I have previously listed emsfun.blogspot.com as a very enjoyable read...
The Happy Medic (the illustrious author) has changed the address to yourhappymedic.blogspot.com.
Enjoy.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Lame defenses...
I hear a lot of 'em, believe me. Some are lamer than others, but here are a couple that always confound me...
"I was going with the flow of traffic." Remember when you were a kid and you'd tell mom and/or dad, "Everyone else is doing it!" Whatever 'it' may be. Their inevitable response was something to the effect of, "If everyone else jumped off a bridge or (insert stupid act here), would you?"
Guess what kids...same theory applies here. If everyone else on the road is driving at 15 mph over the limit and I happen to stop you. You're just the unlucky assclown I picked. Life sucks, karma's a bitch, whatever adage you want to apply, it's all the same. Doesn't change the fact that you were breaking the law. So, telling me you were driving with the flow of traffic is a)Retarded...what are you 12? and, more importantly legal-wise, b) not a legal defense.
"I can't get another ticket!" One of my all time favorites. When I hear someone say that, I actually hear, "I'm a moron and I obviously haven't learned my lesson. Please, please, Officer, write me another ticket so maybe, just maybe, it'll get through my thick ass head I should probably pay attention to what the hell I'm doing. Oh, and by the way, I'm also the same person that repeatedly hits my thumb with a hammer and wonders why it fucking hurts." Whenever I hear this one, I always request a driving history check through dispatch just out of morbid curiousity to see exactly how many moving violations the driver has. More often than not, they have many and my smile is extra big when they're signing the cite.
"I was going with the flow of traffic." Remember when you were a kid and you'd tell mom and/or dad, "Everyone else is doing it!" Whatever 'it' may be. Their inevitable response was something to the effect of, "If everyone else jumped off a bridge or (insert stupid act here), would you?"
Guess what kids...same theory applies here. If everyone else on the road is driving at 15 mph over the limit and I happen to stop you. You're just the unlucky assclown I picked. Life sucks, karma's a bitch, whatever adage you want to apply, it's all the same. Doesn't change the fact that you were breaking the law. So, telling me you were driving with the flow of traffic is a)Retarded...what are you 12? and, more importantly legal-wise, b) not a legal defense.
"I can't get another ticket!" One of my all time favorites. When I hear someone say that, I actually hear, "I'm a moron and I obviously haven't learned my lesson. Please, please, Officer, write me another ticket so maybe, just maybe, it'll get through my thick ass head I should probably pay attention to what the hell I'm doing. Oh, and by the way, I'm also the same person that repeatedly hits my thumb with a hammer and wonders why it fucking hurts." Whenever I hear this one, I always request a driving history check through dispatch just out of morbid curiousity to see exactly how many moving violations the driver has. More often than not, they have many and my smile is extra big when they're signing the cite.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Not all of them are A-holes....
In this, the Christmas season, I am reminded of an incident from a couple weeks ago...
More often than not, I am greeted with either indifference or downright animosity whilst I am rolling on around on my little motor scooter. On this particular day, however, I was sitting on a stop sign in a car (inclement weather). Out of nowhere, a random neighbor came out of his house to say hello. He walked up to the window and, I must admit, I thought to myself, "Here we go".
I rolled down the window expecting the worst. The random guy said, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" I politely declined, but let him know how much I appreciated the offer.
Thank you, random neighbor guy, for reinstilling my faith in humanity (at least some of them).
More often than not, I am greeted with either indifference or downright animosity whilst I am rolling on around on my little motor scooter. On this particular day, however, I was sitting on a stop sign in a car (inclement weather). Out of nowhere, a random neighbor came out of his house to say hello. He walked up to the window and, I must admit, I thought to myself, "Here we go".
I rolled down the window expecting the worst. The random guy said, "Can I buy you a cup of coffee?" I politely declined, but let him know how much I appreciated the offer.
Thank you, random neighbor guy, for reinstilling my faith in humanity (at least some of them).
I can't believe you're doing this to me on Christmas Eve.
I thought about merely titling this post as I did and simply having the body read "Believe it". But, I'm much to verbose for that!
Here's the thing, everyone. I know what day it is. I know what day it isn't. It ain't Christmas. That's tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be of good cheer. I won't be at home with my family. I'll be here. At work. Merry Christmas. Today, though. Today, if I see you doing some stupid, dangerous shit, guess what....ticket time! Hoorah!
Case in point, I'm heading back to the PD to talk my partner into a cup of coffee (a time honored tradition) when I see two cars traveling the opposite direction. Traffic is light, but it's raining and the roads are, consequently, wet. The cars are driving around 25 to 30 MPH (that's between 36 and 44 feet per second). The second car is, at best, 15 to 20 feet behind the car in front. Dangerous in July when the sun is beating down. Even more so in December. In the rain. It takes the average, aware driver 1.5 seconds to perceive and react to outside stimulus...say, the driver in front slamming on the brakes. In 1.5 seconds at 25 to 30 MPH, the vehicle will travel between 54 and 66 feet. That's just for the second car's driver to see and react to what happens in front of him, not to mention stopping time, etc. Now, if my math holds up and the laws of physics are accurate (and, just for shits and giggles, let's assume they are) If the second car is 15 to 20 feet behind the front car, there's no way he can successfully avoid a collision should the driver in front do something stupid.
So, being the vigilant officer, I stop the second car. Now, he doesn't have an overtly bad attitude, but I can see it just under the skin. He knows he's getting a ticket. I politely explain the violation and the inherent danger within. His reponse? Refer to the title of this post. My response, "I wasn't aware traffic collisions weren't allowed on Christmas Eve."
The Grinch? He's my bitch.
Here's the thing, everyone. I know what day it is. I know what day it isn't. It ain't Christmas. That's tomorrow. Tomorrow I will be of good cheer. I won't be at home with my family. I'll be here. At work. Merry Christmas. Today, though. Today, if I see you doing some stupid, dangerous shit, guess what....ticket time! Hoorah!
Case in point, I'm heading back to the PD to talk my partner into a cup of coffee (a time honored tradition) when I see two cars traveling the opposite direction. Traffic is light, but it's raining and the roads are, consequently, wet. The cars are driving around 25 to 30 MPH (that's between 36 and 44 feet per second). The second car is, at best, 15 to 20 feet behind the car in front. Dangerous in July when the sun is beating down. Even more so in December. In the rain. It takes the average, aware driver 1.5 seconds to perceive and react to outside stimulus...say, the driver in front slamming on the brakes. In 1.5 seconds at 25 to 30 MPH, the vehicle will travel between 54 and 66 feet. That's just for the second car's driver to see and react to what happens in front of him, not to mention stopping time, etc. Now, if my math holds up and the laws of physics are accurate (and, just for shits and giggles, let's assume they are) If the second car is 15 to 20 feet behind the front car, there's no way he can successfully avoid a collision should the driver in front do something stupid.
So, being the vigilant officer, I stop the second car. Now, he doesn't have an overtly bad attitude, but I can see it just under the skin. He knows he's getting a ticket. I politely explain the violation and the inherent danger within. His reponse? Refer to the title of this post. My response, "I wasn't aware traffic collisions weren't allowed on Christmas Eve."
The Grinch? He's my bitch.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
New Toy!!!
I have been told the new Motors are due in about five weeks...add untold days/weeks to be outfitted and approved, red tape, red tape, red tape...and we'll have 'em soon!
Can't wait!!! The picture at the upper right corner is similar to what we'll have (different color scheme, though...mostly black (like my soul...haha)).
Can't wait!!! The picture at the upper right corner is similar to what we'll have (different color scheme, though...mostly black (like my soul...haha)).
Who doesn't know the yield to the right requirement?
As it turns out, more folks than you'd think. Today alone, I've had one person immediately pull into the left turn lane, make the turn, make another left, then a right and then stop. Her reason? "I wanted to make sure I wasn't blocking traffic."
My response? "No problem, but for future reference, you are required to yield to the right when the lites and sirens come on." What I wanted to say? "I don't give a good goddamn (note the use of the lower case 'g') what you thought you were doing. When you sign for your license, you are agreeing to abide by the CVC and all it entails. You know what's included in that tome, you moron? YIELD TO THE RIGHT!!! It's not up to you. Any deviation from that sends up red flags to us law enforcement types. Yes, I realize you are most likely harmless and a soccer mom, but check it out...my fucking x-ray vision and mind-reading abilities have been acting up lately, so you'll excuse me if I get perturbed when you don't do what you are legally required to."
After that, I saw my second idiot of the day yammering away on his cell phone. I get behind him, hit the lites, and close distance. He stands on his brakes. If I wasn't paying attention, I'm in his backseat. Not good, and ultimately I would have been at least partially responsible for the collision. Luckily, I didn't have my head in a dark and smelly locale, so I swerved to the right and yelled at him instead. All he had to do was drive literally another 50' or so where there was plenty of room to stop. Did he? Nope. Just stopped in the middle of the fuckin' street. Seriously? Oh, and his excuse for the phone? "My wife called, we're going to be late for a flight."
Guess who was even later...
My response? "No problem, but for future reference, you are required to yield to the right when the lites and sirens come on." What I wanted to say? "I don't give a good goddamn (note the use of the lower case 'g') what you thought you were doing. When you sign for your license, you are agreeing to abide by the CVC and all it entails. You know what's included in that tome, you moron? YIELD TO THE RIGHT!!! It's not up to you. Any deviation from that sends up red flags to us law enforcement types. Yes, I realize you are most likely harmless and a soccer mom, but check it out...my fucking x-ray vision and mind-reading abilities have been acting up lately, so you'll excuse me if I get perturbed when you don't do what you are legally required to."
After that, I saw my second idiot of the day yammering away on his cell phone. I get behind him, hit the lites, and close distance. He stands on his brakes. If I wasn't paying attention, I'm in his backseat. Not good, and ultimately I would have been at least partially responsible for the collision. Luckily, I didn't have my head in a dark and smelly locale, so I swerved to the right and yelled at him instead. All he had to do was drive literally another 50' or so where there was plenty of room to stop. Did he? Nope. Just stopped in the middle of the fuckin' street. Seriously? Oh, and his excuse for the phone? "My wife called, we're going to be late for a flight."
Guess who was even later...
Addendum
Apparently, I had one thing in my head, but another came out on the "You think you're funny" post. No one has been misusing 911...but I appreciate the immediate suggestions on what to do to them!
What I meant to say was merely giving an example of a random event (misdialed accidentally or even when I walk in to the local coffee house). In those kinds of innocuous occassions, some chucklehead will shout across the room to a co-worker, family member, random person and utter the overdone joke, "They're here for you..."
My humble apologies for the misrepresentation...carry on.
What I meant to say was merely giving an example of a random event (misdialed accidentally or even when I walk in to the local coffee house). In those kinds of innocuous occassions, some chucklehead will shout across the room to a co-worker, family member, random person and utter the overdone joke, "They're here for you..."
My humble apologies for the misrepresentation...carry on.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
I bet you think you're funny and original
Alas, you are not. Allow me to explain...
I can't count the number of times I've responded to a business or home for some random 911 call or other nonsense where nothing actually happened or the phone was misdialed. More frequently than I'd like to have happen, there is inevitably some clever SOB who looks at some co-worker, family member, derelict, whatever and the SOB says, "Oh (insert name here), they're here for you." Hyuk, yuk, yuk.
