, or the probie's been goofing around and not concentrating on the task of learning. If you fall into the latter, come certification time that could be the difference between getting extra help, or being let go.
There are more examples of what one can fo to get fired ... and I am certain more examples will appear in future blogs. But for right now, without giving myself a panic attack, I am going to stop.
I get the rules. I've heard them repeated more than once, by more than one person.
I know what needs doing, and plan to work to get done what needs getting done ...
******Be sure to stop in often to read more of this blog********
Thomas Phillips
Author of The Molech Prophecy and 2010 release of Convicted
Showing posts with label police. Show all posts
Showing posts with label police. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
First Police Ride-Along
It's one thing to take 9-1-1 calls and send police out on a job, and quite another to be the police sent to respond. Part of the five-week training program was to participate in three police ride-alongs. Spending a full eight-hour shift in a squad car, partnered up with the county's finest.
This particular 9-1-1 call center is responsible for dispatching city police, sheriff's who cover the county and some surrounded suburban towns, town police departments, as well as state police. I've read articles and heard talk that sometimes relationships between police and dispatchers is sometimes strained. (Read an article about this: The "love/hate relationship between cops and their dispatchers). Tempers flare on both sides of the radio. One side worries not enough information is being provided, the other thinks too much is coming across. One side is hard to understand, the other is timid about asking to have information repeated. But lets face it, although different, high-stress clearly can exist on either/both sides of the radio.
The purpose of ride-alongs is two-fold. First, it allows us at 9-1-1 the opportunity to see how things work on the other end of the radio, and to see "our" information in action on the MDTs (Mobile Data Terminal--the mini computers affixed inside patrol cars). And second, to help establish, build and maintain a sense of unity between the two departments. After all we're one team, working together to make the communities safe, right? Of course right.
As a writer, I've developed relationships with police officers. When I write crime novels, even though they are fiction, I know my fiction needs to be factual. In addition, a close friend of mine is an officer with the city police. When I found out I was going on a ride-along, naturally, I contacted her. Although she had a foot patrol downtown, she assured me I could ride ... get this ... shotgun with her fiance.
On Friday we trainees were not to report to 9-1-1 for classroom training. Instead, we'd report to our prospective police departments. I choose to do an 8:00 AM to 4:00 PM shift. This is referred to as 2nd Platoon.
I met my officer, we'll call him Hank, at 7:30 AM. Roll call started at 7:45.
Just like Hill Street Blues, the city officers met in a large room. Tables and chairs filled quickly. I sat in back. Didn't want to be in the way. I listened to roll call with great interest. Sergants announced areas of the city that required special attention. Groups that needed looking in on. And on policies that had been revised.
Once assigned a squad car, and after Hank gathered up his gear, we started out on patrol. Sort of.
First stop, Dunkin Donuts. Like to say I'm kidding. I'm not. Hank swore it was not a sterotype since he wasn't getting a donut or coffee, but a bagel and juice. Suppose he's right. Thankfully, we were not alone. Four other officers joined us. One, newer to the force, had a lady from my class as his ride-along.
After breakfast, we hit the road. Hank explained the boundaries of his beat. We cruised the street. He pointed out prostitutes, and assured me every time we passed by the same ladies would be out, walking up and down the sidewalk. (And each time we passed by, the same ladies would be out, walking up and down the sidewalk -- for the full eight hour shift. Hmmm).
Hank, a young guy, had been a police officer for just over five years. He had nearly completed his MBA. He planned to leave the force soon in order to work a desk job. Being a cop was something he always wanted to do. Knew if he didn't try, he'd always wonder if he'd of had what it takes, all the while knowing his career was headed toward a shirt and tie future.
First call we get is a missing person call. We head to a residence. Woman meets us outside. Hank and I exit the car. Thing is, he's dressed in a uniform. I'm in dress pants, dress shirt. Who does the lady talk to? Me. I look like I'm Hank's supervisor or something. I keep my mouth shut. Nod appropriately. Basically, just listen. Hank's smiling, knows what's going on. He's getting down the info, and just about the time I'm about to act the role of captain and say something, he takes over. Back in the car, he laughs, tells me he knew that would happen, her thinking I'm the authority.
Funny thing is, happened on every call. And Hank allowed it. I just wish I had a pen and clipboard or something. Look more official, you know?
We went lights and sirens once. Drove at some top speeds. By the time we arrived where we were headed, the call had been handled. Didn't matter to me. I just appreciated the thrill of it all. It had been a suspected burglary in progress. Turns out the burglary already occurred. The home owner rented out a place. While vacant, someone had broken in and ripped out all the copper plumbing.
