Bringing one out of the closet from the journals of 2010:
Going to class this week. I will be reading your brilliant pieces, but unless something good happens, not much for me to say. I know. You are breathing a sigh of relief. However, all those hours staying up in a row...all 38 of them...I was busy. So I will post a few at a time. Here is one of the many wonderful calls we DIDN'T go to on Saturday.
Saturday night was full of weird calls. Everywhere. At about 1:30 a.m., things really started cracka lackin. The Lepreshawn was really upset at my music. I told him to suck it up...I'm the Field Training Officer...and we are rappin'. I also told him after midnight...R & B and he should not think about getting squirrelly. [Lepreshawn eye roll here]
LEPRESHAWN: You never listened to this when you were a detective.
ME: Yes, I did. I had an iPod so I could jam out while typing about men raping 3 year old sluts as my pen (computer generated reports now days) put years onto their life...in the penitentiary. And dreaming about them dropping the soap in prison. The pen is mightier than the sword. And my music helped write many affidavits and drown out the office bullshit.
LEPRESHAWN: Oh, yeah. I forgot you weren't one to play your stereo for everyone. It sucks.
LEPRESHAWN: Your music. Except a couple songs.
ME: Get used to it.
LEPRESHAWN: [turns stereo off] It might break my concentration. I don't want to miss anything.[sarcasm]
ME: Turn that back on. [Do it my damn self]
LEPRESHAWN: You are such a bitch.
ME: Thank you.
DISPATCHER: Lincoln 8 copy for a cow in the bar (remaining nameless) parking lot.
LINCOLN 8: Copy. En route. [Secretly, I know he is thinking FUCK. We hate animal calls unless it is a bear or a mountain lion.]
This is a nearby suburb, not our agency. We all are on the same radio channels so we can back each other up. And sometimes I get called for Hostage Negotiations or Evidence work so I tune into everyone.
LEPRESHAWN: [snicker, snicker] Maybe it's really the giant Easter Bunny. LOL.
ME: [roll my eyes]You should just concentrate on St. Patrick's Day.
LINCOLN 8: Law 1. Lincoln 8
DISPATCHER: Go ahead.
LINCOLN 8: This cow is laying down. She won't get up. Looks like she just calved or something. I'll give you the brand, call the rancher and have him come get it. [gives the brand over the radio]
Now, in the nearby suburb, 2 of their brass our my very good friends. All the agencies work a lot together because a lot of our crime blends. Except this one...it was all theirs.
DISPATCHER: Lincoln 8
LINCOLN 8: Go ahead.
DISPATCHER: The rancher wants to know if you are sure it is a cow and not one of his steers.
LINCOLN 8: Tell him I am sure.
A few minutes go by.
DISPATCHER: LINCOLN 8
LINCOLN 8: Go ahead.
DISPATCHER: The rancher wants to know how you are sure it is a cow. He doesn't want to drive into town for a steer.
LINCOLN 8: [You can hear him roll his eyes-yes, I'm serious!] Well, she has red hair, big brown eyes, and huge udders, and I looked under her tail and..[microphone goes dead]
LEPRESHAWN: Doh! NO! He did not just say that on the radio? OMG!
I immediately called up my buddy, the Lieutenant...referring to him as THE LIEU. Here was our cell phone conversation...
ME: [still snorting] WTF? You guys are going to get the Sheriff pissed.
THE LIEU: [giggling, snorting] I know that's why I schmucked LINCOLN 8 on the head and the rest of his damn transmission was interrupted. The douche. Funny shit, tho. But now I gotta write him up. I don't know where this damn cow came from. What the hell? Doesn't she know she is in the big shitty?
ME: That cow probably was in the bar. You might want to check to see if her date is still in there.
THE LIEU: [giggling] I know. All them bitches look like that in there. Even the pole dancers.
ME: Are you sure it's a girl...I mean...do you think you guys got it right. The rancher obviously thinks you are a dumbass.
THE LIEU: [snorting] I know. She did have a purty mouth...
ME: [giggling] You are so sick. I hope lifting the tail, you didn't get sharted on.
THE LIEU: [giggling] I know. This is the most goddam funny thing. Not like our usual cow calls. But something is wrong with her. She looks like she calved recently. And she won't get up.
ME: Poke her in the ass with a stick. She'll get up.
THE LIEU: Tried that already. No MOO-EVE. That's Cow Spanish.
ME: [giggling] Are you sure she isn't drunk? I mean after all, she probably just got off work. If she's not talking to ya, you can tell if she has been pole dancing. Look between her legs.
THE LIEU: [giggling] I know. You are so fucking sick. I want her to blow in the PBT, but the damn bitch is refusin'. And her pasties fell off. So, now, that's another charge.
ME: [giggling] Shit. You get a free show.
THE LIEU: [giggling] I know. It's a damn shame everyone can't be enjoying this. OH, fuck! I have to go. CRASH! BIG CRASH!
With that, he promptly hung up on me because a drunk tried to avoid the cow and ran into the building.
ME: See. You didn't miss a thing listening to my music. And with it in the background, it made the call all better.
LEPRESHAWN: [giggling] Shut the fuck up.
Yes, we giggle a lot. We are immature. Really immature.