One record at a time.

Today I went to volunteer at 211 for disaster relief. The phones were quickly taken, so Luis, my partner-in-volunteerism-crime, and I were set to the glamorous task of data entry, entering call records from the previous week.

It was boring. It was tedious. But it told me the stories of the people who had called over the past week. Their numbers went from 10,000 calls a month to over 30,000 calls a day. Most people wanted to know “information on the fire.” Which I easily indicated into the appropriate box with a click of the mouse.

But sometimes, the forms were more detailed. A volunteer operator named Shelia wrote with a red pen. Her callers tended to be concerned about “fire status” and her “i”s were tops with little circles, even though she was working the 12:00-4:00 a.m. shift. Another, Erika, wrote down addresses in straight, neat penmanship. I knew she couldn’t give these people the answers about their homes. But she wrote them down anyway. “Information on the fire” clicked my mouse again.

Other notes included “the wall of fire behind the homes on my street.” “Where is my dad? – Ramona communities.” “Concerned about inmate family member – where are they being transferred to?” “Is my house okay?” Click.Click.Click.

I know the volunteer operators didn’t have the answers. But they were there to try. To listen. To offer the best they could. A week after the fires began, I can click them into the computer, reducing them to tick marks.

I know most of them have found their homes, and hopefully their fathers and everything else in between. But I also know some of them probably didn’t.


But lately, I feel that I don’t know a lot of things lately. And that’s okay, too. So, I will just keep clicking my mouse. One call recorded at a time. And maybe one day, we’ll have everything transcribed and everything in order.