In 34 years, I've never had to call 911. Never. I've had them called on me, but never had to call them for someone else.
I live in what is considered "the beginning of the desert". On a hill, in a farm town. This is, redneck town in Los Angeles. There is a lot of brush and empty space that separates one house from another. Acreage is our friend, except during fire season.
As I was exiting the freeway late last night, I saw a box truck pulled off to the side of the road, on fire. The entire cab was engulfed in flames, while two men tried feverishly to throw dirt on the flames. As I drove past, I couldn't help but think about the kind of damage that would result from the gasoline in that truck exploding.
I pulled over, called 911, and told them where I was. Within two minutes, a helicopter was hovering over with a spotlight.
The emergency operator told me not to stay at the scene in case something bad happened, so I pulled away slowly as I watched in my rear view mirror.
I could hear helicopters hovering for a while after I'd gotten home, but they eventually stopped.
I sure hope nobody was hurt. I drove by the area this morning, but I couldn't see any sign that there was a truck on fire. Obviously it didn't create a hill fire or take out the homes nearby, so I'm grateful for that.
I'd like to think I saved someone from danger, but who knows.
Happy Saturday, folks!