Evidence 101

EVIDENCE 101...Wherever you go, there you are...

Friday, April 21, 2017

Sometimes You Just Get A Bag Of Dicks

Sometimes police work isn't fire, death, and roses or even adrenaline rushes. Most of the time it is filled with random or strange calls to service. 

Once in a while you get a stinker of a dead body. Boy, those sure make your day go to hell in a hand basket. I guess that is what makes the job so much fun. No one wants the buzzer on the hot potato game, right? Bonk! You get the dead body, Fargo. 

Actually, that's the great thing about being an ev tech. Sorry, dudes! I gotta take pictures and log evidence. I can't help you haul that guy outta here. I have a really bad gag reflex and luckily most of the guys were super accommodating to me. I lurved their kindness. Truly. I didn't want to ever embarrass myself in front of a family. 

But there are days where shit happens. I suppose you think this post is going to be about a cool homicide or a really old stinky dead body. Nope. Not at all. It's about the random bag of dicks you get thrown sometimes. 

But a lot of patrol can be boring. Or humdrum. That's OK too. You need it to break up the great stuff. Even though you have to right mundane reports on the stuff, you never know what you are going to get...

My first day back was not unusual. After being filled in from the crew that I missed an exciting arson, assaults, a fatality or two...a rapist...and more calls on the board than cops available...I was sure to have an exciting first day.
Yep. My day was as weird and creepy as this hippo cat.

The first call as darkness fell was a possible residential burglary in progress.SUPER! Let's go get those bastards!

I got to the scene and blacked out. I was informed the reporting neighbor would meet me halfway down the street. As I approached the area on foot, I saw....


...a short balding hairy Italian man in thin boxers with the hatch flopping open exposing Mr. Wanky. I mean, seriously? When, in his infinite wisdom, did this man think that was a good idea?

After being traumatized by a one eyed snake, the call turned out to be-you guessed it- BOGUS.

Next we received a call from another jurisdiction on a possible domestic hostage situation. BONUS! Let's go!

Finding the address where "Mr. Psycho ex-cop" may be holding his wife hostage was a crap shoot. We had to ping phones, comb old computer records, and link associates. It was more work trying to locate the crime scene than anything. On the third address to check, I was greeted by a very drunk man answering the door.


It was a hairy Cajun man holding a pillow on Mr. Wanky. If that wasn't bad enough, sometimes when he laughed, he would use the pillow to cover his face. I would holler out "WHOA!! WHOA! PILLOW! PILLOW!" And he would smile with embarrassment and say, "OH, sorry, Ma'am."

His situation was a little more understandable because he answered the door in the early morning hours and grabbed the first article of concealment he could muster. But still, why me? He was only a new tenant living at an old known address where the suspect used to reside. He had no information.

Later, when we found the subjects, the call turned out to be-you guessed it-BOGUS!

The entire night, was turning out to be very disappointing until we had a drive by gang shootout. BONUS! Let's go!

While going to that call, I was diverted to a strange drunk man who turned up at a neighboring house.  Come on, dispatch. I want to go to the fire! But I did as I was told. Sometimes we override them, but this was a case where enough were going to the big tire fire, so to speak, so I could go to the weenie roast. As I was directed to the people's living area, I saw a very intoxicated Native American man in shorts with Mr. Wanky peeping out. Literally, a weenie roast.


In his act of desperation in getting away from his assailant, this man ran to a nearby residence. He was a victim/suspect who appeared on the front steps of this home. You may only understand what a victim/suspect is if you are a cop. Think about it. It is exactly what it sounds like it means.

It turns out the call wasn't related to the shooting and he and his wife beat the tar out of each other at a nearby house. This was a night she won. He was the loser. In many different ways, that is.

The night drudged on with boring calls and periods of silence.

To my dismay, the entire night was filled with a bunch of weenies.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017

Summer Pool, Schweaty Balls, and Other Flavors

Captain's Log:


Current status: Frazzled from Grad School Meteor Shower

Navigational readings: Dazed and confused

Ship's course: Steadfast ahead

I think Oliver is feeling the effects as well.

So, meanwhile, I will be starting another research project, working on a final exam essay response paper, a group project, and discussion boards. Is there enough Advil and wine in this world? Just kidding. I don't write my papers under the influence.

However...here is a blast from the past about the first time bath salts started to float our way into Gotham City...

Interesting topics always pop up in briefing. For instance...we all discussed the latest craze that started with teenagers experimenting. 

And where they come up with this stuff is beyond me...but yet another product on the market that we will probably end up regulating. 

Can't anyone just use the products the way they were made and intended?

LT. KANOOK: Everyone knows of the newest thing where they are smoking the bath salts?

OFFICER BIG CHEESE: Yeah. Everyone should know they are smoking these bath salts, hallucinate like LSD, then do something crazy..usually driving into a house or something.

ME: So...I bet we can guess what the best flavor is for the biggest high.

OFFICER SAVVY: Cucumber melon?

OFFICER SHINY KEYS: I'm liking musk...no wait....sandalwood.

ME: Jasmine moonlight

CAPTAIN: Ocean breeze.

ME: Yeah. Ocean breeze has to give you the biggest high. It sounds like its from California.


THE ENGLISH: Bacon. Bacon flavor.

ME: Would that be a pun on cops? I think bacon flavor would totally be ironic.  What about Schweaty Balls? 


ME: What about "Boob Schweat"? "Dirty Money?"

OFFICER SHINY KEYS: Hey, Big Cheese, does it show up what flavor on the test? [laughs]

OFFICER SAVVY: Yeah...what color is their tongue...does that show what flavor?

ME: I wonder if we can tell if it is "Wet Dog" or "Sorority House Rose" or "Yankee My Wankee" or "Blueberry Bromance" and stuff. 

[laughs from the team]

BIG CHEESE: You guys are so funny. This is serious stuff.

LT. KANOOK: No seriously. It's like an epidemic with kids now. You guys need to be aware of this and take it very seriously. Call Big Cheese if you need some assistance. He was informed on the last conference and we have been seeing a lot of here already. 