Hey. Dumbass. I'm not there for (insert name here). And, what's more, your 'joke' is fucking lame and old and I've heard it a zillion times before.
So, here is my solution I plan on implementing the very next time it happens. Actually, there's a couple solutions:
1. I'm going to have the serious 'cop look' on my face, look at (insert name here) and dead pan-ly (real word?) say "He/She is right. Turn around and put your hands behind your back." Then I'm going to take my cuffs out. They will all chuckle. Then I will use the 'cop voice' and say, "HEY! Do I look like I'm kidding. I said turn around." Just enough to make them all wonder if I'm serious. Then, I just might turn to the original jokester and let him/her know just how funny their stupid joke is.
2. (And much more likely solution) I'm going to tell the jokester, "Actually, I'm not here for (insert name here)...I'm here for you. You've got a warrant. Turn around and put your hands behind your back." Then, I will pretty much continue the above scenario.
I've got to have some kind of solution to end the ridiculousness that is that stupid joke.
I can't count the number of times I've responded to a business or home for some random 911 call or other nonsense where nothing actually happened or the phone was misdialed. More frequently than I'd like to have happen, there is inevitably some clever SOB who looks at some co-worker, family member, derelict, whatever and the SOB says, "Oh (insert name here), they're here for you." Hyuk, yuk, yuk.
Hey. Dumbass. I'm not there for (insert name here). And, what's more, your 'joke' is fucking lame and old and I've heard it a zillion times before.
So, here is my solution I plan on implementing the very next time it happens. Actually, there's a couple solutions:
1. I'm going to have the serious 'cop look' on my face, look at (insert name here) and dead pan-ly (real word?) say "He/She is right. Turn around and put your hands behind your back." Then I'm going to take my cuffs out. They will all chuckle. Then I will use the 'cop voice' and say, "HEY! Do I look like I'm kidding. I said turn around." Just enough to make them all wonder if I'm serious. Then, I just might turn to the original jokester and let him/her know just how funny their stupid joke is.
2. (And much more likely solution) I'm going to tell the jokester, "Actually, I'm not here for (insert name here)...I'm here for you. You've got a warrant. Turn around and put your hands behind your back." Then, I will pretty much continue the above scenario.
I've got to have some kind of solution to end the ridiculousness that is that stupid joke.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Sympathy..do you know where to find it?
I got a phone call this morning from a fellow Motor who imparted a very amusing little tale. Please to enjoy our first guest lecturer...
Two motors responded to a private parking lot collision. Apparently, the driver least at fault was a righteous bitch that was making the at fault driver cry her eyes out. This was a very slow speed, minimal damage (if any, more on that in a sec) type collision. We typically don't even take private property collisions since the CVC isn't enforced on private property.
At any rate, the Motors were having a bit of trouble finding damage on the 'victim' vehicle. The irate, bitchy driver proceeds to kick her passenger side door. Supposedly to assist the Motors in locating the damage. Oh, you've damaged it more than it was? Oh, you're a crazy bitch? Sweet.
Long story short, the poor at-fault driver is very upset and the Motors were trying to help her calm down. The irate driver said, "Why is she getting all the sympathy? Don't you know what sympathy means?"
My brother Motor (and he'll forgive me if I screw up the quote...and if so, please comment and I'll fix the post) said something similar to, "Sympathy? Oh yes, it's in Webster's dictionary right between 'Shit' and 'Syphilis'."
Brilliant. I only wish I had the stones to say something like that. Sometimes saying things like that are totally worth whatever disciplinary action comes your way. My Dad always said, "Some people don't know they're stupid and we are simply providing a public service letting them know they are, in fact, stupid."
Gospels of truth on so many fronts.
Two motors responded to a private parking lot collision. Apparently, the driver least at fault was a righteous bitch that was making the at fault driver cry her eyes out. This was a very slow speed, minimal damage (if any, more on that in a sec) type collision. We typically don't even take private property collisions since the CVC isn't enforced on private property.
At any rate, the Motors were having a bit of trouble finding damage on the 'victim' vehicle. The irate, bitchy driver proceeds to kick her passenger side door. Supposedly to assist the Motors in locating the damage. Oh, you've damaged it more than it was? Oh, you're a crazy bitch? Sweet.
Long story short, the poor at-fault driver is very upset and the Motors were trying to help her calm down. The irate driver said, "Why is she getting all the sympathy? Don't you know what sympathy means?"
My brother Motor (and he'll forgive me if I screw up the quote...and if so, please comment and I'll fix the post) said something similar to, "Sympathy? Oh yes, it's in Webster's dictionary right between 'Shit' and 'Syphilis'."
Brilliant. I only wish I had the stones to say something like that. Sometimes saying things like that are totally worth whatever disciplinary action comes your way. My Dad always said, "Some people don't know they're stupid and we are simply providing a public service letting them know they are, in fact, stupid."
Gospels of truth on so many fronts.
Happy Medic won't be pleased with the following rant...
It's been one of those weeks in the Town and I literally have a list of different topics to cover. This one, however, was towards the end of the day on my Friday, so it's freshest in my mind. And with that, and a preemptive request for forgiveness from Happy Medic, my self-proclaimed "Brother from another Mother", I give you the following rant....
I've previously established my familial history in the Fire Service. I've a long standing love and respect for those brave souls who run into burning buildings (nutjobs) and save lives (Heroes). Today, however, I take serious issue with the policies of our Town's Fire Dept.
I happened to be covering a beat today since someone was on vacation. No problem, it's been hovering around 35 damn degrees all week, so I'm not gonna bitch about a heater and my iPod. Round about 1400 hours, I get dispatched to a call on our main thoroughfare. It's a medpd call (Medical enroute, police requested to respond) for an elderly man sitting in his car in front of a business. The man isn't moving. It doesn't look like he's breathing. No problem, I'm 49 (enroute), along with two or three other cops.
I'm about a mile or so away when Dispatch advises Fire is enroute, but they're going to stage for PD response. What is staging, you ask? Typically, staging is when Fire will wait until PD arrives and makes sure there's no impending violence (Reader's Digest definition). For example, ADW (assault with a deadly weapon) or a DV (domestic violence), anything involving firearms, weapons, etc. I get that. They don't have guns or pepper spray or asps. (Although typically they're all much fucking bigger than most cops...they get paid to work out on duty (which I think is awesome, by the way)).
Here's the thing though...we're talking about an old man, possibly dead, in his goddamn car. Seriously? You're gonna stage? Give me a fucking brake, you pussies. I don't care what your fucking policy says. This is a straight up medical call. The only reason PD goes to shit like this is in case the coroner needs to be notified (the coroner is a division of the local Sheriff's Office).
So, what I'm hearing between the words of my dispatcher advising me they will be staging is that they are either too scared to show up and do their fucking job or...shit, can't think of the 'or' in this situation.
My response to my dispatcher, over the air mind you, was "Confirming Fire is going to be staging for a possible 10-55 (dead body)?" To wit, dispatch responded, "I can call them back and have them go in." Go in? It's on the fucking street in broad goddamn daylight. Where the fuck are they 'going in' to? I told dispatch, "Yeah, why don't we do that since this is an obvious medical call."
This isn't the first time this has happened either. I've been dispatched before to "man down" calls where they staged. These are obvious medical calls where people who are possibly seriously injured need medical attention. Kids, I have basic (and I mean fucking b-a-s-i-c) first aid skills. I don't have the cool whizbang tools Fire does. How about you come in and do your job!
I'm all about the good natured ribbing Fire and PD give one another. At the end of the day, we're all on the same side. More often than not, I'm one of the first to defend Fire because of my background. But sometimes they make it really damn hard.
Ok...on to the stupid citizen that reported this little incident. I arrived on scene and there was indeed a definitely elderly man in the driver's seat of his car. His head is leaned back and his mouth is open. Bitch looked dead as Ceasar. I went over to the driver's side window and knocked on the window. The result was me scaring the shit out of the nice sleeping old dude. Fucker ain't dead? Nope.
I canceled all the incoming units. (Fire went back to the house to finish their XBOX tourney or some such thing). I apologized to the nice old man who said he was tired and decided to get off the road (like an actual smart guy). As I'm walking back to my car, I see the dipshit PR (person reporting). He walked out of his business (75' or so away) and said...I swear to God..."I'm glad he's alright. I didn't want to knock on his window." Holy shit, you fucking coward. This poor old bastard is possibly sucking what, in your mind, could be his last breath and you didn't want to knock on his window? Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you? Merry Christmas, ya douche.
I've previously established my familial history in the Fire Service. I've a long standing love and respect for those brave souls who run into burning buildings (nutjobs) and save lives (Heroes). Today, however, I take serious issue with the policies of our Town's Fire Dept.
I happened to be covering a beat today since someone was on vacation. No problem, it's been hovering around 35 damn degrees all week, so I'm not gonna bitch about a heater and my iPod. Round about 1400 hours, I get dispatched to a call on our main thoroughfare. It's a medpd call (Medical enroute, police requested to respond) for an elderly man sitting in his car in front of a business. The man isn't moving. It doesn't look like he's breathing. No problem, I'm 49 (enroute), along with two or three other cops.
I'm about a mile or so away when Dispatch advises Fire is enroute, but they're going to stage for PD response. What is staging, you ask? Typically, staging is when Fire will wait until PD arrives and makes sure there's no impending violence (Reader's Digest definition). For example, ADW (assault with a deadly weapon) or a DV (domestic violence), anything involving firearms, weapons, etc. I get that. They don't have guns or pepper spray or asps. (Although typically they're all much fucking bigger than most cops...they get paid to work out on duty (which I think is awesome, by the way)).
Here's the thing though...we're talking about an old man, possibly dead, in his goddamn car. Seriously? You're gonna stage? Give me a fucking brake, you pussies. I don't care what your fucking policy says. This is a straight up medical call. The only reason PD goes to shit like this is in case the coroner needs to be notified (the coroner is a division of the local Sheriff's Office).
So, what I'm hearing between the words of my dispatcher advising me they will be staging is that they are either too scared to show up and do their fucking job or...shit, can't think of the 'or' in this situation.
My response to my dispatcher, over the air mind you, was "Confirming Fire is going to be staging for a possible 10-55 (dead body)?" To wit, dispatch responded, "I can call them back and have them go in." Go in? It's on the fucking street in broad goddamn daylight. Where the fuck are they 'going in' to? I told dispatch, "Yeah, why don't we do that since this is an obvious medical call."
This isn't the first time this has happened either. I've been dispatched before to "man down" calls where they staged. These are obvious medical calls where people who are possibly seriously injured need medical attention. Kids, I have basic (and I mean fucking b-a-s-i-c) first aid skills. I don't have the cool whizbang tools Fire does. How about you come in and do your job!
I'm all about the good natured ribbing Fire and PD give one another. At the end of the day, we're all on the same side. More often than not, I'm one of the first to defend Fire because of my background. But sometimes they make it really damn hard.
Ok...on to the stupid citizen that reported this little incident. I arrived on scene and there was indeed a definitely elderly man in the driver's seat of his car. His head is leaned back and his mouth is open. Bitch looked dead as Ceasar. I went over to the driver's side window and knocked on the window. The result was me scaring the shit out of the nice sleeping old dude. Fucker ain't dead? Nope.
