In the magical Kingdom of Dysfunction, we peons and serfs have to perform this ridiculous duty every five to six weeks where we man the phone for the wider organization. It's ridiculous in that one day you may get a doctor to answer and your need is for a mechanic or you get a musician and you need something scientific. No amount of reason or logic with work on the higher ups and this duty is some sort of sacred cow. So, today was my day, but it was quiet. However, it always reminds me of past stupid days.

On my days, I normally get calls about aircraft parts, scheduling, maintenance, aviation charts and weather, but I frequently get calls meant for mental health professionals. A man with Schizophrenia wanted me to resolve his landlord dispute. Another wanted me to do something about his in laws that were eating his organs. Yet another wanted me to stop the voices in his head and convince his girlfriend to remove the TRO. I wonder if they think that it's the crisis hotline, which I always refer them to. Still, many of them just want to chew my ear off and won't take no for an answer. If I'm not busy, I try to swap out my pilot cap for my dusty old counselor hat and listen. But sometimes I get swamped with my real job and I get impatient when the person won't stop talking and thinks that I'm the one to resolve their issue.

It usually goes something like this, "Look, I really can't help you. I told you to call this number for the crisis hotline. No...no, I can't help you, they can. Look, if it involves flying I can help you, but I can't get your inlaws to give you your heart back after they ate it. And no, I can't listen to you all day. You need to call this number..."

Anyhow, minor gripe.