ME: Yeah. Make them breathe on you so you know if you are dealing with quality brands or generic flavors. It could make a difference in their highs. 


OFFICER SHINY KEYS: "Oh, yeah, officer...I forgot to tell you my dealer's name is Bed, Bath, and Beyond."

Yes, we amuse ourselves. 

Friday, April 7, 2017

Momster Chronicles #450984

Good morning! May you have a peaceful day full of awesome sauce! In the sweetness of friendship, let us share light, happiness, and exchange pleasures. And you, sir, are still going to be ugly in the afternoon when I am sober. Just kidding. I'm sober now.

I bet you didn't know that I just globbed a bunch of brainy quotes together for that compilation of hogwash. Well, it isn't all hogwash. I do wish good things upon all of you.

To lighten our spirits, I must share some great parenting skills. Being a cop has many advantages in parenthood. There are obvious reasons, but the best is my art of interrogation skills. The kid doesn't even know what hits her..

"Mom, I have done something that you don't know. I am not going to tell you. It's a secret that some of my friends know."

"Did you have sex?"

"What! No! I am not that kind of girl! You should be proud to have me. I have told everyone I wear a purity ring and I mean it."

"Well, that's good. I'm proud of you. I'm not ready to be a grandma. And don't ask me to take car of your kid, er..my grandchild. I am too busy trying to life myself, let alone life for you. Did you decide to go to first base?"

"Kissing? I have done that. You know. I told you."

"No, the boobs."

"Ew. Gross, mom! No! Everyone in my school knows not to touch me."

"Wow. That might be seen as a challenge to some or a lifelong spinster sentence, and maybe to the good boys...a deterrent." 


"Never mind. Are you going to tell me you use tampons now?"

"Ugh! Mom, you know I tried them and I didn't like them. I use pads. What do I always tell you to buy at the store? Pads."

"You better not have tried pot. Have you been hanging out with potheads?"

"Mom! I don't do drugs and you know it! My friends don't either. We don't talk to those kids."

"Some kids peddle scripts to get you started on something and that is the big thing now."

"You are making me mad! I can't believe you think I would do drugs."

"Well, I know you have drank alcohol."

"That was in front of you. You gave it to me to try and I spit it out. It is nasty!"

"Well, how do I know you didn't acquire the taste or go to a party and start drinking."

"Mom. It is gross. I don't even drink pop."


"I caught you that one day you stole the car."

"I didn't steal the car. I drove it when you were gone and parked in the garage to clean it. "

"Still. That's very bad. You don't have a license."

"I have a permit."

"Not the same. End of discussion. No more of that because you will be only riding a bicycle if you break more car rules. Stealing cars is the gateway crime to robbing banks and homicide sprees. So if you are thinking about having sex, you can talk to me."

"Mom! I am not doing sex. I am waiting for marriage."

"Well, maybe we should talk about your school stuff."

"What about it? I have all my homework done."

"Well, don't be cheating on an exam for school or helping anyone cheat. You have to keep your grades up for your scholarship. And cheating will get you no where fast. It's  like worse than being Satan. Colleges won't look at you. You might be able to get a job at Burger King, though."

"Mom, I am an overachiever and I only do it myself and you know that! Stop saying bad stuff about me! It's making me mad!"

"Well, I just worry about you. I don't want you to get arrested or in trouble at school. Have you robbed a bank lately?"

"Mom! My parents are cops! I can't do anything wrong because you will know. Then my head will be through a sheet rock wall as you say."

"No. That's what I said about my childhood if I got in big trouble. But, I might repeat history if you are naughty. Genes and all. So what was it you wanted to keep secret from me?"

"Mom! I'm not going to tell you."

"Did you kill someone?"

"I am a very moral person. You don't even know your own daughter. I am done! You don't get me! I am going to go do some homework. You better learn that you are lucky to have me as a daughter. I could be a rotten kid. They are out there, you know."

[stomp, stomp]

So I called after her as she stomped away, "I don't think it is really that nefarious of a secret since I just used a process of elimination..."

I got no response.

See what I did there.

My daughter has never tried drugs nor had sex. She is still wearing her purity ring. She hasn't even gotten to the touchy stuff. In fact, I would say she is a big chicken shit when it comes to breaking norms or moral codes. She isn't using tampons which I wouldn't care if she was. She is not cheating or helping anyone cheat. She is not doing crime. She is not drinking alcohol. Although she felt guilty about moving the car without my permission, she learned her lesson.

I feel pretty good.

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Nerdly Thinktank Reports


What does it mean to you? Score? Baubles in my pocket? Change in my pants?

Let's get our nerd on.

I used to read so intently when I was young because I loved the fantasy and inserting myself into the story. Who didn't?

No, I did not read porn books. I have. But I don't. For some reason I could never get into them because I thought they were corny. For instance, how can you get all hot and bothered from "Finn put his sword in her warm, moist shaft." Ew. I used the word moist. (giggle) Maybe "wet" would have been a better word choice. It was just an example. See. I would totally suck at writing romance novels.

(giggle) She used the word "suck."

So it does nothing for me, you see.

I always liked "other" books and totally skipped the romance section. That might be why I have such personal relationship issues. I don't know. It's worth contemplating. Perhaps there is research on that.

It brings me to another phenomena in the book industry. Why do we call it a blow job when you actually suck and lick? I don't get it.
Think about it, bitches. You could be Lagertha. 

Ladies and gentlemen,

Try blowing on a dick and see where that gets you. I dare you. 

I would really think it might ruin some sort of climatic moment. Just a thought. But the research of the whole idea might be amusing.

Words are so funny, aren't they?

They can be a sword to your heart, or a ping in your groin.

I still read a lot and most of late it has been text books. This poses a problem of no stimulation. Mostly boredom.
I love to read. I can't understand nor comprehend those who either don't like to read or really hate to read. I try to understand, but I can't. I might be able to understand somewhat if a person has difficulties or disabilities with reading and writing. In which case, my heart bleeds for that. I think it should be something for all and those who have challenges, should be helped. If a person chooses not to, then that is their choice, but the opportunities should be abundant.

