Almost no TV evening goes by without seeing or hearing a public-notice-style advertisement for a toll-free number offering free assistance. There are numbers to call when you're in distress, there are suicide hotlines, domestic violence hotlines, rape hotlines, pregnant-and-alone hotlines and even those crisis numbers that offer help to people feeling bullied. Waiting to pick up the phone are an almost endless reserve of compassionate people to talk to. When you're having a bad day and the weight of living and breathing seem too much to bear, they are there for you.
Society really benefited from the fanciful, blockbuster 1984 movie Ghost Busters, which was largely responsible for the introduction and proliferation of the who-ya-gonna-call hotline. While ghosts proved to be menacing, terrifying and nasty pests, Bill Murray and Dan Akroyd did a great job of responding to the many cries for help.
While I haven't personally seen these, I've heard that there's even a 1-800-number for hopelessly-lonely dogs seeking a romantic hook-up, and a very specialized one for geckos and cavemen experiencing high stress levels at their insurance company jobs. (The number of suicides among these groups—cavemen and geckos—has, reportedly, become a shocking statistic.)
Great thing about it: It doesn't matter who you are, or what kind of a problem you face, there's a number to call and the cellular phone has brought virtually everyone closer to finding an immediate, listening ear.
Sadly, it doesn't work for everyone. For instance, as an aging American, I'm having increasing difficulty remembering anything past the one, the eight and the first zero, so I've never successfully connected with the help I so desperately need. I have asked my congressman to introduce a bill to shorten the help-line phone numbers by at least six digits. (Believe me, it will save a lot of seniors from unnecessary suffering.)
No, I'm not making fun of the legitimate help-lines and crisis services. The availability of these free, humanitarian resources has been a salvation for many of those who desperately need to talk. Help and crisis lines are a real service, and many tragedies have been averted by the kind volunteers who man the lines. They've been Good Samaritans to the scared and lonely—people beset by worry, tragedy, and pain, desperately seeking the solace of some human understanding and a kind shoulder to lean on.
I'm not sure there are statistics available, because the organizations that run these crisis resources are so diverse. And yet, I think it's safe to say that lives—many of them—have been assisted or saved in times of dire need.
It's definitely worthy of praise that there are so many non-governmental organizations that are reaching out to humanity. Where there are many gaps in official social services, these invaluable tele-friends are always there to help.
As individuals, we're entitled to call the help lines, free of charge, when there's a crisis. But what about the collective crisis of today's humankind? Eight billion people can't all call at once, and God's helpline-of-the-last-resort simply doesn't have the time or the funding to support such a massive appeal. Those who attempt a connection are usually met with the same recording: "Sorry, children ... can't take your call right now, but please leave a message." From the state of things, I'd say that His/Her/Its crisis line is failing miserably.
A pandemic has been raging for more than two years, killing people and becoming a political tool for tightening control and curtailing the freedoms of supposedly democratic nations. The security of our world is being threatened by a narcissistic USSR carryover-madman who thinks it's just fine to murder the citizens of a neighboring sovereign nation. The middle class is being systematically stomped-out, extinguished by the growing disparity between wages and prices as the no-apology corporations enjoy their heyday—the lowest corporate taxes and the biggest, billion-dollar bottom-lines ever seen. The millionaires, who were once few-and-far-between, have transitioned to billionaires and the gazillionaires are coming, all at the expense of the common man. Homelessness is growing by leaps and bounds and affordable housing is becoming non-existent. Children, deprived of social interaction for the better part of two years of relative social isolation have been impacted in a way that makes social scientists and psychologists worry. They're acknowledging that there's no way to assess just how bad and how permanent the impact will be. (Boy, that was a mouthful)
And, the environment—don't get me started!
Let's face it folks, the world—at least in our time—has never looked quite so bleak, and mankind is being forced to acknowledge just how tenuous a situation we're in. All the assumptions of a stable planet have gone out the window—at least for now. Our world and our people are all balanced on a precipice and we have plenty of reasons to worry.
My only advice is: If you're feeling frustrated, depressed and hopeless, you have plenty of company. There's a whole world out there that's feeling pretty much the same, and the crisis lines—you may just have to give up, because the present wait-time, for those worried about the future of our world, is pegged at nearly 163 years.
There, there, it's not all bad. There are still a few cavemen left to sell you that much-needed auto policy.
The author is a retired businessman, novelist, columnist, and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and the beloved ashes of their mongrel dog.
