Evidence 101

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







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?
(Paramedic)    TIME OF DAY. WHAT TIME OF DAY?
(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.
(Drunk dude) NO! WILL YOU GET IT ON WITH ME?
(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?

Wednesday, March 8, 2017

We Don't Do Fashion

Sometimes we run into people that by their mere existence irritate us. Why is that so? We are supposed to be  non-judgmental (whoa) and full of grace. So is it window dressing? Are the police really objective and not subjective? Come on, now. We are humans. I think sometimes our objective views are subjective. Does that make sense? I try to be neutral, but sometimes I get tired of being the fence.
I'm an angel. I love all people. No one irritates the police. 

Officer Friday and I had taken a call where an elderly woman had been beaten up by her daughter who was an alcoholic and on a binge. The daughter was the alcoholic on a binge, not the elderly mother. But the elderly mother was also an alcoholic and on most days had "continent issues" according to the son in law. I was confused upon this notion and asked about it for clarification. Not land issues. Incontinence. Whew. That made more sense. The woman had MS and was about 75 years old...the mother. She wore depends. Her daughter had been her caretaker for years and was in and out of trouble, a drunk, and all this at the age of 49 years old. Her son in law was reporting the crime, crying, and telling the woman...the mother... it was time to tell the truth and stop covering up for the daughter.

Who wants to tell the truth to the police? Like no one.

She was bruised, cut, and beaten. The house was in disarray with several things broken and the phone ripped from the wall. It was apparent the house was normally neat and tidy. However, today was a special day of domestic violence decorating and boozer interior design takeover. While calling 911, the daughter took the phone away and jerked it out of the wall.

The suspect fled after beating her mother over an argument about beer and Depends. I shit you not. Wait. That pun was not intended.

Mom wears Depends due to her loss of bowel functions, or perhaps it's just easier to drink and drink and pee and not have to get up. I don't know. Maybe it's a drunk thing. News to me.

Anypeepeepants, after having a few Bud Lights, Mom peed her Depends.She asked her daughter if she could help her change them and started to get up to the bathroom. Whammo! Mom was knocked down and well...the rest is above.

Enter the PoPo.

I got Mom to tell me the truth, photographed her injuries and the house. Daughter was on the run.

She would be back. After all, she was drunk. I know drunks. They like to be next to their beer. And I was next to her beer. So there I was.

Sooner than later, the daughter came back. We were around the corner waiting like a fox in a hen house. Well, actually, foxes don't wait in the hen house. How about similar to a fox in a rabbit hole? No. That's not it either. They just have their butt in the air while catching dinner. How about NOT comparing the PoPo to a sly fox. How about a wolf stalking Red Riding Hood? Yep. That's it. I think. I don't know what the heck got me started on that.

Anydigression, the daughter called 911 asking to have drug dealers removed from the house. Whiskey-tango-foxtrot? I don't know. Drunks are hard to figure. Where were the drug dealers? I can always spot one and certainly had not in my visit inside this particular residence.

We enter. Again.

She was loaded with alcohol and probably some prescription candies, yelling, and had a gravelly voice which irritated me. She definitely wasn't Adele. So. I told her she was under arrest. The fight was on. For about two seconds.

I took Miss Elder Abuser (all 110 pounds) and threw her onto to the sofa and handcuffed her up. I don't think I even broke a sweat. She was bitching, yelling, and carrying on. She also was yelling at her mother to tell the police that she didn't hit her. Officer Friday and I ignored all the raging and ranting.

It was winter. (random sentence)

As a nice police officer, I thought I would offer her some shoes so she would not have to walk out there in the cold Wyoming climate...barefoot. She kicked two different pair of shoes away. Apparently, she didn't like the fact they didn't match her outfit and she would not wear them.

Yeah. No.

The PoPo obviously don't do fashion. Otherwise we would match our nails and lipstick to our uniforms with pretty hair ties and we would give a shit about what all our prisoners wear and coordinate, including fantastic accessories. I could give a shit if you wear a bunny suit or go naked. When I say you are going to jail, you go... the way you are. So if you are planning on going to jail...make sure you match and have clean underwear. NOT MY JOB.

As you would guess it, the daughter was taken to the police car by Officer Friday and although we could have carried her, she was a big girl and had to walk across the ground. Maybe...next time...she will put shoes on when they are provided to her. Again, I think people over 18 can adult.

I was THE bitch. Not A bitch, but THE bitch. I was so proud.

DAUGHTER: You know you are a BITCH! I can't believe you made me walk across cold ground. And you ripped me from my home for NO reason. I didn't beat my mother. I am not drunk.You listening to me, Bitch? Cop? You hear me? You have false arrested me! You need to take me home right now!

ME: Yep. We just picked on you for no apparent reason. What is false arrested? Is it like false teeth?

DAUGHTER: Bitch! You ripped me from my home!

ME: YES I did.

DAUGHTER: Why did you do that?

ME: Because you didn't go willingly.

DAUGHTER: I didn't do anything.

ME: Bullshit. Besides when I say the words UNDER ARREST, that means I'm the boss. About everything.

DAUGHTER: Shit. Well don't you think you are Miss Princess.

ME: Actually, I am the PRINCESS PARTY POOPER. No more beer for you. Perhaps when you sober up, reality might set in, and you can make better choices.

DAUGHTER: I don't understand why you have to be such a bitch.

OFFICER FRIDAY: Now that's enough. You got yourself in this situation.

DAUGHTER: I was asking a question!

OFFICER FRIDAY: We are tired of your questions.

ME: You have the right to remain silent.

DAUGHTER: Well, I don't want to be silent.

ME: O..silent night. Holy night...{singing in my Opera voice}

DAUGHTER: Christmas is over, bitch! You think you are so funny.

ME: I am. Aren't I? Officer Friday, aren't I funny?

OFFICER FRIDAY: You ARE funny and you are such a BITCH!


DAUGHTER: Thank you. 

ME: So happy we could finally please you.

DAUGHTER: Could you please pull up my shirt so my titties aren't hanging out when I get in there?

[record scratch]

[nasty]

ME: Yeah. We don't do that.

DAUGHTER: Why not? I asked nicely.

ME: We don't do FASHION.