I canceled all the incoming units. (Fire went back to the house to finish their XBOX tourney or some such thing). I apologized to the nice old man who said he was tired and decided to get off the road (like an actual smart guy). As I'm walking back to my car, I see the dipshit PR (person reporting). He walked out of his business (75' or so away) and said...I swear to God..."I'm glad he's alright. I didn't want to knock on his window." Holy shit, you fucking coward. This poor old bastard is possibly sucking what, in your mind, could be his last breath and you didn't want to knock on his window? Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you? Merry Christmas, ya douche.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
A frightening realization...
What the fuck do you mean more than like five people read this bullshit...
Ok, so I'm aware that the Wife and a handful of family/friends/associates (No, I will not tell you in which category you are) read this blog. Apparently, though, there are a number of other people that read this 21st century diary of sorts...and I had no clue. I've gotta try like hell not to adjust my, shall we say, colorful way of expressing myself since I've come to know there are more than a handful of you reading. What's that? Oh, I already used 'fuck'? Whew...my reputation remains intact and my fragile psyche won't suffer any permanent damage.
I had two surprising comments on the 'ol blog the past couple of days. The first from a Bay Area blogger with a website of his own and a fellow public servant from an anonymous department. Their sites are entertaining and informative as well and I'd be remiss if I didn't throw them the same shout out (Damn if I ain't street, yo) they did for me.
So, my burgeoning friends, please to enjoy mayorofconcord.com and emsfun.blogspot.com. Before you ask, the former isn't actually the mayor, but I must admit to being thrown when I saw the Mayor had commented on my blog. The latter, penned by the Happy Medic, stumbled on my blog on a recommendation from a friend of his. His wit and point of view dovetail nicely with my own and I plan on spending some time starting at the beginning of his blog and catching up on his entries. The title of Happy Medic's blog is "You called 911..for this?". Truer words never spoken. But, as we in the field say, job security.
Thank you, gentlemen, for the unexpected support. I, along with what seems to be a growing audience, will keep on eye on your adventures.
Ok, so I'm aware that the Wife and a handful of family/friends/associates (No, I will not tell you in which category you are) read this blog. Apparently, though, there are a number of other people that read this 21st century diary of sorts...and I had no clue. I've gotta try like hell not to adjust my, shall we say, colorful way of expressing myself since I've come to know there are more than a handful of you reading. What's that? Oh, I already used 'fuck'? Whew...my reputation remains intact and my fragile psyche won't suffer any permanent damage.
I had two surprising comments on the 'ol blog the past couple of days. The first from a Bay Area blogger with a website of his own and a fellow public servant from an anonymous department. Their sites are entertaining and informative as well and I'd be remiss if I didn't throw them the same shout out (Damn if I ain't street, yo) they did for me.
So, my burgeoning friends, please to enjoy mayorofconcord.com and emsfun.blogspot.com. Before you ask, the former isn't actually the mayor, but I must admit to being thrown when I saw the Mayor had commented on my blog. The latter, penned by the Happy Medic, stumbled on my blog on a recommendation from a friend of his. His wit and point of view dovetail nicely with my own and I plan on spending some time starting at the beginning of his blog and catching up on his entries. The title of Happy Medic's blog is "You called 911..for this?". Truer words never spoken. But, as we in the field say, job security.
Thank you, gentlemen, for the unexpected support. I, along with what seems to be a growing audience, will keep on eye on your adventures.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Don't tell me to hurry, B@#$%
I know I've posted before about ways to handle being pulled over and ways not to handle being pulled over. This is what not to do.
I stopped a typical Town mom on her cell phone. A no-no for six months or so now. I asked her if she knew why I stopped her. She said, I swear to you, "Cause I was eating a hot dog?" Here's a question...when the fuck did that become illegal? Whatever.
I told her she was on the phone. Like 15' from my damn car. Clear as day. Her response? "Oh, someone just called and I just picked up." Um, no. I told her I saw her yapping away and she hadn't just picked up. So, I go back to my car and scratch out the rag. I go back to have her sign and she says, prior to signing (and looking like she wanted to argue about it), "How much is this going to cost me?" I politely (I swear!) explain the court determines the fee and I don't have a number to give her. I quickly followed that up with a tutorial on what happens if she refuses to sign, cuz I see that thought formulating in her stupid head. For you uninitiated out there, a refusal equals a trip to jail (a refusal indicates a demand by the driver to be taken before a magistrate immediately...which equals an arrest).
Believe it or not, she didn't seem happy with my perfectly legal argument. Don't give a shit. She asked me again about how much it would cost. I told her, again, I didn't know, but it would most likely be less than $100. She finally signed the cite. Then she started to tell me she was in a hurry and she had to pick up her kids.
I would assume most of you know me. Some of you fairly well. But, for the sake of those who don't, let me just say I don't like to be interrupted. It's rude and leads me to believe you aren't really listening, but waiting to talk. Guess what? When you get pulled over, you are being detained. Which means your time table means exactly dick (sorry Mom, but it fits...I used the lower case). Another thing to consider. When you ask me if I have kids, that has exactly two things to do with whatever we are talking about. 1)Jack. 2)Shit. Whether or not I have spawn doesn't influence my decision making about whether you are on the fucking phone or not one iota.
At any rate, I very politely said I do indeed have children (she doesn't need to know how many). She said something to the effect of, "Well then you know why I'm late. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY".
We've established I don't like to be interrupted. Something else to consider here. Don't tell the man with the badge and the gun who has you legally detained WHAT TO DO. I, shall we say succinctly, told her I would not be rushed and subsequently leisurely returned to my car (covering a beat today) and cleared my call. All told, not more than 10-15 seconds, but to her, I'm sure it felt muuuuccchhhh longer.
I love my job. I think the next time I stop someone for a cell phone and they're polite and admit what they did, I'll give them a break in her honor. (It's not like there isn't a plethora of those violations out there, right?).
And I'm spent....
I stopped a typical Town mom on her cell phone. A no-no for six months or so now. I asked her if she knew why I stopped her. She said, I swear to you, "Cause I was eating a hot dog?" Here's a question...when the fuck did that become illegal? Whatever.
I told her she was on the phone. Like 15' from my damn car. Clear as day. Her response? "Oh, someone just called and I just picked up." Um, no. I told her I saw her yapping away and she hadn't just picked up. So, I go back to my car and scratch out the rag. I go back to have her sign and she says, prior to signing (and looking like she wanted to argue about it), "How much is this going to cost me?" I politely (I swear!) explain the court determines the fee and I don't have a number to give her. I quickly followed that up with a tutorial on what happens if she refuses to sign, cuz I see that thought formulating in her stupid head. For you uninitiated out there, a refusal equals a trip to jail (a refusal indicates a demand by the driver to be taken before a magistrate immediately...which equals an arrest).
Believe it or not, she didn't seem happy with my perfectly legal argument. Don't give a shit. She asked me again about how much it would cost. I told her, again, I didn't know, but it would most likely be less than $100. She finally signed the cite. Then she started to tell me she was in a hurry and she had to pick up her kids.
I would assume most of you know me. Some of you fairly well. But, for the sake of those who don't, let me just say I don't like to be interrupted. It's rude and leads me to believe you aren't really listening, but waiting to talk. Guess what? When you get pulled over, you are being detained. Which means your time table means exactly dick (sorry Mom, but it fits...I used the lower case). Another thing to consider. When you ask me if I have kids, that has exactly two things to do with whatever we are talking about. 1)Jack. 2)Shit. Whether or not I have spawn doesn't influence my decision making about whether you are on the fucking phone or not one iota.
At any rate, I very politely said I do indeed have children (she doesn't need to know how many). She said something to the effect of, "Well then you know why I'm late. HURRY, HURRY, HURRY".
We've established I don't like to be interrupted. Something else to consider here. Don't tell the man with the badge and the gun who has you legally detained WHAT TO DO. I, shall we say succinctly, told her I would not be rushed and subsequently leisurely returned to my car (covering a beat today) and cleared my call. All told, not more than 10-15 seconds, but to her, I'm sure it felt muuuuccchhhh longer.
I love my job. I think the next time I stop someone for a cell phone and they're polite and admit what they did, I'll give them a break in her honor. (It's not like there isn't a plethora of those violations out there, right?).
And I'm spent....
Ever seen eyes go from normal size to saucer size?
Let me set the scene...
I stopped an 18 year old last week for speed. Shocking. I walk up to the passenger side of the car and contact the kid (shudder...half my age...I digress). The usual chit-chat (read: bullshit) where I ask, "Do you know why I stopped you?" Blah, blah, blah. And here's where it gets interesting...
While the kid is getting his license out of his wallet, I glance in the rear seat of the Suburban he was driving. I see what appears to be the stock of an automatic rifle. Well, then. Very calm like, out comes my duty weapon. Kid doesn't notice anything as he is still fishing his license out of his wallet. I point my duty weapon and the kid (finger indexed, people. Safety first) and ask him, "What's up with the rifle?"
Remember watching cartoons as a kid and that male wolf saw that hot female wolf and his eyes shot out of his head? Picture that. And I can't be sure, but I think I got a whiff of poop. I may have scared the shit out of this kid. He stammered, "I-I-I-It's an airsoft gun."
Okay, no problem. I got the kid out of the car and had him walk around to me. Yadda, yadda, imagine every episode of COPS you've ever seen. I cuffed him without incident and confirmed it was indeed an airsoft gun. He claimed it was his little brother's and I tend to believe him. No big deal, but it's not every day a kid from the Town has a Sig .40 pointed at him, so I'm pretty sure the airsoft gun is now at the bottom of some trash heap.
Here's the lesson...don't be stupid and keep that shit in plain sight. Or, even better, how's about not in your car at all. Interesting side note, the orange tip had black electrician's tape wrapped around it to make it appear more real. Effective. Also a misdemeanor. I didn't arrest him for it, cuz I believed it was his brother's. I told him about the tape, though. Let me put it this way...had he pointed that at me, I would have killed him. That's some scary shit to say, but better him than me. It would have been sad and all, don't get me wrong, but that goes along with this job. We have to make life and death decisions in a heartbeat. Literally. So, if you have kids, don't let them alter their fake guns to make them look more real. They're like that for a reason.
Okay, lecture over. The punchline is that the poor kid could barely sign his citation (of course I cited him...come on) he was shaking so bad. Never thought I would utter the words, "Look at it this way. It's only a speeding ticket and you didn't get shot." Honestly, he was extremely cooperative (you'd be surprised how many aren't) and didn't seem to adversely affected by the whole thing. Never had anyone so happy to sign a ticket and wish me a good day.
I stopped an 18 year old last week for speed. Shocking. I walk up to the passenger side of the car and contact the kid (shudder...half my age...I digress). The usual chit-chat (read: bullshit) where I ask, "Do you know why I stopped you?" Blah, blah, blah. And here's where it gets interesting...
While the kid is getting his license out of his wallet, I glance in the rear seat of the Suburban he was driving. I see what appears to be the stock of an automatic rifle. Well, then. Very calm like, out comes my duty weapon. Kid doesn't notice anything as he is still fishing his license out of his wallet. I point my duty weapon and the kid (finger indexed, people. Safety first) and ask him, "What's up with the rifle?"