At the end of the shift, I had a better appreciation for what officers do. Always respected them, their work, their stress. Seeing it first hand made it more real, authentic.
I knew one thing for sure, I was already looking forward to the second ride-along, which was scheduled for two weeks later.
And I learned that officers appreciate as much information as possible from dispatch, as well as being given the opportunity to have back-up accompany them. They don't want it, they'll refuse. But the opportunity for it is important.
*****Be Sure To Stop Back Often, Or Click To Follow This Blog******
Thomas Phillips,
Author of The Molech Prophecy and 2010 release of Convicted
This particular 9-1-1 call center is responsible for dispatching city police, sheriff's who cover the county and some surrounded suburban towns, town police departments, as well as state police. I've read articles and heard talk that sometimes relationships between police and dispatchers is sometimes strained. (Read an article about this: The "love/hate relationship between cops and their dispatchers). Tempers flare on both sides of the radio. One side worries not enough information is being provided, the other thinks too much is coming across. One side is hard to understand, the other is timid about asking to have information repeated. But lets face it, although different, high-stress clearly can exist on either/both sides of the radio.
The purpose of ride-alongs is two-fold. First, it allows us at 9-1-1 the opportunity to see how things work on the other end of the radio, and to see "our" information in action on the MDTs (Mobile Data Terminal--the mini computers affixed inside patrol cars). And second, to help establish, build and maintain a sense of unity between the two departments. After all we're one team, working together to make the communities safe, right? Of course right.
As a writer, I've developed relationships with police officers. When I write crime novels, even though they are fiction, I know my fiction needs to be factual. In addition, a close friend of mine is an officer with the city police. When I found out I was going on a ride-along, naturally, I contacted her. Although she had a foot patrol downtown, she assured me I could ride ... get this ... shotgun with her fiance.
On Friday we trainees were not to report to 9-1-1 for classroom training. Instead, we'd report to our prospective police departments. I choose to do an 8:00 AM to 4:00 PM shift. This is referred to as 2nd Platoon.
I met my officer, we'll call him Hank, at 7:30 AM. Roll call started at 7:45.
Just like Hill Street Blues, the city officers met in a large room. Tables and chairs filled quickly. I sat in back. Didn't want to be in the way. I listened to roll call with great interest. Sergants announced areas of the city that required special attention. Groups that needed looking in on. And on policies that had been revised.
Once assigned a squad car, and after Hank gathered up his gear, we started out on patrol. Sort of.
First stop, Dunkin Donuts. Like to say I'm kidding. I'm not. Hank swore it was not a sterotype since he wasn't getting a donut or coffee, but a bagel and juice. Suppose he's right. Thankfully, we were not alone. Four other officers joined us. One, newer to the force, had a lady from my class as his ride-along.
After breakfast, we hit the road. Hank explained the boundaries of his beat. We cruised the street. He pointed out prostitutes, and assured me every time we passed by the same ladies would be out, walking up and down the sidewalk. (And each time we passed by, the same ladies would be out, walking up and down the sidewalk -- for the full eight hour shift. Hmmm).
Hank, a young guy, had been a police officer for just over five years. He had nearly completed his MBA. He planned to leave the force soon in order to work a desk job. Being a cop was something he always wanted to do. Knew if he didn't try, he'd always wonder if he'd of had what it takes, all the while knowing his career was headed toward a shirt and tie future.
First call we get is a missing person call. We head to a residence. Woman meets us outside. Hank and I exit the car. Thing is, he's dressed in a uniform. I'm in dress pants, dress shirt. Who does the lady talk to? Me. I look like I'm Hank's supervisor or something. I keep my mouth shut. Nod appropriately. Basically, just listen. Hank's smiling, knows what's going on. He's getting down the info, and just about the time I'm about to act the role of captain and say something, he takes over. Back in the car, he laughs, tells me he knew that would happen, her thinking I'm the authority.
Funny thing is, happened on every call. And Hank allowed it. I just wish I had a pen and clipboard or something. Look more official, you know?
We went lights and sirens once. Drove at some top speeds. By the time we arrived where we were headed, the call had been handled. Didn't matter to me. I just appreciated the thrill of it all. It had been a suspected burglary in progress. Turns out the burglary already occurred. The home owner rented out a place. While vacant, someone had broken in and ripped out all the copper plumbing.
At the end of the shift, I had a better appreciation for what officers do. Always respected them, their work, their stress. Seeing it first hand made it more real, authentic.