And if you liked to read, you can read porn in secret and not have it blast throughout the house on television where your significant other might catch you. You could even go be the Master Baiter of your domain in a small space without cords.

Sex drives the world you know. It sells shit. It makes us like shit. It makes us do bad shit. It makes us demand shit we probably should not demand. It makes us want shit we can't have. It makes us spend money on it. It makes us interested in shit. It gives us ultimate pleasure. Sometimes it gives us cramps.

Really it drags us around by the nose.

Think about it. No, don't. You pervert.

Wednesday, April 5, 2017

NOT The Most Embarrassing Moment In Cop Work

Man, that was too heavy of a post last time. Fuck that shit. That's what happens when I get too deep in the internet with news and conspiracy theorists. My cop brain starts acting like it's on full dumb shit mode. Or maybe the NSA paid me to say that.

Let's lighten the load. It's pretty dark and drizzly in some neighborhoods right now, including my old one and bless their hearts.

So to preface this day and these situations, at one time when our teams were operating with one sergeant, they appointed a veteran officer whom they trusted to run the shift. That so called person for a time on my shift was me. I would like to think I made my sergeant look good by making sound decisions and not fucking up the place. And yeah, I probably wasn't favored by all because I was a girl with a brash attitude. But I tried to be fair and rule with emotional intelligence. If they didn't like me, well fuck them. Not really, but it sounded tough. I think it went all good back then. If I had discord, it was silent. I would have addressed problems. 

Anyway, back to the way I represented the Sarg: I also liked to say things which made him golden in the eyes of the upper echelon. My Sarg is now a lieutenant and the lieutenant became captain and the captain became chief and is now on the city council. I was always and remain to be me. 😂

Take things as they are inside a police organization where you defend the citizens with your life and back each brother or sister in blue in all circumstances of danger. The police brotherhood is often fun and a positive police culture develops a lot of smart asses. I might have been one of those. 😎

I was in charge again. The Sarg was away...the mice will play...or something. I always have to make the Sarg proud when he is gone. That way the Captain welcomes him back with open arms. Sarg always tells me that the Captain gets mad at him when he is absent for vacation, training, sick, whatever. Sarg mentioned he doesn't understand why the captain gets so bent out of shape. Hmm. I wonder. Yeah. I have no idea. 😄
I'm in charge, bitches!

So, I was conducting briefing,advising the troops about all the chaos running amok in the city, what to be on the look out for, blah, blah. Then it was the Captain's turn to speak. He went over budget concerns.

CAPTAIN: We are cutting back 4 police officer positions, several thousand dollars in other funds, some civilian positions. All jobs will be lost through attrition. No one is getting a raise this year and health insurance is probably going to increase by 30%.

TROOPS: [moans, groans, bitching]

CAPTAIN: I do have some good news about our fleet, however. Apparently, Ford is discontinuing the Crown Vic package. They are going to a Taurus package. I'm not too keen on the Taurus. We had them before and they sucked. But I ordered the new all wheel drive Dodge Chargers. They go real, real fast.

TROOPS: [cheshire grins]

CAPTAIN: And I worry about some of you people tearing them up when you drive off road or not where you are supposed to go with a car. [turns to me]

ME: What? I have to save people.

CAPTAIN: [rolls eyes at me] So, the new Chargers will have the new paint job and we will slowly replace all the Crown Vics over time. Just don't fuck it up.

ME: Awesome. It's all about looks. We are going to look smoking hot. [cheshire grin]
Yep, I'm driving a new modified muscle car. 

CAPTAIN: * blink* blink*

ME: What? No one's going to mess with me when I come out of a Charger. Badass bitch coming out of a badass car.

TROOPS: [cheshire grins]

LIEU: [giggle]

CAPTAIN: * blink* blink*

ME: What?

CAPTAIN:  We're going to get a lot of complaints from the public. Apparently, the all wheel drive models only come with a tricked out interior and leather seats. I had to have IT design a new console to get the computers and other radio gear in there. And they only come with a console shifter...no gears on the dash.

ME: That's super! Awesome! I am going to look so cool. We can just tell the public the seats are PLEATHER.

CAPTAIN: *blink* blink*

ME: What?

CAPTAIN: We also have to be careful with the leather seats. They will probably last longer than the other kind as long as our gear doesn't cut them up.

ME: And don't drive naked because your ass cheeks will stick to the seats. [cheshire grin]

LIEU: [giggle]

CAPTAIN: *blink* blink*

CAPTAIN: I also ordered Tahoes so that every cop has 4-wheel drive on their shift in the winter, combined with the sergeant's Durangos. We should have 4-wheel drive for everyone. And we have to take care of them because the city manager told me to never ask for those again. But I had to show him why we need 4-wheel drive in the winter. And we are going to equip them with evidence equipment, shields, and extra gear. So, whoever drives them will be in order of priority...evidence technicians or whoever has it will have to respond with the gear to special calls.

ME: Well, you could have just ordered magnetic 911 signs to go on our personal trucks for winter to save money.

LIEU: Yeah, pay us government mileage [giggle]

CAPTAIN: * blink* blink*

ME: I would have to say I would get to calls a lot slower in my personal vehicle than if I was driving my police cruiser, tho.

CAPTAIN: Pray tell, why is that?

ME: 'Cuz I wouldn't drive my personal vehicle like I stole it...like I do my g-ride.

CAPTAIN: [hangs his head in shame]You are going to be the death of me.

I later found many uses for them such as a great way to haul some evidence: 

While it is true, I got chewed out over this, it served the purpose needed on this date and time. I think the lieutenant was more worried about it being on the internet or a YouTube sensation. No worries. That would NEVER happen.

And yes, I would have done it again if need be. 

Later, the captain, now city council member, would say the purchase of the Dodge Chargers proved to be an error due to their expense. I would beg to differ. I think they were splendid. So what if they cost the city money? They were awesome, cool, safe, and very, very fun. Oh, and fast. I liked fast. 

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Tune Into To SKN

For all I know, this could be a fucking raven.
Pinterest doesn't know the difference.

What I find interesting today is there are a lot of crow festivals going on out there. 

Kackaw! Kackaw! 