Remember watching cartoons as a kid and that male wolf saw that hot female wolf and his eyes shot out of his head? Picture that. And I can't be sure, but I think I got a whiff of poop. I may have scared the shit out of this kid. He stammered, "I-I-I-It's an airsoft gun."
Okay, no problem. I got the kid out of the car and had him walk around to me. Yadda, yadda, imagine every episode of COPS you've ever seen. I cuffed him without incident and confirmed it was indeed an airsoft gun. He claimed it was his little brother's and I tend to believe him. No big deal, but it's not every day a kid from the Town has a Sig .40 pointed at him, so I'm pretty sure the airsoft gun is now at the bottom of some trash heap.
Here's the lesson...don't be stupid and keep that shit in plain sight. Or, even better, how's about not in your car at all. Interesting side note, the orange tip had black electrician's tape wrapped around it to make it appear more real. Effective. Also a misdemeanor. I didn't arrest him for it, cuz I believed it was his brother's. I told him about the tape, though. Let me put it this way...had he pointed that at me, I would have killed him. That's some scary shit to say, but better him than me. It would have been sad and all, don't get me wrong, but that goes along with this job. We have to make life and death decisions in a heartbeat. Literally. So, if you have kids, don't let them alter their fake guns to make them look more real. They're like that for a reason.
Okay, lecture over. The punchline is that the poor kid could barely sign his citation (of course I cited him...come on) he was shaking so bad. Never thought I would utter the words, "Look at it this way. It's only a speeding ticket and you didn't get shot." Honestly, he was extremely cooperative (you'd be surprised how many aren't) and didn't seem to adversely affected by the whole thing. Never had anyone so happy to sign a ticket and wish me a good day.
I see you...
Listen. We all have our quirks, foibles, oddities. I understand it. Hell, I embrace it. But, here's the thing. When your particular quirk is mining for nose gold, do me a favor. Wait until you get home, will ya? I don't need to see you two fucking knuckles deep while you're driving.
Why bring this up, you ask? Oh, it's icky? Hey, don't blame me. I am but an observer of the general public's driving habits. This involves looking at a lot of cars and, consequently, a lot of drivers. Of late, I have noticed an inordinate amount of you (not you, specifically, defensive boy/girl) going to town on that all-too elusive nose goblin. I bring it up to kindly ask you to be a little more subtle or, better yet, carry some Kleenex.
We're all guilty of it. Let's be honest. It's just that some of us are more adept at it than others. I know this isn't particularly related to my usual stories of traffix hijinx, but some things just can't be ignored any longer.
So, please. For me. Knock that shit off. I don't need to see it every blessed day.
Thank you,
MotorCop
Why bring this up, you ask? Oh, it's icky? Hey, don't blame me. I am but an observer of the general public's driving habits. This involves looking at a lot of cars and, consequently, a lot of drivers. Of late, I have noticed an inordinate amount of you (not you, specifically, defensive boy/girl) going to town on that all-too elusive nose goblin. I bring it up to kindly ask you to be a little more subtle or, better yet, carry some Kleenex.
We're all guilty of it. Let's be honest. It's just that some of us are more adept at it than others. I know this isn't particularly related to my usual stories of traffix hijinx, but some things just can't be ignored any longer.
So, please. For me. Knock that shit off. I don't need to see it every blessed day.
Thank you,
MotorCop
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Ever had a gramma call you an Asshole?
I have. It's funny. And not really far from the truth, depending on your perspective, of course. It went something like this...
I stopped a woman a couple weeks ago for doing 53 in a 40. During the initial contact she was sweet as could be. She was probably in her late 50's or early 60's. She had a seven to eight month old baby in the rear seat. She was late taking little Johnny or Susie to her daughter's place. I went back to the bike and wrote her a ticket. I brought it back to her and she said, "This really pisses me off." I tried to explain to her that I understood and no one likes to get a ticket.
She went on to say, "I see assholes doing stupid shit on this road all the time. Why don't you stop any of them?" I told her I stop anyone I see committing a violation and issue them a ticket. I just happened to see her committing a violation. She kept pitching a fit. I said something to the effect of, "I wasn't sitting in the car pressing your foot down on the accelerator." I was quickly tiring of her weak ass excuses. I mean take some responsibility why don't you.
As I'm walking back to the bike she says, "You're an asshole." This formerly sweet natured gramma type. Unreal. I stopped and said, "I'm a what now?" Then I walked back to the car and said, "That's a fantastic attitude you have there and a stellar example to what I assume is your grandchild. Have a good day."
When she started to drive away, she chirped the tires a bit and I yelled, "If you speed away from here, I'll write you another ticket....cuz I'm an Asshole!" Man....talk about personal satisfaction.
I stopped a woman a couple weeks ago for doing 53 in a 40. During the initial contact she was sweet as could be. She was probably in her late 50's or early 60's. She had a seven to eight month old baby in the rear seat. She was late taking little Johnny or Susie to her daughter's place. I went back to the bike and wrote her a ticket. I brought it back to her and she said, "This really pisses me off." I tried to explain to her that I understood and no one likes to get a ticket.
She went on to say, "I see assholes doing stupid shit on this road all the time. Why don't you stop any of them?" I told her I stop anyone I see committing a violation and issue them a ticket. I just happened to see her committing a violation. She kept pitching a fit. I said something to the effect of, "I wasn't sitting in the car pressing your foot down on the accelerator." I was quickly tiring of her weak ass excuses. I mean take some responsibility why don't you.
As I'm walking back to the bike she says, "You're an asshole." This formerly sweet natured gramma type. Unreal. I stopped and said, "I'm a what now?" Then I walked back to the car and said, "That's a fantastic attitude you have there and a stellar example to what I assume is your grandchild. Have a good day."
When she started to drive away, she chirped the tires a bit and I yelled, "If you speed away from here, I'll write you another ticket....cuz I'm an Asshole!" Man....talk about personal satisfaction.
My apologies...
I know I haven't updated in awhile and when I finally do it's less than uplifting and entertaining. (Refer to 'another emotional day'). So I apologize; however, I'm not quite done yet. I was almost at the diner where I was going to meet the other Motors on the way to the funeral when I heard this on the police radio..."Motor officer down." Pretty much the last thing any cop wants to hear is "officer down". It was that much worse that it was a Motor when we're supposed to be going to a funeral for a Motor.
I flipped on the lites and siren and hauled ass to where the officer was down. I was the third officer on scene. When I rolled up, I saw an officer wearing a helmet, face down, on the pavement in the middle of the intersection. He wasn't moving. His bike was on it's side and the contents of the saddlebags strewn around the intersection. Before I drag this out too far, he will be fine. Long story short, he sustained a dislocated shoulder, torn rotator cuff, and some minor fractures in the shoulder. He's already been released from the hospital.
The poor guy was just sitting on his Motor at a red lite when a car hit him from behind. Turns out the idiot driver had a (and I use the term loosely here) dog in his car. The alleged dog was trying to get in his lap. The driver was pushing the supposed canine off of him and didn't see the red lite in front of him. He hits his brakes. Then he realizes he's not gonna be able to stop. The he sees a motorcycle in front of him. Not sure at what point he realized it was a cop. There's a nice dent on the hood of dumbass' car where the helmet hit.
Like normal (and by normal I mean twisted) Motor cops, as soon as we found out he was okay, the jokes began. Obviously, the cop isn't at fault for the collision, but I'm pretty sure a version of the report will make it to his desk. In that particular version, he'll be found at fault for running the red lite or some such nonsense.
Hard way to start the day on your way to a fuckin' funeral, you know?
I flipped on the lites and siren and hauled ass to where the officer was down. I was the third officer on scene. When I rolled up, I saw an officer wearing a helmet, face down, on the pavement in the middle of the intersection. He wasn't moving. His bike was on it's side and the contents of the saddlebags strewn around the intersection. Before I drag this out too far, he will be fine. Long story short, he sustained a dislocated shoulder, torn rotator cuff, and some minor fractures in the shoulder. He's already been released from the hospital.
The poor guy was just sitting on his Motor at a red lite when a car hit him from behind. Turns out the idiot driver had a (and I use the term loosely here) dog in his car. The alleged dog was trying to get in his lap. The driver was pushing the supposed canine off of him and didn't see the red lite in front of him. He hits his brakes. Then he realizes he's not gonna be able to stop. The he sees a motorcycle in front of him. Not sure at what point he realized it was a cop. There's a nice dent on the hood of dumbass' car where the helmet hit.
Like normal (and by normal I mean twisted) Motor cops, as soon as we found out he was okay, the jokes began. Obviously, the cop isn't at fault for the collision, but I'm pretty sure a version of the report will make it to his desk. In that particular version, he'll be found at fault for running the red lite or some such nonsense.
Hard way to start the day on your way to a fuckin' funeral, you know?
Another emotional day
Today, I went to another funeral.
On 11/12/08, Deputy Larry Canfield died doing exactly what I do every day. He was trying to catch a speeder. Deputy Canfield was a Motor with the contract city of Rancho Cordova (contracted with Sac County SO). It's hard to consider that something like The gist is as follows...
Deputy Canfield was on his Motor using his Lidar when he witnessed a speeder. While attempting to catch the speeder, with his emergency lites active and his siren on, a 79 year old driver made a left hand turn directly in front of Deputy Canfield. Deputy Canfield hit the vehicle and was ejected from his Motor. The local paper stated Deputy Canfield most likely didn't feel much, if anything at all.
I think this one was harder for me because Deputy Canfield was my brother. Not biologically. But he was a Motor. We're a breed apart. We're different. There is actually a T-shirt I've seen worn that says "Motor cops even scare other cops."
During the processional from the church to the cemetary, I was connected via radio to a few other Motors. One said, "As far as I can see...only Motors." To which another responded, "As it should be." Still one more said, "We're a band of brothers." I was too overwhelmed at the time to verbalize how much I agree with all of them. As far as I could see, in front of me and behind, the only thing I saw was Motors. We all had our lites on. It's a very powerful image.
The processional went for between 15 and 20 miles. On EVERY overpass people were lined up. Most of the overpasses had Fire trucks with Fire personnel standing on top of their rigs. They were either at parade rest or saluting. Since my Dad is retired Fire, I cried at every overpass. I wanted to salute them back; however, my right hand control the throttle and in such close proximity to the other guys, you just can't let go. Instead, and I have the Wife to thank for this, I signed "Thank You" with my left hand. It made me feel better. Maybe someone understood me.
On 11/12/08, Deputy Larry Canfield died doing exactly what I do every day. He was trying to catch a speeder. Deputy Canfield was a Motor with the contract city of Rancho Cordova (contracted with Sac County SO). It's hard to consider that something like The gist is as follows...
Deputy Canfield was on his Motor using his Lidar when he witnessed a speeder. While attempting to catch the speeder, with his emergency lites active and his siren on, a 79 year old driver made a left hand turn directly in front of Deputy Canfield. Deputy Canfield hit the vehicle and was ejected from his Motor. The local paper stated Deputy Canfield most likely didn't feel much, if anything at all.
I think this one was harder for me because Deputy Canfield was my brother. Not biologically. But he was a Motor. We're a breed apart. We're different. There is actually a T-shirt I've seen worn that says "Motor cops even scare other cops."
