It's all in the name

Over at the One-Minute Writer, C. Beth's prompt was "Write about a time you had to call the police or other emergency services."

Thankfully, I've never had to call emergency services for a real emergency.
I have called once, however, to prevent a disaster.

I used to live in an apartment located on a side street that overlooked Wilson Avenue. Being on the eighth floor, I could hear some noise from the traffic below, but not much.

One day, I could hear tires squealing. Not an unknown occurrence, but it was happening frequently, and with somewhat of a pattern, so I went out onto the balcony to see what was going on; assuming it was teenagers out for a joy ride in daddy's car.

What I saw shocked me.

Some crazed lunatic was driving at breakneck speed around the block that surrounded my building . I couldn't see him the entire time, but I could hear him as he squealed around the corners. He was driving up Pleasant Home, across Victory, down Agate then -- without stopping -- onto Wilson Avenue, which is a busy four-lane road. Cars on Wilson Avenue were careening out of his way as he sped into traffic.

I called 911 to tell them about this maniac, because I figured it was just a matter of time before he caused an accident.

I talked to the nice lady who answered the phone and gave her some details. She took my name and number, thanking me, and told me someone may call later to follow up.

I didn't hear anything until much later that evening.
The phone rings.

"Hello?"
"Is this Mo?"
"Yes."
"This is PC Crook from 12 Division. You called about a reckless driver."

I paused to digest what he just said.
Did he actually just introduce himself as Police Constable Crook?
For real?

And before I could help myself ...

"Bwhaahaahaa! You're kidding, right?!"

There's a moment's silence on the line, then he drawls, clearly not impressed,

"Dooooon't eeeeven ..."

Poor bugger.