Evidence 101

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

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Hub Caps

I recognized him immediately from the back of his "pointed" head. When he turned around and smiled at me with those birth control glasses...he lit up my day. I wanted to tell him he was GREAT, and I would trade him for Lunch Money anyday. Afterall, in the ghetto, the kids must have been traded their lunch money for hub cabs...or maybe they were stealing them...I get it mixed up. Why couldn't it work for me?

WHEELS: You look stressed.

ME: Yeah.

WHEELS: Miss me?

ME: [smiling] No.

WHEELS: Come on, Boss, you miss me.

ME: No. [trying not to smile]

WHEELS: A little bit?

ME:  October 8th. Cold Stone. German Chocolate Cake or you fail.

WHEELS: Isn't that our first day back together?

ME: Yes.

WHEELS: Shouldn't we celebrate at the end?

ME: Who's celebrating. I just want ice cream. I thought I trained you.

WHEELS: *blink* blink*

ME: Charlie, here, gets it.

OFFICER CHARLIE: Yeppers. Boss says ice cream. Ice cream it is. Need it at the beginning. Good impressions.

ME: Are you ready to graduate?

WHEELS: Oh, yes.

ME: Mwwaahhhaaa! Barbie needs ice cream.  The pen is mightier than the sword.

WHEELS: The question is....are you ready for The Wheels?

ME: *blink*blink* Lorrrdt, help us.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Resident Evil: Afterlife

The night was still, dark, and the cooling temperatures of fall were starting to creep through my uniform. Clouds moved in and a silent, gentle rain fell all night. Luck would have it the rangemaster announced shotgun qualifications under these circumstances. And so...Lunch Money and I made our way through the storm toward the range.

Loaded up and ready for war, I felt like Milla Jovovich from Resident Evil...only not that hot.

The Rangemaster announced the qualifications and we proceeded to our marks. Starting from the 50 yard line, we worked our way forward. Me with a shotgun is like hot sex. I love them. Especially modified tactical style with a pistol grip and a shorty stock. Pump action. Although most of the guys prefer the Benelli semi-auto. I'm all about the pump action Remington 870 modified. And I look cool. That's what counts when you are a girl with a big gun.

Lunch Money and I did as the Rangemaster said. His shots were right on and so our competition began. Even though we were there to qualify, Lunch Money and I had a little game going. That's what happens when you get two girls together. Power struggle. And he was such a bitch.

Approaching the 5 yard line, we were neck and neck and almost to the end of the qualification. Advancing toward our targets, our senses were elevated with the rain and darkness. We could hear our boots pounding the ground as we came upon our targets. The final command was set and we fired our last rounds.

RANGEMASTER: 96, what the hell did you just do?

ME: [blowing raindrops off my hair] Uh, I shot the target right through the middle and killed the bastard like I was supposed to.

RANGEMASTER: No. I saw that. What the hell are you doing firing that weapon from the hip.

ME: I just saw Resident Evil 3D. And it's cool to shoot like that. And the bad guy is dead. And I didn't miss. And I looked cool....like Milla. Did I say I looked cool and I killed him?

RANGEMASTER: What the fuck does Milla have to do with police qualifications?

ME: She's hot.

RANGEMASTER: I don't know what we are going to do with you.

ME: Well, you don't state in your qualification policy that I have to have the front sight picture alignment and the gun at my face. So...in real life, I will probably do the same thing. Sometimes you are so close to your threat, you have to aim and fire. Sometimes you have to adapt to the little alien zombies.

RANGEMASTER: We are shooting people here! Not aliens! Not zombies!

ME: Right.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Just LOSE it!

Gone are the days of simple. Cruisers with no sterero. I remember what it was like to patrol in silence. Our police radio was all we had for entertainment. That and deep thought, the night noises on the streets, and our own voices in our heads.

Then came the AM/FM radio. We thought we were in hog heaven...no pun intended. Variety in the late night hours kept us awake. Now we have CD players and iPod docking stations. What would we do without them?

Last night was the first night I had Lunch Money. His voice is like fingernails grating on a chalkboard. He's a nice kid and all...but annoying as fuck. That's the only way I can explain it. With an f-bomb. Literally.

During the entire 12 hour shift, he whined every 10 minutes about my music. And he has a high-pitched voice on the verge of turning into puberty...only he's 27 years old. He turned the stereo down to volume 1 for almost the entire time. Taking a dis for a few minutes doesn't bother me, but whining for the entire night makes my head spin around backwards.

For training purposes, I always ask a recruit what kind of music they listen to. It tells me something about their personality and then I put in the opposite. Torture? No. Well, somewhat. They have to learn to focus. They have to block out distractions. What better way then to concentrate on their listening skills than to distract them with music they hate and have the police radio on, their FTO quizzing them and teaching them all night? It has worked for all the other trainees I have had. Every. Last. One. Of. Them. After awhile...when I ask...they can't tell me what song is playing. Except Wheels. He learned how to focus on every sound around him. When I quizzed him...he started singing the song, telling me what was going over the police radio and what was happening outside the car. He said it was from his military training. He got a gold star.

Not this fickle white boy. After 8 hours of telling him to can his whining, I put in different music. Queen. Led Zepplin. Sugarland. Beyonce for Pete's sake. And then one of the all time greatest songs EVER. Low Rider. How can anyone not like Low Rider?

LUNCH MONEY: You actually like this?

ME: What the? You know what? I am done with your crap. Sick of it. I've been diplomatic with you the entire night. Now you better can it. Your job isn't to whine about every song in the stereo. I even let you turn it down to volume 1. Now stuff it. You need to focus.

LUNCH MONEY: Well, I can't possibly focus with this kind of music. If you would just let me put in my music. A little Rob Zombie. Korn is even too mellow for me. And I absolutely can't do my job if the CD plays over more than one time through. If you would plug your iPod in, at least there would be enough songs to play through and you wouldn't have to switch CDs.

ME: *blink* blink* {with smoke coming out of my ears}

LUNCH MONEY: Well, the stuff I like is real music. I can listen to it over and over.

ME: This is the last time we are discussing this. Do you hear me?

LUNCH MONEY : I don't understand why you have to torture me.

ME: You don't understand. How am I going to trust you when we walk into a family domestic where the bad guy aims a gun in your face?

LUNCH MONEY: Well, of course, I would shoot him.

ME: Oh, that simple, huh?


ME: Booool-shit! You can't even let music you don't care for slide off your back. How are you going to be able to draw your gun, focus on the eminent threat, and block out the screaming wife and crying baby and the dog circling your feet and the toddler tugging on your leg and the neighbor coming up behind you and knowing the location of your partner or backup in order to decide whether to pull the trigger? You don't have a clue. That's what I mean by focus. You can focus on your target, yet you know everything going on around you. But you tone it down. The target is on volume 10, your surroundings on volume 4. And you see and hear 360 degrees. Got it?

LUNCH MONEY: Oh, I am sure when the time comes my adrenaline will kick in and my senses will be heightened and I will be just fine.

ME: Fuck me up the ass.


ME: Take me to the gym before I kill people. Especially clueless ones. I need to work out.

LUNCH  MONEY: Oh, good. I can listen to my music while I run with my earphones on.

And so the entire night continued. He had good times and mostly annoying ones. He was even silly on a DUI arrest. The only relief I got was during my workout. I have 5 weeks with him. I don't even hate the kid...he just annoys the shit out of me. There is an insane asylum about 300 miles from here and THEY might send me to it. So if I fall off the radar...you'll know I just lost it.