It must be served up for every meal lately with a little garnish of parsley. I wonder if the feathers were plucked off well before dining commenced. And how about that side dish of crickets? 

What, Fargo, do you mean by that? 

Well, it seems the Susan Rice escapades have silenced a lot of media and the shift toward really grasping for fact finding is starting to turn. Perhaps. Don't count your eggs yet. 

I still think of everything as skewed news. SKN. "Skin" for fun. Skewed News. That's kind of catchy but it sounds like a porn channel. 

But has she really done this? Is it fake news? The left seems to say so. What about the emails and spreadsheets released about it with her name on it? Oh, silly Fargo, those can be faked. Someone had to get thrown under the bus, right? Whatever. I think Nunes went the route he did because if he went straight to the committee first, they would have silenced him. So he plays stupid befuddling politician and says, "oops sorry, I skipped step B accidentally." He apologizes for his misstep in reporting processes. Whatever. He did that so he wouldn't get thrown under the political bus. The bus is rolling and runs over a lot of people who don't conform. At least that is my theory. I don't really know for sure. I don't even know the guy. 

Mainstream media were slowing their roll and didn't really seem too enthusiastic to expose the news blast of Susan Rice's "unmasking" scandal. 

Whatever happened to all of us just watching and reading and absorbing but remaining silent until all the facts come out. Wait. We would be skeletons if we waited that long because we will never get all the facts.

Do I think the government officials and politicians do some dirty, underhanded things? Duh. That is a no brainer. 

Oh no! Have the American peeps been led astray and lied to by politicians? Tell me it isn't so. Who do we trust? Pffst. No one. Learn the rules of cop 101. Don't live in a fog. But don't live too far in the paranoid jungle either. 

For so many years now, the media outlets have been sensationalized, skewed one way or another (yes-left and right), and purporting some agenda that they seek. No one cares! Isn't that astonishing? 

I do, but no one cares about that either and certainly dismiss what I think. What happened to reliable news sources and integrity and the truth by reporting both sides? I think it went out the window when we hit moral bankruptcy. I don't know if we ever had truthful news but it was better than what we see now. It really is sad that journalism is thought of as a watchdog, a checks and balances to the government, but now has been played. I think sometimes that shit is spoon fed to us like sugar is our American fat crack.

Funny. I find all this funny. Not as in "funny haha" nor "funny odd" but "funny ironic."

I've been complaining about biased news for years. We long for real news about facts from both sides, not propaganda. So now we all have to question what is real or thought to be real and what is the bait put in front of us as a nation. 

Oh, you are just a paranoid former cop, Fargo. 

Maybe so. 

But I also like to the be the sheep at the end of the herd so when the first batch goes off the cliff, I have time to change my direction before I become some slaughtered lamb. 

I think if you took a news article and circled every fourth or fifth word and then wrote a sentence with it then combined it with another news source article conducted in the same way, you might start to find some factual basis. It's like the DaVinci code only not as cool. 

Is it binary code?

Who are we all kidding? We love conspiracies! They are so fascinating! It's like a mystery puzzle or something. Ok. It IS a mystery puzzle. We are all shitty sleuths. Say that three times fast.

What if the press has been sending us code all these years and we didn't know it? 

I kill myself. I know. I'm the only one giggling at my warped humor because none of this is really funny. I loved Clint Eastwood's famous liner that " President Obama is the greatest hoax ever perpetrated on the American people."

Sure, I know Clint was a short lived politician and he is a world famous actor. He is pretty smart and a great film maker. I think he also might have some foresight into some things. Maybe I'm going a little too far. Does this mean I think Trump is perfect? Hell no. 

But I think they underestimated him when they treated him like a stooge. 

Hey, look. I want all our American presidents to succeed. 

It's our country for Pete's sake. But I'm not following any leader into a dark tunnel without picking apart everything and taking a look for myself. I'm not hooked up to the plow. I certainly don't get pulled around by a leash. Or at least not in public. Bwahahaha! Ok. That was a bad S&M joke. Ew. 

I have never blindly followed nor 100% loved a president and all their actions. I have supported all of them and claimed them all as my president whether I liked them or not. But I don't think they come without flaws. I have never seen so many people blindly love any other president more than Obama or so many hate one as deeply as they do Trump. I think there was more love for Nixon. 

Even Kennedy wasn't loved as much as Obama and he was assassinated almost as if he were a martyr. Was it a conspiracy? Was it mob? Was it really a lone wolf? 

Well, I can tell you one thing about that whole incident. He was killed. 

The movies surrounding it are sure entertaining. I try not to get too deep into that but not discount everything. Does that make sense?

I worked in government long enough to know you can hear his and her stories and somewhere in the middle is the truth. You may never find the real truth. I believe the "Good Old Boy" network is the demise of any organizational harmony. Sure, there are alliances and divides in every establishment. However, when they start working to disarm an organizational purpose to promote greed or self-propel personal interests then you have lost sight of what you stand for. 

PUBLIC SERVICE, people. That's what government work is all about. 

You can tell the media is going down the tubes in credibility when they report #PenceRule is shameful. I would have the same rule if I were a politician so that no rumors or innuendos could be started about me. It's a scandal free idea. And who wouldn't want to dine with their spouse at dinner?  We are now making it a feminist movement and turned it into a piggist attack on woman type of ideal he has. What? I don't get it. Oh, that's right. If you are a Christian, you must be crazy to want to keep family values. Do we need shields and swords? Are the Pagans trying to annihilate Christians again? Vampires? Which is it? Is that all you can do to pick Mike Pence apart? I don't agree with all his policies. How about we cremate those? But is he bad because he is good?

Heavens to Murgatroyd! I sound like John Grisham. Maybe I should write conspiracy novels. I could call it, "A Tale of Two Crows" or "The Lone Sparrow Brief." 

I think I just went off the grid. My marbles are surely lost. I guess I can't play jacks anymore. 

Is everything a conspiracy? No. But the true facts are not always known to us either. Like ever. Even as a police officer I hold secrets I can't tell the public and would deflect the information if pressed. All organizations hold secrets. Remember that. 

