I saw the smoke first, and went 'wow' under my breath. Then the people shouting at cars and bikes to keep away.
It was the ConEd manhole just outside an Italian restuarant on the back side of our block and thick black smoke was pumping out. As I got closer there were loud bursts of a harsh buzzing, as if the manhole was trapping a bee the size of a truck, and it was trying to get out, over and over. A mushroom of black smoke pouffed upwards.
So I did what I think a lot of other New Yorkers would have done. I pulled out my phone and called 311. This is a sort of non-emergency city contact line, for complaining about your neighbour's party at 3am, finding out what time City Park tennis courts are supposed to close when you wander up at 5.30 in the afternoon and the attendant has locked up and is playing toy cars with her son, asking who is responsible for snow ploughs because one is wedged in your car, and things like that.
"Thank you for calling 311. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911."
One of the waiters from the restaurant yells at a bewildered delivery boy on a bike, who wobbles to a halt on the sidewalk. Smoke keeps pouring out, but no one is in danger as such.
Hmm, nah, I think.
"If you are a victim of domestic violence, press 1."
Uh-oh, think I. Please don't let this be a fifty-item speed-dial list.
"Please hold."
Vivaldi begins to chirp in my ear. A motorist sees the smoke and decides that the best course of action is to speed through it at 60mph.
"Hello?"
"Hello, I'd like to report an underground electrical fire in Astoria, Queens. Probably a transformer."
"Hang on one moment."
I hang on.
"I will shortly connect you with an expert to help you with your problem."
"Thank you."
"While you're on the line, is there anything else I can help you with?"
"Er, no, thank you. I'm fine."
More Vivaldi.
Cars pull u-turns left and right.
More Vivaldi. A short burst of ringing, more Vivaldi. I start to pace nonchalantly up and down the sidewalk. The buzzing stops, but the smoke doesn't. I try and figure out which of the Four Seasons I'm currently listening to. Probably 'Spring'. It's always 'Spring'.
An NYPD car pulls up and two cops get out and immediately stand in the middle of the street blocking the traffic.
"What's going on?" asks a cop to the waiter standing by the restaurant.
"I don't know! Smoke!"
"Flames?"
Yes yes, gestures a casual pedestrian observer.
Da-da-da-da-dadadaaaam! Da-da-da-da-dadadaaaam!
"What kind of manhole is that?" asks the cop.
"No one knows!" says the waiter.
Dum-DUM-dum-dum, dum-DUM-dum-dum!
"We thank you for your patience," says the recorded lady. "We will shortly connect you with an operator who can help you."
I hang up and walk home.
Fire trucks periodically cruise past our house for the rest of the evening.
I love the emergency service numbers in Ireland (999, of course, or the new 'Euro-friendly' 112), which is the only sevice number you can ring that you get through to an actual person straight away, rather than a talk-bot.
The latest trend seems to be for those machines that 'understand' you. So they ask you questions as to what you want, rather than just prompting you to press a number for the service you want. I usually just keep pressing '0' and '*' until an actual person comes on the line. Works on most of them.
Not to contradict my very own husband (he is after all the bacon-bringer-home...er) but I've actually always had really good experiences with 311 - I'm rarely on hold for more than a minute and they're always polite and knowledgeable. One of the best things that Bloomberg has done for the city, actually.
Just to present the full picture for non-New-Yorkers.
Based on your detailed "Da-da-da-da-dadadaaaam!"s, I've concluded you were definitely listening to Spring.
I have never called 311. Do they really offer all those services?