Calls to 911.

Well, my American culture experience would not be complete without at least one call to 911. But in the last couple of weeks I was involved with two. I made the first one last Saturday. An old man who appeared to be drunk (I am trying to be nice here) was lying down by the curve in front of my building. Someone came to help him sit but the wall, but he made several attempts to get and walk. All these attempts were followed by a fall, a couple of them on the street. So I called 911, the ambulance came and took care of him.
A few minutes ago, I was visiting my friends Emiliano, Cherolyn and Namshaya. Some power line at the back of their house was starting to catch fire, apparently by being in contact with a tree. The branch in which we could see some sparks was right above their garage. So Cherolyn called 911 (I was with her). Soon after that the big red full of lights firetruck was there and the situation was under control.