So have we all lived a distorted view of history or airbrushed pictorials from what some small handful of officials want us to believe or know? Who knows? My life is pretty bliss, so I will take it. 

Thank you, Bob Ross. Happy birds. Pretty trees. Purple mountains. 

Thursday, March 30, 2017

Jailhouse Rock

What happens when you get the oldest rookie in all The Land? Well things like this...

Gary was 52 when he started. I think that might be the most "ancient" rookie we've had so far. I say that with endearment.  Well, and some truth. He really was 52 when I got him. I probably aged him a bit to 67 with my training methods. I often teased him about teaching senior citizens. He had a good sense of humor.

We got along great. He really was already potty trained from his last department, but we had to go through the process according to policy.

We developed a trainer-rookie favorite word we used all the time. I made fun of his east coast accent at every opportunity. It was like I was rolling dirty with the mob or something.  When we had strange calls or things we talked about, we would turn to each other in unison and say it was "weeeerahd" (weird in his New York accent). Gary hails from New York City. Yes, just like the salsa.

Gary and I laughed a lot.

Some of my training was a little unorthodox. Like the times I would test his alertness to his surroundings. I would often ask him as we passed by a house while patrolling residential areas, "Did you notice anything different than yesterday?" Most of the time his answer was, "No".

My "thing" was to notice changes and things out of the ordinary as well as criminal activity afoot. For instance, are the garage doors up or down? Sometimes late at night I would let citizens know about securing their property by shutting the doors and putting their kids bikes away. It was good community policing and PR, besides preventative measures. Most of the time they were polite. It gave me an opportunity to reach out to kids.

As for the kids, they are number one. I always bought lemonade at the lemonade stands and played games, basketball, or just made chit chat. 

With regard to the neighborhood patrols,  I always wondered how the citizens would take it that I was such a hawk eye with their homes? I did judge their landscaping. It was my job. I owned a tree nursery. They might be creeped out if they knew that.

It was good to use my garden knowledge in police work. To pique a rookie's interest, I would ask them questions just to make them more detail oriented. It was more of a game for me. Aren't we supposed to have fun? I think so. Torturing rookies in a non-hazing way was part of that.

Gary was no different. I tortured him also. Even if he was a senior citizen, there was no discrimination in treatment. I would ask him, "What kind of tree was in that yard?" He would look at me and roll his eyes. I told him I was serious. He would say "green."  Good answer. He got points.

By the end of the phase, he was on board with the species.  He has since forgotten, however, I am sure. I'm going to have to modify my training techniques for retention, perhaps beat him with a stick which might be similar to training puppies about poop. You rub their noses in it.

Anyway, never mind. Man, a cop's mind runs all over the place. It makes you wonder, right? I wah, wah, wah, wah, wonder...I wonder why.

So...about this call.

We have had an influx of illegal aliens in Gotham City. It goes up and down. There are times when I.C.E. makes a sweep, clears the town, then it comes full circle. I don't like it when they shut down our favorite restaurants, but hey, it is a side effect of their job.

Dispatch sent us to a drunk at a motel who was bothering guests. When we arrived, we didn't find anyone. No guest we talked to outside had seen the man. The motel employees had lost him.

Soon, Gary found him hiding behind the building near a staircase, avoiding the police. He was very intoxicated and an illegal alien working for a construction company.  No one understood what he was saying so they thought he was harassing them. That is part of the equation. The other part is people are scared of drunk people. Plus he was yelling and pounding on things. Those behaviors naturally alarm the citizens. When they slammed their doors, he would knock loudly and yell. So, it appeared he was a dangerous drunk man to them. Enter the PoPo.

Despite his intoxicated state, he was a nice young Hispanic fellow who said he was from Mexico but was staying at the Motel 6. He was creating quite a ruckus. I.C.E. didn't care about him because he was small potatoes and was only drunk.

However, we had to remove him from the parking lot because he was creating quite a disturbance. First, we tried to locate his room and came to find that he didn't have a room. We didn't know who he was staying with either because motel records were not helpful nor was the night clerk. The bazillion by-standers played possum and could not help us.

The language barrier was more of a problem because he was intoxicated. I spoke enough Spanish to not get dead. But I couldn't carry on a fluent conversation about a motel room. If we were going to talk guns, drugs, lies, and curse words plus basic bio stuff, then I was a master of the street language. I could also give out orders in Spanish in dire circumstances.

Speaking of orders, I am pretty sure I could order food and plenty of margaritas and cervezas. Rosetta Stone did me no favors, but our Street Survival Spanish classes were most magnificent.

After attempts to figure that out what to do with our new friend, we called on our Spanish speaking sergeant. It was later determined our friend got drunk and was staying with people who decided to throw him out of their room because he was too obnoxious. Now we were getting somewhere. Actually, nowhere fast.

Eventually one of them showed up and talked to us. He told us, the police, they did not want him back and he refused to tell us what room number he was in, then ran off. He did not even acknowledge the friendly recognition given by our newfound friend. Rude. This guy appeared intoxicated as well, He was higher functioning, however,  because he could talk and run.

There we were. And so we had a new buddy.

Give us an 'A' for extra effort. We tried to avoid jail.

During the call and arrest, our buddy could only say "I do nothing wrong." He could not speak very good English, but tried to communicate as best he knew. I told him he was drunk in public and waking up several guests, yelling. He responded with, "Si."

(Great confession, but I didn't think he understood what we were telling him. I thought he was just being polite to the PoPo. But I couldn't read his mind and assuming the language barrier was part of this assumption may have been a stretch)

I told him it was illegal to be drunk in public in America in Spanish. Wow. That was confusing to write let alone tell him in what I call Spanglish because I sucked. I don't like language barriers, by the way. I always wished I spoke several languages fluently. It is important to know what is going on around you and how to communicate with several people.

Anyway, he still didn't understand. I wonder why. Perhaps because my Spanish language skills sucked and so did his English skills?  We had a global misunderstanding.

He was arrested and placed in the cruiser.

He did understand the process. It was the longest short ride to the jail. After 400 bazillion "I do nothing wrong" statements, we started to ignore him. We turned on the music and "bopped" to it. Pretty soon, we heard a noise in the backseat...