During the processional from the church to the cemetary, I was connected via radio to a few other Motors. One said, "As far as I can see...only Motors." To which another responded, "As it should be." Still one more said, "We're a band of brothers." I was too overwhelmed at the time to verbalize how much I agree with all of them. As far as I could see, in front of me and behind, the only thing I saw was Motors. We all had our lites on. It's a very powerful image.
The processional went for between 15 and 20 miles. On EVERY overpass people were lined up. Most of the overpasses had Fire trucks with Fire personnel standing on top of their rigs. They were either at parade rest or saluting. Since my Dad is retired Fire, I cried at every overpass. I wanted to salute them back; however, my right hand control the throttle and in such close proximity to the other guys, you just can't let go. Instead, and I have the Wife to thank for this, I signed "Thank You" with my left hand. It made me feel better. Maybe someone understood me.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Not happy. Not even a little bit...
Today started like any other day...lineup was too long, 2nd lineup (aka Starbucks) wasn't long enough, I had seven cites by 1000. Excellent. Right up until that last cite...Please to enjoy.
I stopped a woman for not having her seatbelt on and yapping on her cell phone (not verbatim of the Vehicle Code, but you get the point). She stopped in a parking lot and I pulled up behind her, about 10' actually, and stopped. Just like almost every other blessed stop I conduct.
I contact the driver and tell her why I stopped her. I told her I'd just cite her for one violation and save her a little money. Cause I'm a nice guy. Seriously...salt of the Earth. So, I go back to the bike and get my cite book out. I'm about half way through writing the cite when I see a large red vehicle getting closer to me. Did I forget to mention the car I stopped was red? Shame on me. It was red. And it was getting closer. I slid to my right a bit, just as the car hit the front fender on my bike and pushed the right saddlebag into my leg (not really worth mentioning, cause I wasn't hurt at all, but hey I gotta play up any potential sympathy, right?). The bike stayed on the kickstand and the only damage was to the fender. Her car had a bit of white paint transfer on the rear bumper.
My reaction is as follows...(not for the feint of heart)...
"GODDAMMIT!!! Move your car forward. SHIT!!!" The driver got out and I may or may not have said something to the effect of "Are you kidding me?" Followed by, "Get back in your car. I'm way to mad to talk to you right now." I'm gonna go ahead and guess the mother of all bad words was in there somewhere...I mean, it is me we're talking about here.
I got on the air and asked for my Sergeant and the city to our South's motor to respond for the report (agencies don't take their own crashes for what I hope is an obvious reason). Apparently, I sounded less than pleased based on the feedback from my co-workers later in the day.
Now I have to take the bike in to the dealer and get a new fender and I'm stuck in a fucking car until who knows when. ARGH! By now, I would hope you all know that I did indeed give her the cell phone cite at the end of all this bullshit.
Two interesting caveats...One: When dumbass hit my bike, and I walked up to yell at her, she was on the phone. SERIOUSLY! What a fucking moron. She can't even park and fucking talk, let alone drive and talk. AAWWWWW! (Can you tell I'm getting angrier re-living this for you, my lovely friends?) I asked her what happened and she said (I swear), "I had it in drive and took my foot off the brake" Now, I'm no Mr. Goodwrench, but I'm pretty sure if the car was in drive it goes FORWARD!. I said something along those lines to her, to which she replied, "I must have had in park and took my foot off the brake. Again, no degree from WyoTech, but pretty sure if it's in park it will go NOWHERE!!" What a complete dipshit. Two: My Sarge is there and so is the motor taking the report. This chick has the audacity to say (and mean it), "Well at least we know not to park a motorcycle so close to another car."
I turned to my Sarge and said, "I will sign the phase (disciplinary action). Please God, please, let me say something to this fucking idiot." Alas, no. Grrrrrrr.....I can't believe this ignorant woman tried to blame me for the collision. I wasn't even on the bloody motorcycle to begin with!
Anyhoo....that was my day. How was yours?
Gotta get some rest, cause there's gonna be swift retribution tomorrow...
I stopped a woman for not having her seatbelt on and yapping on her cell phone (not verbatim of the Vehicle Code, but you get the point). She stopped in a parking lot and I pulled up behind her, about 10' actually, and stopped. Just like almost every other blessed stop I conduct.
I contact the driver and tell her why I stopped her. I told her I'd just cite her for one violation and save her a little money. Cause I'm a nice guy. Seriously...salt of the Earth. So, I go back to the bike and get my cite book out. I'm about half way through writing the cite when I see a large red vehicle getting closer to me. Did I forget to mention the car I stopped was red? Shame on me. It was red. And it was getting closer. I slid to my right a bit, just as the car hit the front fender on my bike and pushed the right saddlebag into my leg (not really worth mentioning, cause I wasn't hurt at all, but hey I gotta play up any potential sympathy, right?). The bike stayed on the kickstand and the only damage was to the fender. Her car had a bit of white paint transfer on the rear bumper.
My reaction is as follows...(not for the feint of heart)...
"GODDAMMIT!!! Move your car forward. SHIT!!!" The driver got out and I may or may not have said something to the effect of "Are you kidding me?" Followed by, "Get back in your car. I'm way to mad to talk to you right now." I'm gonna go ahead and guess the mother of all bad words was in there somewhere...I mean, it is me we're talking about here.
I got on the air and asked for my Sergeant and the city to our South's motor to respond for the report (agencies don't take their own crashes for what I hope is an obvious reason). Apparently, I sounded less than pleased based on the feedback from my co-workers later in the day.
Now I have to take the bike in to the dealer and get a new fender and I'm stuck in a fucking car until who knows when. ARGH! By now, I would hope you all know that I did indeed give her the cell phone cite at the end of all this bullshit.
Two interesting caveats...One: When dumbass hit my bike, and I walked up to yell at her, she was on the phone. SERIOUSLY! What a fucking moron. She can't even park and fucking talk, let alone drive and talk. AAWWWWW! (Can you tell I'm getting angrier re-living this for you, my lovely friends?) I asked her what happened and she said (I swear), "I had it in drive and took my foot off the brake" Now, I'm no Mr. Goodwrench, but I'm pretty sure if the car was in drive it goes FORWARD!. I said something along those lines to her, to which she replied, "I must have had in park and took my foot off the brake. Again, no degree from WyoTech, but pretty sure if it's in park it will go NOWHERE!!" What a complete dipshit. Two: My Sarge is there and so is the motor taking the report. This chick has the audacity to say (and mean it), "Well at least we know not to park a motorcycle so close to another car."
I turned to my Sarge and said, "I will sign the phase (disciplinary action). Please God, please, let me say something to this fucking idiot." Alas, no. Grrrrrrr.....I can't believe this ignorant woman tried to blame me for the collision. I wasn't even on the bloody motorcycle to begin with!
Anyhoo....that was my day. How was yours?
Gotta get some rest, cause there's gonna be swift retribution tomorrow...
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Now THAT is some funny shit...no, seriously.
Allow me to cut to the chase on this one...
I pulled a kid over for failing to yield to some other kids in the crosswalk. He also chirped his tires and had two 17 year old passengers in his car, a violation of his provisional license.
As I have been known to do, I turned his driver's license over and had him read the provisions of his license to me. He got about halfway through the first provision when all of a sudden SPLAT. A bird took a major crap right on my ticketbook. I'm talking apocalyptic. Fortunately for me, the kids registration was covering my ticketbook. Awesome. It played out something like this...
Kid: (reading provisions on back of his driver's license)
*SPLAT*
Me: Motherfucker (There really wasn't any other word to appropriately describe what had occurred). Dude, a bird just crapped on your registration.
Rear passenger: You've got lousy luck, bro.
Then, I started laughing. Kid laughed, too, so I cut him some slack and didn't cite him for the provision violation. I did have to change the uniform shirt due to collateral damage, but all in all, pretty damn funny. I figured it was bad karma to cite the kid for both violations what with the bird shitting on his paperwork and all.
Told you that shit was funny...
I pulled a kid over for failing to yield to some other kids in the crosswalk. He also chirped his tires and had two 17 year old passengers in his car, a violation of his provisional license.
As I have been known to do, I turned his driver's license over and had him read the provisions of his license to me. He got about halfway through the first provision when all of a sudden SPLAT. A bird took a major crap right on my ticketbook. I'm talking apocalyptic. Fortunately for me, the kids registration was covering my ticketbook. Awesome. It played out something like this...
Kid: (reading provisions on back of his driver's license)
*SPLAT*
Me: Motherfucker (There really wasn't any other word to appropriately describe what had occurred). Dude, a bird just crapped on your registration.
Rear passenger: You've got lousy luck, bro.
Then, I started laughing. Kid laughed, too, so I cut him some slack and didn't cite him for the provision violation. I did have to change the uniform shirt due to collateral damage, but all in all, pretty damn funny. I figured it was bad karma to cite the kid for both violations what with the bird shitting on his paperwork and all.
Told you that shit was funny...
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
A Sad Day
A few posts ago (The Wife post), I wrote the following:
So, to all of you fellow officers out there, I pray you have the same unconditional, loving support I enjoy. To you spouses of fellow officers, I encourage you to be there to listen, be supportive, embrace the man or woman you married when they get home (and often).
On Saturday, 9/6/08, Sgt. Paul Starzyk with Martinez PD made the ultimate sacrifice when he was shot twice by an estranged husband who had every intention of killing his estranged wife and actually did kill her cousin. From most reliable accounts, the husband (and believe me, I'm restraining myself by simply referring to him as such) knew the police were coming to his apartment when he blindly stuck his gun out of the doorway and fired twice. I want to make sure you understand that. Blindly. He didn't aim, he didn't look. He shot Sgt. Starzyk twice, right above the upper panel of his vest.
When we as a society hear of incidents like this we tend to wonder what could have been done differently. By all accounts, the answer is nothing. Sgt. Starzyk was a 12 year veteran of the department. He was a supervisor. He was a firearms instructor. The husband in this incident got off two shots without looking that, sadly, were critical. Since the Columbine incident, we no longer lock down a scene and wait for SWAT to respond to a threat of this nature. We hear screaming, we hear shooting, we grab the closest body in a uniform, and we hunt that threat down.
Sgt. Starzyk did just that. Recently, I went to a training class on "detecting danger", and, although, most of it felt like COP 101, the point was made that no matter what your body wants, your mind and spirit can fight on. Sgt. Starzyk did just that. I watched a video of a female cashier in a convenience store get shot with a 9mm from less than five feet away. The eventual autopsy showed the round basically caused her heart to explode. She lived for two and a half minutes, based on the time stamp of the video. In that two and a half minutes, she called 911 and wrote a brief note to her daughter. She had something to do before she left. So did Sgt. Starzyk. He fought on. Though critically wounded, he put a .223 round from his AR-15 into the husband's head. Although the husband was shot after Sgt. Starzyk shot him, the autopsy showed the .223 round to be the kill shot.
Sgt. Starzyk knew there were innocent people left in the apartment from which the husband was shooting. The threat was still active and needed to be eliminated. Sgt. Starzyk saved all of them. In doing so, he gave his life. He is survived by his wife, who is a fellow officer, and their three children.
