Generally, we tell our kids to call 911 if they ever need help. But one child took the lesson to a completely new level!
The child was experiencing problems with his homework, so he made the decision to call for help. Since 911 was the only number he knew, he took up the phone and dialed it. Is it true that the people listed on this number are ones that need help? Indeed. I think he was right someplace, too.
The operator who was answering began asking the standard questions. Following a lengthy period of miscommunication, the operator discovered that the child truly had difficulty with math problems.
The entire phone call they had is available below. We were really amused by this and laughed a lot. The YouTube video is also available at the conclusion of the article.
Operator: emergency 911
Boy: I do require assistance.
Operator: What’s wrong?
Boy: Using my arithmetic.
Operator: Using your lips?
Boy: Not using my math. I must complete it. Are you going to assist me?
Operator: Alright. What city do you reside in?
Boy: I can’t do the math.
Operator: You’re right, I understand. But where do you live?
Boy: No, I’d rather have a phone conversation with you.
Operator: I’m not able to do it. I can dispatch another person to assist you.
Boy: Alright.
Operator: What type of math problems are you having trouble with?
Boy: These are my takeaways.
Operator: You must complete the takeaways, I see.
Boy: Certainly
Operator: Okay, so what’s the issue?
Boy: I need your assistance with my math.
Operator: Alright, explain the arithmetic to me.
Boy: Alright. What is 8 minus 16?
Operator: You inform me. How much do you estimate it to be?
Boy: I have no idea, 1.
Operator: Not at all. What is your age?
Boy: I’m just four years old.
Operator: Four!
Boy: Certainly.
Operator: What’s the next issue? That was a difficult one.
Boy: Well, this one’s here. Five things to take away.
Operator: Five minus five, what do you think that is worth?
Boy: five
Female: Johnny What are you doing, exactly?
Boy: I’m getting help with my math from the policeman.
Woman: Did I mention that I was going to call you?
Operator: The mother is here.
Boy: You told me to call someone if I needed assistance.
Woman: The police aren’t who I meant!
My Stepdaughter Insisted I Reassign All Her Deceased Father’s Possessions into Her Name – I Complied, Yet She Was Unpleased
The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.
Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…
I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.
Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.
When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.
One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”
Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”
“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.
“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”
She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never materialized.
Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.
I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.
Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.
“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”
“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”
As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.
Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.
Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”
Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”
Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”
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