"I do nothing wrong! I want out!"

Was he singing it? Gary and I looked at each other and shrugged, but we smiled. He did what every good rookie would do, he ignored him and kept driving us to the jail on the hill.

Me, not so much.

After doing this job so long, I am really not afraid of what I say as long as it is legal. So, I sang back to him.

(Yes, it was recorded. I am who I am. They know this.)

"You can't get out!"

It became a song. I am sure it will be a hit. He sang back.

"I want out!"

I sang back, "You are drunk. You can't get out. You go to jail...go to jail...go to jail!"

He again sang a reply in a lower tone, "I not drunk. I want out. I do nothing wrong."

Now, Gary had to have a piece of the action. Fun must be had by all.  Gary and I sang in unison louder and somewhat in an opra-like rendition. "You can't get out! No out!  No out! No out!" 

We smiled at each other because, well, we were funny. Duh. We amused ourselves. We were not sure what the little guy thought until he responded.

He spoke with a smile, "At least...you guys funny." 

So, we arrived at the jail with our little Elvis and booked him in. I bet he will never forget his privileged serenade in my g-ride.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Paramedic Meltdown

The start of every day or night always began with coffee. Always. Or a protein shake. Well, both really. It was a routine. 

What was not routine were the shifts. 

Each shift was unique and each day brought new dysfunction. The first year of my career, I learned to enjoy it and not carry people's burdens. We're there to help. That's what the police do. And if we got some amusement out of it, it was a win-win situation. 

Cops do have box office seats to pure entertainment. Actually, that first row seat belongs to all first responders. On occasion, we get to observe and just stand guard. It was rare to see a colleague from another division of first response melt down. And so on this day I happen to have to call the ambulance. Sometimes we just need the popcorn...

On this night we were plagued with endless drunks...in fact it was an epic night of loser boozers. It was more like an epidemic. A plague. See what I did there?

Some drunks hit walls, some had vehicle rollovers, some ran from the fuzz...one got away...not from me, though. In fact, we didn't have enough cops to cover the burglaries in progress, the fights, etc., so I was held over from my shift two hours late. Ack!

One very small, 5-2, 125 lb, 44 year old drunk man was in rare form with the paramedics tonight. Most of the time spent with him was very annoying as most drunks get irritating at his level.

Later, at the hospital we found his blood alcohol content to be a whopping..[.45]. He was pretty high functioning even with that much in his system. I would have been dead.

He hated me, then I was nice, then he didn't like me, then he was in love with me, and also wanted me to arrest him tomorrow.  He really hated our hulk sized cop who was there as my backup...who was being very nice.

The drunk dude got beat up because he started a fight with a girl and someone finished him off pretty good. We really didn't have to ask because we could understand even with his pickled state.

He was not our favorite drunk of the night. Hmm, wonder why? Maybe it was his ability to keep us all in a perpetual state of vexation.

Because he was beat up and drunk, we had to involve our ambulance friends. They really don't like it when we have to call them for these things, but it is a "cover your ass" policy and so be it. It saves us all from future problems and I look at it as theatre.

(Paramedic)       What's your name?
(Drunk dude)      I don't know. Ask her. I told her my name.
(Paramedic)        I have to ask you some questions to make sure you don't have a concussion. You might have to go to the hospital.
(Drunk dude)      I will answer your questions.
(Paramedic)       What day is it?
(Drunk dude)      Monday.
(Paramedic)       How many quarters in a dollar?
(Drunk dude)     How many quarters ARE in a dollar?
(Paramedic)       No, I'm asking you.
(Drunk dude)     No, I'm asking YOU.
(Paramedic)       How many quarters in a dollar?

     [Silence and stare down]

(Paramedic)      Ok. Let's try another one. Where are you?
(Drunk dude)    Here.
(Paramedic)      What city?
(Drunk dude)    Springfield, Illinois.
(Paramedic)      What city are you in?
(Drunk dude)    Springfield, Illinois.
(Paramedic)      [Sigh]Who is the President of the United States?

(Drunk dude)    Who IS the President of the United States?
(Paramedic)      Quit making fun of me. Who is the President of the United States?
(Drunk dude)    I don't know. [Silence]That black guy!
(Paramedic)     What is his name?
(Drunk dude)   What IS his name?
(Paramedic)     [Sigh]No, I'm asking you.
(Drunk dude)   No, I'm asking YOU.
(ME)               Maybe you should ask him a different question.
(Drunk dude)   Yeah, ask me another question.
(Paramedic)     What happened to you?
(Drunk dude)   Nothing. I'm still here.
(Paramedic)     No, what happened to you? How did you get hurt?
(Drunk dude)   I don't know why you're trippin'. I'm good.
(ME)               [Addressing the paramedic] It's free entertainment. [Shrug] 

[Paramedic not impressed]

(Paramedic)     You need to be serious.
(Drunk dude)   Oh, I am serious. You need to be serious.
(Paramedic)     [Sigh]What time is it?
(Drunk dude)   For what?
(Paramedic)    No, what time is it now?
(Drunk dude)  It's Miller time. What time do you think it is?
(Drunk dude)  It's dark.
(Paramedic)    TIME! TIME! TIME! If you were looking at a clock, what time is it?
(Drunk dude)   [Looking around]There's no clock out here. We're on the street.
(Paramedic)    NO! What time is it now? Guess!
(Drunk dude)  I can't guess. I might have the wrong answer.
(Paramedic)    [Looks at me]
(ME)               I think it's time for the PoPo to take you to the hospital because I think you are about a .50 (point five-oh)
(Drunk dude)   I'm the FIVE-O? I want to be the FIVE-O.
(ME)               No, I'm the FIVE-O, you are about a point FIVE-O
(Drunk dude)   I know you're the FIVE-O. Why you sayin' I'm the FIVE-O. That's what you said. You said.
(Paramedic)    See!
(ME)               Turn around and put your hands behind your back.
(Drunk dude)   Ok, beautiful lady. What for?

[Of course I took the compliment lightly, after all, he's had multiple drinks. I think I'm about a case of beer beautiful. What an insult! ACK!]

