“729, 211,” the dispatcher said as she called us for a crash.

“729,” I repeated back.

“729, 211. 902T, 2900 W. Lost Street. One vehicle is in front of the apartment complex.” (I made the Lost Street name up)

“729, 10-4.”

Here’s the problem. I wasn’t paying attention to what she said. I was going 40 mph with both windows down when the call went out. For some reason I thought she sent me to 2900 “East” Lost Street.

I was in the northern end of the city so I jumped on the freeway and headed eastbound. I took another freeway and went southbound, which put me in the “correct” location in less than five minutes.

I must’ve been day dreaming because I pulled up to the apartment complex at 2400 E. Lost Street for some reason. I don’t know what I was thinking.

There were no crashed cars there so I asked the dispatcher to do a recall. I parked and waited.

After a few minutes, the dispatcher came back on the radio and told me the RP (reporting party) was still waiting at the location.

I glanced up at the apartment complex and realized I was in the wrong spot. I typed a quick message to the dispatcher, telling her what I had done. I also said, “By the way, they’re not here either.”

I hauled butt to 2900 E. Lost Street and still couldn’t find them. What the heck? That’s when I paid attention to the call on my computer screen for the first time. Oops!!!

No wonder they weren’t there. The call was at 2900 West Lost Street. My GPS must’ve looked hilarious on the dispatcher’s screen going in all different directions.

After I finally pulled my head out of my ass, I was able to find the correct location on the other end of the city. Of course, it seemed like I got every red light on the way there. Oh well. What can you do?

It’s not the first time I went the wrong way and it certainly won’t be the last… You just have to be able to laugh at yourself.

S%#t happens.