If I went blind tomorrow, I could walk into the office and find my way straight to my desk, no problem. It's just a matter of following the scratchy squawk emitted 24-7 by a black box bolted to the cubicle.
This is the sound of emergency dispatchers, police officers, firefighters and other brave souls throughout the region going about their lifesaving business, and as The Herald-Mail's nighttime police reporter, part of my job is to listen to it from 2 to 11 p.m., five nights a week.
I'm listening for key phrases that mean my night is about to change - things such as "shots fired," "man down" or "house fire, fully involved." Most of the time, events do not reach that level of intensity.
In actuality, most emergency communication is, from a news perspective, quite routine, and the language used is carefully formulaic and politically correct. Sometimes, though, especially late at night, a personality will slip through, or I'll just hear something odd.