(ME)              You're under arrest for public intoxication and we're going to the ER to get your head checked.
(Drunk dude)  This is BUUUULLLSHIT! My head is fine. You're the one that said I was the FIVE-O.
(ME)              I AM the FIVE-O.
(Drunk dude)  Nooo....you said I was.
(ME)              Zip it.
(Paramedic)    [Directing this at me] See, how do you like?
(Drunk dude)  Like what? You don't have to get all up and nasty. So what! I'm going to jail.
(Paramedic)    I wasn't talking to you.
(Drunk dude)  Well, I'm not talking to you either.
(Paramedic)    UGH!

It didn't get any better in the car. I had some of my rap music playing in hopes of drowning out voices coming from the back seat. It was standard procedure.

(Drunk dude)   Ooooh, you can't be playing this music for a brother.
(ME)               You don't like my music?
(Drunk dude)   No, it makes me fall in love with you. Are you doing a brother?
(ME)               What?
(Drunk dude)   What?
(ME)               What are you talking about?
(Drunk dude)   Will you take me?
(ME)               I am taking you. I'm taking you to the hospital, then jail.
(Drunk dude)   No, take me...I'm a brother. You like brothers?
(ME)              I have one, yes. What does my brother have to do with this?
(Drunk dude)  NO! ME, ME, ME!
(ME)             Yes, I'm taking YOU YOU YOU to JAIL JAIL JAIL!
(Drunk dude) NO! Will you go out with me?
(ME)             No, it's cold. We're going inside...to the hospital and to jail.
(ME)             The handcuffs ARE on you.
(Drunk dude) AAAHHH! You damn frustratin' woman!
(ME)             See! How do you like it?
(Drunk dude) Like what? Are you being NAUGHTY?
(ME)             No, you are being naughty. You got arrested.
(Drunk dude) I'm done which you. I am SOOO done which you.
(ME)             [Sigh] Yippee.
(Drunk dude) You got to pee?
(ME)              [Sigh] Never mind.

Yes, it was all video and audio recorded. Can't wait until the Captain sees that one...

In retrospect, the Captain never said a thing. I doubt he saw it. I am assuming he missed the whole show. Apparently, reviewing my recordings was not worthy of company time. 

Too bad. 

Some of those would be better than most comedy acts you pay big bucks to see and he would have gotten paid to view them. 

What better gig is that?

Thursday, March 23, 2017

Pork Sausage

People ask me if I miss cop work. Every single day. 

People ask me if I ever reflect on my police calls, people, places. Every single day.

It isn't that I am pining for the job or even mourning its loss. Just reflections of fondness and little things can spark a memory. 

Now more than ever, I realize my training was so critical to the recruits. I know there were days or even months where I was not 100 for them and many times I was downright worthless. I worked two full time jobs and lacked sleep. Sometimes I fell asleep in the passenger side because the motion of the car has ALWAYS put me to sleep, but worse when I lacked proper snoozing time. That's when I reported myself to my supervisor. At the time, he was very disappointed, took it up the chain. I didn't get disciplined, but they didn't take me off training either. I had to do the best I could. 

Thankfully, they understood my personal dilemma and my needs to salvage what I had of my life at home and with my personal business. But it came at a cost to my profession. Later, I chose my profession and closed the personal business. 

The realization of my errors makes me regret that I wasn't better. I went through a divorce (22 years with Bug's father) and a miscarriage during some training times which really gave me head damage. No one really takes into account those things because you aren't supposed to bring your baggage to work. Well, that's a nice perfect world, but it isn't true life. I asked for breaks and so did others, but we were all denied despite our various reasons because we were so short handed.

So it is what it is and has become. People got let go because they weren't cut out to be cops. Nothing I could have done or said would have changed that. And that is how it should be. But for the ones who passed their training, I could have served them better. 

If I can leave anything to forward to administrators and trainers it is that they should be in top form and if not, realize a break is needed. Monitor your people. It is necessary for the trainer and the organization. More importantly, make sure fair is fair to the recruits. They expect the best. Administrators need to be on top of those requests and know that a trainer who recognizes they aren't top notch and need a break should be evaluated carefully for the better of the department. A department cannot afford to make this kind of sacrifice just because they are short-handed. 

I think administrators lose sight of the big picture sometimes or maybe they have so much faith in that trainer that they think he or she will pull it through. Trainers are human. They also can generate human errors. It is critical to organizational success to have them all in prime condition mentally and physically. 

As a trainer, there are times you get a very endearing young person as a rookie, but they just are not street wise. In fact, you can see early on they have to make great strides to overcome things or they are just not cop material in the first place. It is almost always that obvious. Some are salvageable and we do go leaps and bounds to get them training needs. But you really need the right people. 

These candidates I speak of above, passed the test and have dreams of grandeur to be a savior to people and put on the uniform with pride. That part is the cool part. I had those feelings when I first started and the uniform pride continued until the last day. I don't know if I was really street wise at first, but I knew how to read people and detect criminal activity right out of the gates. I loved problem solving.

Some rookies are dangerous. Some are just dense in the head. These are the ones who need to be terminated as soon as possible. Of course, it has to be justified and documented. 

Additionally, some rookies just aren't cut out to be cops because they are true bleeding hearts. They cannot fathom nor see nor detect evil. They miss criminal action unless it is blatant. They cannot even sense suspicious activity. Some are just academically intelligent and are fit for other careers. They are in a world of blissful ignorance but only because they are darlings. I have had my share of darlings. 

I loved this rookie in the mother sense and loved his good heart, but I knew early on, despite his wishes, he would not be cut out to stay a cop. He did well, generally, even in dynamic calls, but I could tell it was too much for his psyche. He really had no idea about the street side nor really grasped hints of danger. 

And what mother would want the purest of hearts to be cynical and jaded for the rest of their lives? I kind of liked his innocence. It was a sign that kids were still raised right and the 1950s existed. 

After he left the department, I would see him around town and we had great reunions and hugs and laughter. He even anonymously bought me a Starbucks in the drive-thru one day. I chased him down to thank him and he was the same happy kid. He is very intelligent. I always wished him well and I know he has and will continue to do good...just not in police work.  