If any of you feel the desire to assist the Starzyk family, a donation can be made to the Starzyk Family Memorial Fund at the Contra Costa Federal Credit Union at 111 Pine St. in Martinez. The account number is 57950. You can also show your support by standing along the police route scheduled for 9/11/08 between 1230 and 1330 hours. The route is at the following link:
http://www.contracostatimes.com/news/ci_10428542?source=rss
The link below is one of the articles the local paper has on the story. You can also search the database for a couple of others.
http://www.contracostatimes.com/search/ci_10406835?IADID=Search-www.contracostatimes.com-www.contracostatimes.com
My family's thoughts and prayers are with the Starzyk family. I will be a part of what will no doubt be a very large, very impressive contingent of Motors leading the processional tomorrow. I wish it weren't necessary.
Again, I ask all of you fellow officers, have a reason to go home. If God says you can't go home, have a reason to fight. Get the job done. It's why we're here. If God says you can go home. Do it. And hug whomever is there. To you spouses and family of officers...If we can't make it back to you, know our last thoughts were of you, but someone else needed us. We'll wait for you with the Lord and we'll see you again. If we are allowed to come home, know that you are the reason we come home. Make it a loving, happy, supportive place.
I'm going home today. I'm going to hug my Wife and my Daughter. I'm a lucky man.
So, to all of you fellow officers out there, I pray you have the same unconditional, loving support I enjoy. To you spouses of fellow officers, I encourage you to be there to listen, be supportive, embrace the man or woman you married when they get home (and often).
On Saturday, 9/6/08, Sgt. Paul Starzyk with Martinez PD made the ultimate sacrifice when he was shot twice by an estranged husband who had every intention of killing his estranged wife and actually did kill her cousin. From most reliable accounts, the husband (and believe me, I'm restraining myself by simply referring to him as such) knew the police were coming to his apartment when he blindly stuck his gun out of the doorway and fired twice. I want to make sure you understand that. Blindly. He didn't aim, he didn't look. He shot Sgt. Starzyk twice, right above the upper panel of his vest.
When we as a society hear of incidents like this we tend to wonder what could have been done differently. By all accounts, the answer is nothing. Sgt. Starzyk was a 12 year veteran of the department. He was a supervisor. He was a firearms instructor. The husband in this incident got off two shots without looking that, sadly, were critical. Since the Columbine incident, we no longer lock down a scene and wait for SWAT to respond to a threat of this nature. We hear screaming, we hear shooting, we grab the closest body in a uniform, and we hunt that threat down.
Sgt. Starzyk did just that. Recently, I went to a training class on "detecting danger", and, although, most of it felt like COP 101, the point was made that no matter what your body wants, your mind and spirit can fight on. Sgt. Starzyk did just that. I watched a video of a female cashier in a convenience store get shot with a 9mm from less than five feet away. The eventual autopsy showed the round basically caused her heart to explode. She lived for two and a half minutes, based on the time stamp of the video. In that two and a half minutes, she called 911 and wrote a brief note to her daughter. She had something to do before she left. So did Sgt. Starzyk. He fought on. Though critically wounded, he put a .223 round from his AR-15 into the husband's head. Although the husband was shot after Sgt. Starzyk shot him, the autopsy showed the .223 round to be the kill shot.
Sgt. Starzyk knew there were innocent people left in the apartment from which the husband was shooting. The threat was still active and needed to be eliminated. Sgt. Starzyk saved all of them. In doing so, he gave his life. He is survived by his wife, who is a fellow officer, and their three children.
If any of you feel the desire to assist the Starzyk family, a donation can be made to the Starzyk Family Memorial Fund at the Contra Costa Federal Credit Union at 111 Pine St. in Martinez. The account number is 57950. You can also show your support by standing along the police route scheduled for 9/11/08 between 1230 and 1330 hours. The route is at the following link:
http://www.contracostatimes.com/news/ci_10428542?source=rss
The link below is one of the articles the local paper has on the story. You can also search the database for a couple of others.
http://www.contracostatimes.com/search/ci_10406835?IADID=Search-www.contracostatimes.com-www.contracostatimes.com
My family's thoughts and prayers are with the Starzyk family. I will be a part of what will no doubt be a very large, very impressive contingent of Motors leading the processional tomorrow. I wish it weren't necessary.
Again, I ask all of you fellow officers, have a reason to go home. If God says you can't go home, have a reason to fight. Get the job done. It's why we're here. If God says you can go home. Do it. And hug whomever is there. To you spouses and family of officers...If we can't make it back to you, know our last thoughts were of you, but someone else needed us. We'll wait for you with the Lord and we'll see you again. If we are allowed to come home, know that you are the reason we come home. Make it a loving, happy, supportive place.
I'm going home today. I'm going to hug my Wife and my Daughter. I'm a lucky man.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
"Isn't that embarassing?"
That is what someone I stopped a couple days ago for a cell phone violation said to me while I was writing him a cite.
Dude: "Isn't that embarassing?"
Me: "Isn't what embarassing?" Thinking he was embarassed for being on his cell.
Dude: "Writing a cell phone ticket. Aren't you embarrassed?"
Me: "No." What I wanted to say and was thinking at the time..."Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. You don't know me at all do you?"
Suffice it to say, he was a prick, and a passive/aggressive one at that. I can't wait to catch his dumb ass again.
Dude: "Isn't that embarassing?"
Me: "Isn't what embarassing?" Thinking he was embarassed for being on his cell.
Dude: "Writing a cell phone ticket. Aren't you embarrassed?"
Me: "No." What I wanted to say and was thinking at the time..."Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. You don't know me at all do you?"
Suffice it to say, he was a prick, and a passive/aggressive one at that. I can't wait to catch his dumb ass again.
Friday, August 29, 2008
"Generosity of Spirit has a place in the World"
I almost wanted to tell the lady that said this to me yesterday as I was writing her a ticket, "Thank you for my next post's title." She said this after offering no less than four or five excuses as to why she made a left when there's a big 'ol sign advising her she can't do that. Her final argument..."Generosity of Spirit has a place in the World."
I can't make up something like that, folks. Sometimes these things just write themselves.
Later the same day, I was told by a driver, "I own two of the buildings in this shopping center." That same guy also said, "I just bought coffee for three cops yesterday." To which I responded, "I don't understand, sir. Are you saying you would only buy them coffee if they didn't give you a ticket?" He didn't like that. I thought it was funny.
The Spirit Lady was like my third cite of the day. I generously gave out a total of 16. She inspired me. Thank you, Spirit Lady, thank you.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
I hate the fucking sun...
Okay, not so much the sun per se, what with the life giving light and all, but certainly the hellacious heat that fucker throws off. I know, I sound bitter, but let me explain. I ride a Harley Road King. It throws off about 225 degrees of radiant heat from the engine. I wear wool motor pants. They don't breathe (or is it breath?). I also wear about 20 lbs of various equipment on my cool Batman utility belt. Not done yet...I also wear a bullet proof ballistic vest. It weighs about 10 lbs. And that sure as shit doesn't ventilate well (see how I avoided the breath/breathe problem there?)
All of that is warm enough when its 80 degrees outside. When that large ball of gas in the sky switches up the celestial thermometer to in excess of 90 degrees, or like today, over 3 digits, I become very, very uncomfortable. My point, you ask? Twofold, really.
First, if you get pulled over, how's about you do your best to stop in a fucking shady spot, huh? You are far more likely to illicit a warning from me (chuckle), but its the principle of the thing, really.
Second, it gets progressively hotter throughout the day. That means I go out as early as I can and knock out a quick 10 or so and then I head back to the PD to not sweat in unmentionable places.
And this is where I am pulling back the curtain and exposing the Great and Powerful OZ. Odds are I am not the only motor cop in the world doing the same damn thing. So, if you pay attention, you will learn that on hot days, your odds of getting stopped when it's hotter than the hinges of Hades out drop dramatically. Don't say I never gave you nothing. (And me, a Lit minor).
All of that is warm enough when its 80 degrees outside. When that large ball of gas in the sky switches up the celestial thermometer to in excess of 90 degrees, or like today, over 3 digits, I become very, very uncomfortable. My point, you ask? Twofold, really.
First, if you get pulled over, how's about you do your best to stop in a fucking shady spot, huh? You are far more likely to illicit a warning from me (chuckle), but its the principle of the thing, really.
Second, it gets progressively hotter throughout the day. That means I go out as early as I can and knock out a quick 10 or so and then I head back to the PD to not sweat in unmentionable places.
And this is where I am pulling back the curtain and exposing the Great and Powerful OZ. Odds are I am not the only motor cop in the world doing the same damn thing. So, if you pay attention, you will learn that on hot days, your odds of getting stopped when it's hotter than the hinges of Hades out drop dramatically. Don't say I never gave you nothing. (And me, a Lit minor).
The Great Cell Phone Debacle
A little birdie has informed me that you are all curious about the victor in the cell phone contest. Alas, I regret to inform the masses the contest never came to fruition. As it happens in law enforcment, nothing happens as planned. My partner was supposed to have someone cover his beat, but that volunteer was yanked onto some other project, so we couldn't even get the contest off the ground.
I will say, however, I would have kicked his ass. Seriously. Not even close. To date, I've written 56 cell phone cites. Not bad. It's actually getting easier and 9 out of 10 times, the driver just shakes their head and mumbles something about having their blue tooth in the car next to them, but they just weren't using it. Excellent.
So, there it is...sorry to disappoint, but such is life. Onward and Upward...
I will say, however, I would have kicked his ass. Seriously. Not even close. To date, I've written 56 cell phone cites. Not bad. It's actually getting easier and 9 out of 10 times, the driver just shakes their head and mumbles something about having their blue tooth in the car next to them, but they just weren't using it. Excellent.
So, there it is...sorry to disappoint, but such is life. Onward and Upward...
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
"4 out of 5 kids are on drugs"
The title of this post is an educational tidbit I wasn't privy to prior to until about 0930 hours this morning. For your viewing pleasure, I offer the following scenario:
I stopped a vehicle after seeing the driver on her cell phone (*giggle*). I contacted her and she said, "I know I shouldn't be on the phone." Seems pretty easy what with her admitting to the violation. I scratch out the cite, walk back to the car and am met with, "I can't believe you are giving me a ticket. I told you I was on the phone with a young lady who is in rehab and needed my help. Four out of five kids are on drugs and I'm trying to help one of them and you are giving me a ticket."
Yes. Yes, I am. Pretty sure you can stop your death machine on the side of the road long enough to take your all important phone call from the young lady in rehab. The rehab that apparently has no staff on site to assist that very same in crisis youth.
Sometimes, it's just too easy.
So, there you go. I was unaware of the statistic that apparently 80% of kids are on drugs. Seems like a lot to me. She also said she knows who is supplying them with drugs, but seemed reluctant to provide that information to me after I offered to go and arrest that individual. Hmm. Odd. She seemed like such a helpful lady, too. Shame.
I stopped a vehicle after seeing the driver on her cell phone (*giggle*). I contacted her and she said, "I know I shouldn't be on the phone." Seems pretty easy what with her admitting to the violation. I scratch out the cite, walk back to the car and am met with, "I can't believe you are giving me a ticket. I told you I was on the phone with a young lady who is in rehab and needed my help. Four out of five kids are on drugs and I'm trying to help one of them and you are giving me a ticket."
