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....

WTF?

...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.

WTF?

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.

WTF?


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.

4 comments:

Well Seasoned Fool said...

Gee, the first ones you ever saw?

Momma Fargo said...

WSF...yes, of that small size.

Well Seasoned Fool said...

ROFLMAO.

Mad Jack said...

Cop knock in the middle of the night. I sit up, untangle myself, and mumble something to Main Lady. I pull on Levi's and SHOES. Footgear is very important when screwing around in the middle of the night, because otherwise you'll run right smack into the leg of the &%^! !!! coffee table and break your little toe, and while you're cross-eyed from the pain the stupid cop keeps knocking. By the time you gimp over to the door and open it, the cop is getting suspicious. Then he sees you acting weird, so he asks what is wrong with you, and you tell him, and he tries not to laugh.

So that's why I get somewhat dressed before answering the door.

Why this idiot had to come dressed in a pillow is far and away beyond me, unless he's some kind of weirdo, which I think he is.

Some days the thought of being a cop appeals to me. Other days... not so much.