It's like reading a lot of books, but only half of each one. Dispatchers connect the anxious conversations of terrified victims, angry informants, suicidal citizens and grouchy officers. They are expected to gather information from highly agitated people who can't remember where they live, what their name is, or what they just saw. While questioning a frantic caller, they must type the information into a computer, tip off another dispatcher, put another caller on hold, and listen to an officer run a plate for a parking problem. But the officer will never understand that.
Dispatchers have two constant companions.
Other dispatchers and stress. They depend on the one, and try to ignore the other. They are chastened by upset callers, taken for granted by the public, and criticized by officers. The rewards they get are inexpensive and infrequent, except for the satisfaction they feel at the end of a shift, having done what they were expected to do. Dispatchers come in all shapes and sizes, all races, both sexes, and all ages.