I knew one thing for sure, I was already looking forward to the second ride-along, which was scheduled for two weeks later.
And I learned that officers appreciate as much information as possible from dispatch, as well as being given the opportunity to have back-up accompany them. They don't want it, they'll refuse. But the opportunity for it is important.
*****Be Sure To Stop Back Often, Or Click To Follow This Blog******
Thomas Phillips,
Author of The Molech Prophecy and 2010 release of Convicted
Friday, November 27, 2009
It's In The Numbers
Wednesday, October 28, 2009:
It was explained that, of 500 people who took the 9-1-1 exam, 50 were selected for interviews. Of the 50 selected, 24 were sent on to complete the physical, fingerprinting, psychological exam, and criminal background check. Of the 24 they hoped to have 12 new recruits.
On Monday morning, October 26, 2009, 7 of us showed up for work.
As a Dispatcher, the laid-out training schedule looked intense and intimidating. Five weeks of classroom training, one month taking 9-1-1 calls on the floor, three more weeks of classroom training as a dispatcher, and then three months on the floor with a dispatch trainer before I could even be considered for certification.
Two giant three ring binders and a text book sat in my place in the classroom. Of the seven, I was the only male.
Three of us were assigned to be Fire / EMS (ambulance) dispatchers, two were to become police dispatchers, and two were set to be TCC (telecommunicators--or the one's who take the initial 9-1-1 calls).
Classes were held in an exact duplicate room to that of the 9-1-1 operations floor. Only difference was, this training room was not live. In the event of an emergency (loss of power to the main operations floor, fire, or some kind of unexpected accident, the training ops room -- by the flick of a switch -- could be made live). Aside from the two operations centers in the one building, there were two other off-site locations should the main building ever become incapacitated completely.
The two operation centers were separated by a beautiful, well lit, atrium. A tree grew in the center. Branches reached up toward the massive skylight. Although there is no cafeteria, there is a full functioning kitchen with an industrial stove and microwaves, sink, dishwasher, stocked cupboards and a refrigerator.
Both the men and women locker rooms housed shower stalls and snaked through to a weight/workout room.
The main operations floor, sectioned off by bulletproof and fire resistant glass, revealed an array of work stations. TCC operators occupied the center. The left stations were for the police dispatchers. Fire/EMS sat on the right.
Big screen, flat TVs hung suspended from the ceiling and showed everyone what jobs were in cue, the job priorities, and which jobs had been dispatched.
Certified operators wore uniforms. Blue dress pants, light blue dress shirts. Silver 9-1-1 pins on each collar. A badge over the heart. Name plate on the opposite side. Trainees dressed in business casual clothing, until certified. Which meant we stuck out to everyone. And would continue to do so for roughly the next eight to nine months.
Work shifts were called Platoons. 1st platoon worked from midnight to eight; 2nd Platoon worked eight to four, and 3rd Platoon work four to midnight. I was told during the interview that, if hired, expect to work 1st or 3rd Platoon for at least seven years.
That might bother some people. Working nights or overnights takes a tole. I know. For the first six years at my previous job I worked 12-hour shifts, on a four-day rotation. Two 12-hour days, two 12-hour nights, then four days off. The body never gets used to that. You never knew if you should be having a burger, or scrambled eggs. Forget remembering what day of the week it was. Didn't matter. Just needed to remember where you were in the work cycle.
I'm divorce. Get my kids every other weekend and one day during the week. I lived for them. Live for them, still. Working the overnights suits me fine. Midnight to eights would allow me to still go to every sports practice and game, cheerleading competitions, dance recitals, and all the school functions. Four to midnight would make life much tougher. If I got any say in the matter, 1st Platoon was my first choice. The goal, if it mattered, became to shine in class with the hopes that it might allow me the opportunity to select 1st Platoon if the opportunity presented itself.
One of the three ring binders was filled with 9-1-1 procedures. As a class we were going to review every one. The other was a TCC/Dispatcher manual. And the text book was a general overview of the roles and responsibilities of being a TCC operator.
We did an around-the-room introduction. The class I was in seemed good. The people, friendly. The instructor, knowledgeable. I'd barely slept the night before. Kept checking my alarm to make sure I hadn't over slept, or mis-set the alarm. After all, I hadn't worked in nine months. Getting up on time was not an issue when you're unemployed.
I wasn't tired. I felt ready. While the 26th and 27th had been administrative days -- filling out paperwork for direct deposit, and health care, and sexual harassment and workplace violence training, today, the 28th, was the first day of actual classroom training for the new job. No. strike that. It was the first day of actual classroom training for the new career.