That was one we saved for his mother. He was restored to normalcy. 

But on this day...he was in training...with me...

Late night lurking.

He doesn't do it very well...but he does try.

Pretty soon...a loud noise grabbed our attention to the left. A speeding motorcycle. Most of the time, bikers enjoy riding around our vast neighborhoods and mountain roads. However, at this time of night, we usually get teased by pursuits. Well, we used to because a directive came out that we were not to pursue them in most circumstances because of the danger to them and others going over 150 mph. There was a group of them out there riding together teasing the PoPo. The problem is they knew we couldn't pursue them unless circumstances elevated above a misdemeanor, so they ruled the streets.

Sausage at first ignored this motorcycle rider. He was the only motorist on the road at 2 AM. Hello! It should grab your attention at least for a look-see because it is the ONLY thing on the road.

ME: Seriously? You aren't going to follow him?

SAUSAGE: Well, he was going fast. I guess I could.

ME: He was going about 40 in a 30.

SAUSAGE: How can you tell?

ME: We are all trained in speed estimation. It's a matter of whether or not you use it. Go after him.

SAUSAGE: He's about a mile down the road.

ME: How fast are you going?

SAUSAGE: About 60 mph.

ME: And  you're not catching him. He is speeding up. Probably saw you. Go after him.

SAUSAGE: I have no reason to stop him.

ME: *blink*blink*

SAUSAGE: What do I have?

ME: My speed estimation, no visible registration...oh looky there...he's swerving in both lanes of traffic. He's probably drunk.

SAUSAGE: I don't think I have enough.

ME: I'm gonna slap a bitch.
Me...trying to avoid saying cocksucker

Soon, we were closer to the motorcycle which accelerated even more and the dude swerved all over the road when we got about two car lengths behind him. It was apparent he was going to hurt someone if we didn't stop him and he was trying to outrun us.

ME: Pull him over.

SAUSAGE: I don't have enough.

ME: Pull him over before he kills somebody...NOW!

Activating our lights had no effect; the dude kept going and ignored our disco show. I pushed the siren..like one little hi-lo and an air horn bleep.

Crash. Beautiful. Wreckage.


Even though he wrecked his motorcycle...mechanical carnage everywhere...he was fine. Standing up and scratching his head, he faced me. Bloodshot, dilated eyes. Smell of a brewery. And...swaying... with pee pee pants. We call those clues. Very drunk this man was, Yoda. Or it was the new age of motorcycle driving with wet pants and bug eyes. Maybe it was a summer thing since they didn't have air conditioning on those rides. Well, I guess the wind in your face would be somewhat considered an air coolant of sorts.

We talked to the man. Sure enough. He came from a bar...had a lot to drink...slurred his words...couldn't get anything out of his wallet. He looked like a character out of Mad Max. Yes, I'm dating myself. But he was.

Crazy hair. Jeans. Black boots. Face grime. Big, furry mustache...like a squirrel on his face. It could have been a pet squirrel.  It was hard to tell. Big ass glasses. Actually... big ass glasses are the first sign of a pedophile. But in this instance...Mad Max character. He looked like a Festus, although his name was Robert. Names were not changed to protect the guilty.

ME: What happened there?

ROBERT: [holding a piece of handlebar] Put the brakes on too hard.

ME: Hmm. Sure it wasn't because you were impaired?

ROBERT: What's impaired mean?

ME: Super. Why don't you talk to SAUSAGE here. I think he speaks your language.

SAUSAGE: Now. How much did you have to drink at the bar?

ROBERT: 4 beers.

SAUSAGE: How long ago was your last one?

ROBERT: I guzzled two about an hour ago.

So Sausage went through the routine questions. Then he went back because he forgot some questions...standard ones...or something.

SAUSAGE: How big were they?


SAUSAGE: The beers.

ME: Big enough to make him pee his pants. Or did the PoPo scare you?

ROBERT: I think I did that when I wrecked.

ME: Aha.

SAUSAGE: I didn't even notice. You did pee your pants.


SAUSAGE: All be darned. Is that uncomfortable?

ROBERT: A little wet.

SAUSAGE: How can you pee your pants? Don't you know when to go?

ROBERT: Yes. I was scared. Couldn't control it.

SAUSAGE: I don't understand. Couldn't you hold it?

ROBERT: I tried. It just came out.

SAUSAGE: How long was it before you realized you peed your pants?

ROBERT: I dunno.

SAUSAGE: Isn't that gross? I mean...especially when the temperature goes from warm to cold. And you peed a lot. Is it cold now?

ROBERT: Yup. It's a little cold and wet.

SAUSAGE: Did it go down to your boots? Because it looks like it did. There's a trail and all.

ROBERT: Maybe, not sure. Have to take my boots off and check.

SAUSAGE: Are you going to keep those boots after you peed in them?

ME: Oh for the love of Harriet. As interesting as this conversation is...I think I will interrupt.  Sausage, he's drunk. You lose control of those things when you're drunk. And then he wrecked. Whether or not Mr. Robert here peed before or after the wreck is irrelevant to our investigation. Robert, would you be willing to do field sobriety tests to see if you are safe to drive?

ROBERT: Hell no.

ME: Awesome. Turn around. You're under arrest.

And so I arrested him. Sausage stood there. With all his driving patterns and the observations I made and later had to articulate, this old salty dog was surely not going to let Mr. Pee Pee Pants go free. Sausage later asked me how I could have enough to arrest the man. [head hit dashboard] Apparently, we did not teach him enough to know to recognize what reasonable suspicion was for the stop and needed probable cause for an arrest.  Good question for Phase I. We are at the end of Phase III. Perhaps if the Captain wants to salvage him...he could be his assistant...make coffee for him and solve crime by binary code. I worry about the kid getting killed because he is just good and pure of heart.

ME: You know what, Sausage, it's too bad we didn't siphon that pee pee out of Robert's boots or squeeze it out of his pants and send it in for testing of his alcohol content. With a search warrant...we could go back and do that if you would like to.

SAUSAGE: Are you being sarcastic?