Yes. Yes, I am. Pretty sure you can stop your death machine on the side of the road long enough to take your all important phone call from the young lady in rehab. The rehab that apparently has no staff on site to assist that very same in crisis youth.
Sometimes, it's just too easy.
So, there you go. I was unaware of the statistic that apparently 80% of kids are on drugs. Seems like a lot to me. She also said she knows who is supplying them with drugs, but seemed reluctant to provide that information to me after I offered to go and arrest that individual. Hmm. Odd. She seemed like such a helpful lady, too. Shame.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Back with a Vengeance
I know, I know. The last post was a month ago. Allow me to refer you to the inaugural post on this, my little confessional...
"I make no promises to hourly, daily, weekly, monthly update my new nemesis; however, on the rare occasion in which I do, I can promise an uncensored look into the life of a motor cop."
So, shut up. Missed me, didn't you?
Alright, down to business. My POS motor was in the shop for six, count 'em, six weeks because the motor threw a rod. Don't know what that means? Me either, so don't ask. I can tell you, however, faithful and patient friends, that it straight fucks up an engine. To the tune of nearly $4,000. Do you know how many bikes Harley puts out in a day? Me either...why do you keep expecting me to know shit like this? I just ride it and ruin lives, people. Stick with me, here. At any rate, I would imagine the number is fairly large. Given that assumption, is it not also fair to assume the fine folks in Milwaukee would have an extra engine lying around? I'm pretty sure FedEx or UPS or even the USPS could ship the damn thing. Uh, no. I called down to my local Harley shop, where my bike had been collecting dust for about a month and spoke to Jeb the Oil Cleanup boy (not sure that was actually his name, but fuck it, we're running on assumptions anyway, right?) who was a veritable fountain of engineering knowledge. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hey, this is Town PD checking on the status of my motor.
Jeb OCB: Uh-huh.
Me: You guys have had it for a month...any ETA on when it'll be completed.
Jeb OCB: Hang on, I'll check (let's give Jeb a big round of applause for kick ass customer service)
Jeb OCB: Ain't ready yet. (let's give Jeb a big round of applause for sounding like a douche)
Me: Ok. Why not?
Jeb OCB: Engine ain't here yet. (Ok, so he probably said "hasn't arrived yet", but screw him)
Me: Ok. Any idea when it will be in?
Jeb OCB: Not really.
Me: Well, you've been awful fucking helpful, there, Jeb. Why don't you go and take yourself a Bud break and chuckle at the fine comedic stylings of Larry the Cable guy whilst your 'yungins' play down at the crik?
***Yes, I made up the last part. Admit it, though. You laughed.***
Me: Not really? How's about you find out when it might be coming in.
Jeb OCB: Hang on.
Me: ***clenching the phone trying not to cuss Jeb out***
Jeb OCB: Should be in in a few days. We'll call you when it's ready.
Me: Fantastic, Jeb. Thanks.
Fast forward a week. Picture me sitting in a car. With four wheels. As in not my bike. On the positive side, it was about 107 degrees outside and about 12 degrees inside the car, so I can't say I was incredibly despondent about the whole situation. Anyways, you get the point. Finally, I get a call telling me the bike is ready. I drive my partner up there, drop him off, and head back to Town, assuming all is right with the world. No, no, no. My partner calls me a couple times to let me know there were additional issues. Eventually, I had to drive back to the dealership and pick him up, because right before he rode away, he tried to turn the radio on and it came loose. Lovely.
Long story short, the dealership kept it an additional day, and I was without the bike for six weeks. Weak.
However, as the title of this post indicates, I am back with a vengeance. In four days, I have written 52 cites. I took my average from 7/day on Tuesday to 10/day by Friday. That's a lot of work, kids. It's hot. I'm tired. I'm pissing people off. I'm dirty. I'm sweaty. I'm thirsty. I couldn't be happier.
I've got some more stories to tell, so I'll try to get to it over the weekend.
Now, back off. Hehe
"I make no promises to hourly, daily, weekly, monthly update my new nemesis; however, on the rare occasion in which I do, I can promise an uncensored look into the life of a motor cop."
So, shut up. Missed me, didn't you?
Alright, down to business. My POS motor was in the shop for six, count 'em, six weeks because the motor threw a rod. Don't know what that means? Me either, so don't ask. I can tell you, however, faithful and patient friends, that it straight fucks up an engine. To the tune of nearly $4,000. Do you know how many bikes Harley puts out in a day? Me either...why do you keep expecting me to know shit like this? I just ride it and ruin lives, people. Stick with me, here. At any rate, I would imagine the number is fairly large. Given that assumption, is it not also fair to assume the fine folks in Milwaukee would have an extra engine lying around? I'm pretty sure FedEx or UPS or even the USPS could ship the damn thing. Uh, no. I called down to my local Harley shop, where my bike had been collecting dust for about a month and spoke to Jeb the Oil Cleanup boy (not sure that was actually his name, but fuck it, we're running on assumptions anyway, right?) who was a veritable fountain of engineering knowledge. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Hey, this is Town PD checking on the status of my motor.
Jeb OCB: Uh-huh.
Me: You guys have had it for a month...any ETA on when it'll be completed.
Jeb OCB: Hang on, I'll check (let's give Jeb a big round of applause for kick ass customer service)
Jeb OCB: Ain't ready yet. (let's give Jeb a big round of applause for sounding like a douche)
Me: Ok. Why not?
Jeb OCB: Engine ain't here yet. (Ok, so he probably said "hasn't arrived yet", but screw him)
Me: Ok. Any idea when it will be in?
Jeb OCB: Not really.
Me: Well, you've been awful fucking helpful, there, Jeb. Why don't you go and take yourself a Bud break and chuckle at the fine comedic stylings of Larry the Cable guy whilst your 'yungins' play down at the crik?
***Yes, I made up the last part. Admit it, though. You laughed.***
Me: Not really? How's about you find out when it might be coming in.
Jeb OCB: Hang on.
Me: ***clenching the phone trying not to cuss Jeb out***
Jeb OCB: Should be in in a few days. We'll call you when it's ready.
Me: Fantastic, Jeb. Thanks.
Fast forward a week. Picture me sitting in a car. With four wheels. As in not my bike. On the positive side, it was about 107 degrees outside and about 12 degrees inside the car, so I can't say I was incredibly despondent about the whole situation. Anyways, you get the point. Finally, I get a call telling me the bike is ready. I drive my partner up there, drop him off, and head back to Town, assuming all is right with the world. No, no, no. My partner calls me a couple times to let me know there were additional issues. Eventually, I had to drive back to the dealership and pick him up, because right before he rode away, he tried to turn the radio on and it came loose. Lovely.
Long story short, the dealership kept it an additional day, and I was without the bike for six weeks. Weak.
However, as the title of this post indicates, I am back with a vengeance. In four days, I have written 52 cites. I took my average from 7/day on Tuesday to 10/day by Friday. That's a lot of work, kids. It's hot. I'm tired. I'm pissing people off. I'm dirty. I'm sweaty. I'm thirsty. I couldn't be happier.
I've got some more stories to tell, so I'll try to get to it over the weekend.
Now, back off. Hehe
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Wife
I know this is supposed to be strictly related to my professional life, but I find it necessary to mention my personal life in this particular post for a specific reason: I wouldn't be as successful or satisfied in my professional life without one very important person in my personal life. My Wife.
Recently, the Wife graduated from a local University. She did it while being a stay-at-home Mom and a Wife. She took care of the Kid and I at the same time as being a full time student. Not an easy task. Why do I bring her up now? Because I should have done it much, much sooner.
It is not easy being a cop's wife. I know lots and lots of officers that have been married and divorced repeatedly. "They" say the average cop is married 2.something times. I know of two in particular that were both married twice, divorced twice, and remarried a third time. All by the age of 30.
I waited 30+ years for a reason people. The Wife is that reason. I grew up in a Civil Service household with a Firefighter Dad. Each time he left the house, we couldn't say with certainty he would return the next day. It is the same in my house. It isn't something we verbalize daily, monthly, or annually. It just is. The Wife lives with the potential sacrifice I am willing to make for complete strangers. Maybe even strangers I don't particularly like. What's more...she supports me in it. That takes something beyond regular special.
I learned a long time ago from my folks that communication is key. That is true in every marriage, but more so in a cop's house (or firefighter's). I call the Wife to vent. I call the Wife to out and out bitch. I call the Wife to cry (get over yourself, you do it, too.). This is a tough job. She's a tough chick. I couldn't do this gig without her. If I didn't tell her about my day and just bottled up those emotions, be they good, bad, or otherwise, well I'd be mixing a recipe of complete and eventual disaster.
"They" also say that the two most volatile and unpredictable types of calls for a cop are domestic violence calls and plain 'ol traffic stops. I do more of the latter than most. A lot more. That ups the odds against me. Now I don't think before each stop, "I've got to get home to the Wife, so let's be careful on this one." However, I try and handle every detail and traffic stop as safely as I can. And getting home is always the first thing on my subconscious mind. If I had to spend my time worrying about whether the Wife is there to support my actions, it would take up part of my mind I need to concentrate on what I am doing. The Wife affords me the opportunity to completely devote my attention where it should be when I am on-duty. I never have to worry about wavering support on the home front because it just doesn't happen.
So, to all of you fellow officers out there, I pray you have the same unconditional, loving support I enjoy. To you spouses of fellow officers, I encourage you to be there to listen, be supportive, embrace the man or woman you married when they get home (and often).
Thank you, Wife, for all you do, who you are and the love you so unselfishly give me. xoxo
Recently, the Wife graduated from a local University. She did it while being a stay-at-home Mom and a Wife. She took care of the Kid and I at the same time as being a full time student. Not an easy task. Why do I bring her up now? Because I should have done it much, much sooner.
It is not easy being a cop's wife. I know lots and lots of officers that have been married and divorced repeatedly. "They" say the average cop is married 2.something times. I know of two in particular that were both married twice, divorced twice, and remarried a third time. All by the age of 30.
I waited 30+ years for a reason people. The Wife is that reason. I grew up in a Civil Service household with a Firefighter Dad. Each time he left the house, we couldn't say with certainty he would return the next day. It is the same in my house. It isn't something we verbalize daily, monthly, or annually. It just is. The Wife lives with the potential sacrifice I am willing to make for complete strangers. Maybe even strangers I don't particularly like. What's more...she supports me in it. That takes something beyond regular special.
I learned a long time ago from my folks that communication is key. That is true in every marriage, but more so in a cop's house (or firefighter's). I call the Wife to vent. I call the Wife to out and out bitch. I call the Wife to cry (get over yourself, you do it, too.). This is a tough job. She's a tough chick. I couldn't do this gig without her. If I didn't tell her about my day and just bottled up those emotions, be they good, bad, or otherwise, well I'd be mixing a recipe of complete and eventual disaster.
"They" also say that the two most volatile and unpredictable types of calls for a cop are domestic violence calls and plain 'ol traffic stops. I do more of the latter than most. A lot more. That ups the odds against me. Now I don't think before each stop, "I've got to get home to the Wife, so let's be careful on this one." However, I try and handle every detail and traffic stop as safely as I can. And getting home is always the first thing on my subconscious mind. If I had to spend my time worrying about whether the Wife is there to support my actions, it would take up part of my mind I need to concentrate on what I am doing. The Wife affords me the opportunity to completely devote my attention where it should be when I am on-duty. I never have to worry about wavering support on the home front because it just doesn't happen.
