Workplace Violence Awareness

So, here's my dilemma. My colleague Joe Bob, who used to have the sunniest of dispositions, has been grumping about in a deepening depression for several months. Now, I had always assumed that this was a normal progression for our workplace, but then something happened. I took the "Workplace Violence Awareness" course and learned a thing or two.

It turns out that someone exhibiting Joe Bob's symptoms is a candidate to do harm to himself. Or worse, to me. It's called "radical personality change," or something like that. It's one of several symptom sets that bode violence in the near term. As if that weren't bad enough, it also turns out that my employer believes that I have an obligation to report such symptoms to the proper authorities. Failure to do so could get me fired, on top of being murdered.

So, whom, you may ask (as I did), am I supposed to report this personality change to? Fortunately, the course had several suggestions: Regional Administrators, the Risk Manager, the Security Officer. Unfortunately, I don't have the foggiest idea who any of those people are. But wait! They also said you could call 9-1-1! That could be my salvation!

And so I dialed 9-1-1.

"How can I help you?" asked the 9-1-1 guy.

I thought I'd better explain a little.

"You see," I began, "I took this course. Called 'Workplace Violence Awareness.'"

"That could be an emergency," prompted the 9-1-1 guy helpfully.

"I learned all about the warning signs of workplace violence," I said. "Like high stress."

"You want high stress?" replied the 9-1-1 guy. "Try being a 9-1-1 operator."

"Yes," I admitted. "I suppose that's true. Then there's significant personality change."

"You know," said the 9-1-1 guy, "before I got this job, I was the most optimistic, up-beat guy you could imagine. You really see the darker side of humanity from here. Gets you down sometimes. That and the voices."

"The voices of the callers?" I asked.

He paused for a moment. "Yeah, ok," he said.

"Then there's the history of violence kind of thing," I continued. "That's another red flag."

"Hmm," he mused. "Did you know that this is the only job I've had since they discharged me from the violent offenders ward at the psychiatric hospital?"

"Um, no," I mumbled. "I didn't know that."

"Went there straight from prison," he said affably.

"And then, uh, there's the kind of person who makes open or veiled threats." I was stammering badly by then.

"If you don't get off this line and stop wasting my time," said the 9-1-1 guy, "I'm going to gut you like a salmon, smoke you, and spread you on a bagel."

I hung up. "Joe Bob!" I pleaded. "What am I going to do? Here I am, trying to report you, and I get the only homicidal 9-1-1 operator in the state! What should I do?"

"Why don't you try re-dialing?" suggested Joe Bob. "You might get a different operator."

"Great idea!" I whooped.

I re-dialed. There was no answer.

So I guess I should call my Regional Administrator, huh?