You pick up the nearby phone which, of course, has a rotary dial. Even more annoying is the fact that there is a sheet of paper next to it explaining the complex set of numbers you have to dial just to get an outside line. Pretty bizarre considering this place isn't an office. After dialing the long string of numbers which takes up a good 5 minutes of your time - 5 minutes during which you could've easily been axed to death into a million bloody little pieces had this been a more serious emergency - you finally reach and outside line and dial those infamous numbers: 9... 1... 1...

*ring*

*ring*

*ring*

"Hello 911, what is your emergency?"

"Oh thank god! I want to report a..."

"Please hold."

You are placed on hold for a good fifteen minutes, though it feels like hours given your heightened state of sissified panic. To add insult to injury, you're forced to listen to Yanni's greatest hits while on hold. Up until this point, you weren't even aware that Yanni HAD any "hits", but sure enough, you're listening to him play the shit out of that pan flute on the other end of the line. Just as you're about to burst out screaming, somebody picks up.

"Hello 911, what is your emergency?"

"It's about time!! Look, there's an intruder in the house and I..."

"Sir, there's no need to take that tone of voice with me."

"W-what!?"

"We're doing our best to help you and everybody else who calls sir, there's really no need to raise your voice."

"Will you please shut up! What if I was being stabbed right this moment? Would you be giving me a lecture on phone etiquette still!?"

"You're being stabbed?"

"No, I was just giving you an example of..."

"Let me patch you through to our homicide division."

"No! Wait!"

*click*

Once again, you're placed on hold with only Yanni and his motherfucking pan flute to keep you company. You're now breathing extremely heavy, sweating with anger, and your face has turned so bright red it's downright cartoonish. What's not so cartoonish is the rage-driven heart attack you've just given yourself.

You collapse to the floor, clutching your chest, when you hear the phone operator pick up.

"Sir, is it true you're being stabbed?"

You try to speak, but the crushing pressure on your chest is just too much. As you steadily drift into an eternal unconsciousness, the last thing you hear is the voice of the 911 operator...

"Sir, we really don't appreciate prank phone calls here. You're wasting our time when we could be helping somebody with a REAL emergency. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? GOOD! START OVER!