That Feel When You Gotta Call 911 on Yourself

Stephanie Georgopulos
8 min readNov 26, 2020
simpleinsomnia

I’m a big fan of 911. As a kid, I watched Rescue 911 religiously. When my little sister shoved a Lite-Brite peg into the depths of her nasal passage, my first responder six-year-old ass had the phone off the cradle and the 9–1 dialed before my mom could say “tweezers.” If I see a person laying face-down on the street — or anywhere people typically don’t choose to lay face-down — I’m calling 911. If you’re driving like you’re drunk, an asshole, or a drunk asshole, you better hope I’m not on the road that day. Because if I am? You know who I’m gonna call. (No, not Ghostbusters. 911.)

I don’t know CPR, self-defense, regular defense, or anything else that would render me useful in an emergency (I do, however, own an impressive assortment of Band-Aids). Thing is, I can’t just ignore an emergency, either. Having lived most of my life in big cities, I’ve learned there are times it’s best to mind your own business, and there are other, glaringly obvious times when you need to call in reinforcements. I’ve only called 911 five times, and I have a visceral memory of every situation that warranted it, as they were all fucking terrifying in their own special way. Like the time I watched an older, probably-drunk man take a few stumbling steps down the sidewalk before cracking his head open on a black iron gate (the kind with the pointy tips), followed by the reddest blood I’ve ever seen covering the whole of his white dome. I’m not talking blood-red, either — this was a primary color situation. In moments like that, I don’t have to think twice about what to do. A 911 emergency is like porn, in that way — you know it when you see it.

At least, it works that way when it comes to other people’s emergencies. As I learned yesterday, identifying one’s own emergencies is not nearly so straight-forward.

Ever done cocaine?

…Me neither. I’ve heard mixed reviews. Anyway, cocaine has nothing to do with my story — just the drip part. On Election Night, I was watching the results come in (outdoors, on a projector, with my pod) when I started to feel an odd sensation. One minute, I was eating a slice of pizza; the next, it felt as though the pizza was uh… inside of my face? Perhaps in my sinuses? I don’t know how these things work. The best way to describe it is, it did not feel like I had chewed…

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Stephanie Georgopulos

creator & former editor-in-chief of human parts. west coast good witch. student of people. find me: stephgeorgopulos.com