They called it the “audience suicide.”“This is it, motherfuckers!” he yelled out after entering the Hotline Center where I worked. “This is good-bye and fuck every last one of you!”“Hold on,” I said quietly as I emerged from the room that contained the crisis phone lines. “Hold on. Talk to me.”There are a number of situations in life that the average citizen tries to avoid: (1) Oncoming Semi Truck in Your Lane; (2) Floating in the Niagara River 200 Feet from the Falls; (3) Crazy Distraught Man with Double-Barreled Shotgun Yelling in Your Hallway.Unfortunately for me, I was the only one there, pulling the graveyard shift. Shit, did I just call it that?“C’mon,” I continued, trying to hide the shakiness in my voice. “It’s gonna be OK. We’re here for you.”With the word you, his scattershot eye movements came to a halt and locked on me. And then he started to sob, but without tears.“C’mon, brother, it’s OK. Let it out.”And with that the sobbing stopped.“Are you who I talked to on the phone?”
