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Wednesday, January 21, 1998 By Brian Oneill
They're in the back of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania's telephone directory, your Bomb Threat Instructions.
Ah, what a festive time it must be for government employees in these United States.
The instructions are standard, I'm told, reprinted word for word from an FBI handout. Evidently, G-men don't mind their work being cribbed, which is good, because this prose is tighter than a Hemingway novel.
"Where is the bomb right now? When is the bomb going to explode? What does it look like? What kind of bomb is it? Did you place the bomb? Why? What is your address? What is your name? Any names of persons, agencies or offices?"
That's it. Nine questions and then you and the terrorist can chat about anything you like. The high cost of fertilizer. Whatever.
You're not supposed to hang up, though, and you are supposed to get the exact wording of the threat; note the sex, race and age of the caller, and the length, time, date and number of the phone where the call is received.
It's all very efficient, though it assumes a certain degree of cooperation from the psycho community, and a passel of poise from the bureaucrat unlucky enough to answer the phone.
Did I forget anything? If that thought flashes through your brain when you're backing out of the driveway at the start of a vacation, imagine how much stronger the question would be when the dial tone returns after a call from hell, and you're wondering whether you dotted every T and crossed every I.
That's why, however impressive these written instructions might be, they nonetheless feel primitive. If the commonwealth is to get serious in combatting terrorism, Harrisburg will have to avail itself of the chief weapon of the information age. I am speaking, of course, of voice mail.
"Hello, you have reached the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. America Starts Here, or whatever our slogan is this week.
"We are sorry no one is available to take your call right now. If you would like to leave a message, press 1. If your message involves a bomb or incendiary device, press 2."
Beep.
"If your threat concerns the environment, press 1. If it concerns foreign affairs, press 2. If you are a disgruntled government employee, press p-o-s-t o-f-f-i-c-e."
Finally, the caller would get through, and the process would be self-fulfilling. If the caller wasn't disturbed when the call began, he would be by now.
One can imagine the bureaucrat's end of the conversation:
"Where is the bomb right now? Where the Isaly's used to be? You must be from Pittsburgh, sir. You're going to have to give a more current . . . There's no cause to be rude, sir.
"OK. Good. Now I have a checklist here, if you don't mind. Would you describe your voice as calm, angry, excited, nasal . . . I'm sorry, sir, there's no listing for 'like Clint Eastwood in "Dirty Harry." ' I can check 'deep' and 'distinct' . . .
"Now what are those background noises? I'm hearing music and animals. Are you calling from a barn with a radio or a hockey game? What? You're listening to an old Alvin and the Chipmunks record? Oh, I used to love them. 'Christmas, Christmastime is here, time for joy and time for . . . '
"What's that, sir? You're feeling better. That's great. So what about that bomb? You're going to dismantle it? Well, then I'll need to transfer you, hon. Can I put you on hold? Dismantling is another department."
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