****Stop Back Regularly to Read Updates on Nicholas, the 9-1-1 Trainee****
Thomas Phillips,
Author of The Molech Prophecy
It was explained that, of 500 people who took the 9-1-1 exam, 50 were selected for interviews. Of the 50 selected, 24 were sent on to complete the physical, fingerprinting, psychological exam, and criminal background check. Of the 24 they hoped to have 12 new recruits.
On Monday morning, October 26, 2009, 7 of us showed up for work.
As a Dispatcher, the laid-out training schedule looked intense and intimidating. Five weeks of classroom training, one month taking 9-1-1 calls on the floor, three more weeks of classroom training as a dispatcher, and then three months on the floor with a dispatch trainer before I could even be considered for certification.
Two giant three ring binders and a text book sat in my place in the classroom. Of the seven, I was the only male.
Three of us were assigned to be Fire / EMS (ambulance) dispatchers, two were to become police dispatchers, and two were set to be TCC (telecommunicators--or the one's who take the initial 9-1-1 calls).
Classes were held in an exact duplicate room to that of the 9-1-1 operations floor. Only difference was, this training room was not live. In the event of an emergency (loss of power to the main operations floor, fire, or some kind of unexpected accident, the training ops room -- by the flick of a switch -- could be made live). Aside from the two operations centers in the one building, there were two other off-site locations should the main building ever become incapacitated completely.
The two operation centers were separated by a beautiful, well lit, atrium. A tree grew in the center. Branches reached up toward the massive skylight. Although there is no cafeteria, there is a full functioning kitchen with an industrial stove and microwaves, sink, dishwasher, stocked cupboards and a refrigerator.
Both the men and women locker rooms housed shower stalls and snaked through to a weight/workout room.
The main operations floor, sectioned off by bulletproof and fire resistant glass, revealed an array of work stations. TCC operators occupied the center. The left stations were for the police dispatchers. Fire/EMS sat on the right.
Big screen, flat TVs hung suspended from the ceiling and showed everyone what jobs were in cue, the job priorities, and which jobs had been dispatched.
Certified operators wore uniforms. Blue dress pants, light blue dress shirts. Silver 9-1-1 pins on each collar. A badge over the heart. Name plate on the opposite side. Trainees dressed in business casual clothing, until certified. Which meant we stuck out to everyone. And would continue to do so for roughly the next eight to nine months.
Work shifts were called Platoons. 1st platoon worked from midnight to eight; 2nd Platoon worked eight to four, and 3rd Platoon work four to midnight. I was told during the interview that, if hired, expect to work 1st or 3rd Platoon for at least seven years.
That might bother some people. Working nights or overnights takes a tole. I know. For the first six years at my previous job I worked 12-hour shifts, on a four-day rotation. Two 12-hour days, two 12-hour nights, then four days off. The body never gets used to that. You never knew if you should be having a burger, or scrambled eggs. Forget remembering what day of the week it was. Didn't matter. Just needed to remember where you were in the work cycle.
I'm divorce. Get my kids every other weekend and one day during the week. I lived for them. Live for them, still. Working the overnights suits me fine. Midnight to eights would allow me to still go to every sports practice and game, cheerleading competitions, dance recitals, and all the school functions. Four to midnight would make life much tougher. If I got any say in the matter, 1st Platoon was my first choice. The goal, if it mattered, became to shine in class with the hopes that it might allow me the opportunity to select 1st Platoon if the opportunity presented itself.
One of the three ring binders was filled with 9-1-1 procedures. As a class we were going to review every one. The other was a TCC/Dispatcher manual. And the text book was a general overview of the roles and responsibilities of being a TCC operator.
We did an around-the-room introduction. The class I was in seemed good. The people, friendly. The instructor, knowledgeable. I'd barely slept the night before. Kept checking my alarm to make sure I hadn't over slept, or mis-set the alarm. After all, I hadn't worked in nine months. Getting up on time was not an issue when you're unemployed.
I wasn't tired. I felt ready. While the 26th and 27th had been administrative days -- filling out paperwork for direct deposit, and health care, and sexual harassment and workplace violence training, today, the 28th, was the first day of actual classroom training for the new job. No. strike that. It was the first day of actual classroom training for the new career.
****Stop Back Regularly to Read Updates on Nicholas, the 9-1-1 Trainee****
Thomas Phillips,
Author of The Molech Prophecy
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