So, to all of you fellow officers out there, I pray you have the same unconditional, loving support I enjoy. To you spouses of fellow officers, I encourage you to be there to listen, be supportive, embrace the man or woman you married when they get home (and often).
Thank you, Wife, for all you do, who you are and the love you so unselfishly give me. xoxo
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Hiatus
Ok, kids, I know I haven't updated in a week or so but there's a good reason. I'm on vacation! Although there is just as much fun and frivolity in my personal life as my professional, it just doesn't apply to the 'ol blog. So, check back the first week of July. I shall return...
Until such time, however, please to enjoy the upcoming apocalypse that is 7/1/08. Introducing CVC 23123/23124, better known as the cell phone law. My friend and I have a little wager in regards to 7/1. Whomever gets more cell cites in one day wins. The wager? A night out without the little one. He wins (dream on), the Wife and I go to his house and watch his little one. I win (damn near a foregone conclusion) and he and his bride come over to our house and watch our little one. Oh, hold tight fair drivers of Town, for you know not the coming reaping of your very souls (I acknowledge this is a tad over-dramatic, but it's fun to imagine them all cowering in abject fear).
Okey doke, all, enjoy June....
Until such time, however, please to enjoy the upcoming apocalypse that is 7/1/08. Introducing CVC 23123/23124, better known as the cell phone law. My friend and I have a little wager in regards to 7/1. Whomever gets more cell cites in one day wins. The wager? A night out without the little one. He wins (dream on), the Wife and I go to his house and watch his little one. I win (damn near a foregone conclusion) and he and his bride come over to our house and watch our little one. Oh, hold tight fair drivers of Town, for you know not the coming reaping of your very souls (I acknowledge this is a tad over-dramatic, but it's fun to imagine them all cowering in abject fear).
Okey doke, all, enjoy June....
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Ah, Stupidity...
In my very first Admin of Justice class at LMC, back in '90 thank you very much, my instructor, a local Sergeant at the time, told us the following:
"There are only two ways we catch the bad guys. We get lucky or they do something stupid."
Please to enjoy my latest run-in with stupidity...
I'm sitting at a T-intersection monitoring it for stop sign runners or seat belt violations. I've already written eight and there's about an hour left in my shift, so I'm basically watching the clock waiting to go home. Enter Larry, Curly, and Moe (if Moe was a chick). There's a car stopped at the stop sign going northbound when a Chevy Tahoe pulled to the right and blew through the intersection without stopping. Hmmmm...crime is afoot! Or at least my ninth cite.
I pull out and hit my lites. The Chevy immediately (to be read suspiciously) makes a quick right onto the very next street. I pull up behind the car and walk up to contact the driver. The driver looks like a scumbag from 25', so use your powers of imagination to visualize what he was like close up.
**Sidebar**
Most of you have never worked in a jail or been in patrol in a, shall we say, seedier part of your area. Thus, you are wholly unacquainted with the specific aroma that seems to hover among and around criminals, their vehicles, and their homes. It is truly unlike anything you have ever smelled. Don't misinterpret now, it ain't a pretty smell. It is, however, uh....distinct. Any time I, and I feel comfortable speaking for my brothers/sisters in blue here, or any of my fellow officers contact someone and we smell that particular smell, it sends up a red flag that something is not right. It doesn't smell like pot or alcohol. The only way to describe it is (sorry, Mom) feet and ass. Together. Like there is a creature somewhere made up solely of feet and ass. And not the shapely soft portion of the ass of your favorite supermodel. Oh, no. You get the picture. This car smelled like that
**Meanwhile....back at the ranch...***
I asked the driver what he was doing. He said something to the effect of he was late to pick up his kid or on his way to his aunt's, or some such bullshit. I asked him for his CDL and *shocker* he didn't have it with him; however, I can see plain as day a CDL on his lap. I asked him to whom that CDL belonged. He said it was his girlfriend's. His girlfriend, Janelle. I'll skip the pregnant sarcastic pause and just tell you the CDL did not belong to anyone named Janelle. Like, not even close to resembling Janelle. The driver was in his early 30's. The CDL belonged to a 16year old girl. Curiouser and curiouser. Another amusing sidenote, the only picture ID the driver had was for a Cannabis Club. Now that is some funny shit.
I had Larry, Curly, and Moe step out of the vehicle. I asked the driver, Larry, if he minded if I searched his car. Larry said, "Go ahead." Seriously. He let me search his car. Did you know you have the right to refuse a search of your vehicle, kids? That's right. You do. It's a little something some old dead guys came up with called the 4th Amendment. Now, that doesn't mean I wasn't gonna search Larry's car anyways, cause I would have ended up with probable cause at some point given the fact that he was an idiot, but the fact remains. He could have told me to piss off. Probably better for him that he didn't, but still.
I found a phone number for the 16 year old girl. I called her and guess what? Not a fucking clue who my moron driver is. Although, she did throw in the interesting fact that she was currently standing next to a police officer in a neighboring city and reporting an auto burglary. Ah, irony, you fickle mistress.
Long story short, Larry, Curly, and Moe went to jail for possession of stolen property, auto burglary, and burglary tools. Whilst I was dealing with these morons, another auto burg came out in our Town. You guessed it, we found the stolen property from that one in the Chevy as well.
So, to review...Stupid Move #1: Running a stop sign immediately after you've just burglarized at least two cars. And not just rolling through, we're talking completely and obviously blowing the stop. Stupid Move #2: Allowing a search of your vehicle immediately after you've just burglarized at least two cars. Stupid Move #3: Burglarizing cars in the middle of the fucking day when a shitload of potential witnesses are around and then one of them subsequently ID's your dumbass resulting in you and your two idiot friends going to jail.
God bless 'em. Job security, my friends.
"There are only two ways we catch the bad guys. We get lucky or they do something stupid."
Please to enjoy my latest run-in with stupidity...
I'm sitting at a T-intersection monitoring it for stop sign runners or seat belt violations. I've already written eight and there's about an hour left in my shift, so I'm basically watching the clock waiting to go home. Enter Larry, Curly, and Moe (if Moe was a chick). There's a car stopped at the stop sign going northbound when a Chevy Tahoe pulled to the right and blew through the intersection without stopping. Hmmmm...crime is afoot! Or at least my ninth cite.
I pull out and hit my lites. The Chevy immediately (to be read suspiciously) makes a quick right onto the very next street. I pull up behind the car and walk up to contact the driver. The driver looks like a scumbag from 25', so use your powers of imagination to visualize what he was like close up.
**Sidebar**
Most of you have never worked in a jail or been in patrol in a, shall we say, seedier part of your area. Thus, you are wholly unacquainted with the specific aroma that seems to hover among and around criminals, their vehicles, and their homes. It is truly unlike anything you have ever smelled. Don't misinterpret now, it ain't a pretty smell. It is, however, uh....distinct. Any time I, and I feel comfortable speaking for my brothers/sisters in blue here, or any of my fellow officers contact someone and we smell that particular smell, it sends up a red flag that something is not right. It doesn't smell like pot or alcohol. The only way to describe it is (sorry, Mom) feet and ass. Together. Like there is a creature somewhere made up solely of feet and ass. And not the shapely soft portion of the ass of your favorite supermodel. Oh, no. You get the picture. This car smelled like that
**Meanwhile....back at the ranch...***
I asked the driver what he was doing. He said something to the effect of he was late to pick up his kid or on his way to his aunt's, or some such bullshit. I asked him for his CDL and *shocker* he didn't have it with him; however, I can see plain as day a CDL on his lap. I asked him to whom that CDL belonged. He said it was his girlfriend's. His girlfriend, Janelle. I'll skip the pregnant sarcastic pause and just tell you the CDL did not belong to anyone named Janelle. Like, not even close to resembling Janelle. The driver was in his early 30's. The CDL belonged to a 16year old girl. Curiouser and curiouser. Another amusing sidenote, the only picture ID the driver had was for a Cannabis Club. Now that is some funny shit.
I had Larry, Curly, and Moe step out of the vehicle. I asked the driver, Larry, if he minded if I searched his car. Larry said, "Go ahead." Seriously. He let me search his car. Did you know you have the right to refuse a search of your vehicle, kids? That's right. You do. It's a little something some old dead guys came up with called the 4th Amendment. Now, that doesn't mean I wasn't gonna search Larry's car anyways, cause I would have ended up with probable cause at some point given the fact that he was an idiot, but the fact remains. He could have told me to piss off. Probably better for him that he didn't, but still.
I found a phone number for the 16 year old girl. I called her and guess what? Not a fucking clue who my moron driver is. Although, she did throw in the interesting fact that she was currently standing next to a police officer in a neighboring city and reporting an auto burglary. Ah, irony, you fickle mistress.
Long story short, Larry, Curly, and Moe went to jail for possession of stolen property, auto burglary, and burglary tools. Whilst I was dealing with these morons, another auto burg came out in our Town. You guessed it, we found the stolen property from that one in the Chevy as well.
So, to review...Stupid Move #1: Running a stop sign immediately after you've just burglarized at least two cars. And not just rolling through, we're talking completely and obviously blowing the stop. Stupid Move #2: Allowing a search of your vehicle immediately after you've just burglarized at least two cars. Stupid Move #3: Burglarizing cars in the middle of the fucking day when a shitload of potential witnesses are around and then one of them subsequently ID's your dumbass resulting in you and your two idiot friends going to jail.
God bless 'em. Job security, my friends.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Foiled Again!!!
You wouldn't believe some of the ridiculous reasons (to be read 'excuses') people give me for why I pull them over. Case in point...
We are currently hip deep in the Click It or Ticket campaign in the fine State of California. Feel free to translate that as if you're not wearing your seatbelt and I see you, you're getting a ticket. Used to be a $20 fine. It's now upwards of $90 to start. Ah, inflation. At any rate, I stopped what was like my 20th person last week for not wearing the seatbelt. I'm riding N/B on Any St. and the violator is driving S/B on the same street. I am less than 20' from the violator's vehicle. It's sunny. I can see the buckle hanging against the B-Pillar of the vehicle. The fucking sun is glinting off the damn thing. An obvious violation. Here's how the contact went...
me: Do you know why I stopped you?
violator: No.
me: You weren't wearing your seatbelt.
(violator is now wearing the seatbelt...fairly common, but all too late since I've already seen the violation)
violator: But I'm wearing it it.
me: You weren't when I saw you.
violator: *stunned/frustrated silence*
me: Are you telling me I didn't see the belt hanging loose on the door pillar and the buckle gleaming in the sun? I'm giving you the opporunity to be honest with me
violator (hands me her info): whatever
me: ok...be right back.
(I go back and scratch out a quick cite and return to the vehicle)
me: ok, go ahead and sign the highlited yellow portion at the bottom. This isn't a moving violation, but simply a fine.
violator: you only stopped me because I'm a black female.
***break for a moment*** Take a minute and digest that one, shall we? Deep breath. And continue.
me (trying mightly to remain calm): Are you kidding me.
violator: None of my white friends ever get a ticket in Town. I've lived here for 30+ years.
me: Well, I wish I could show you my stats of who I stop because I could not care less who they are. If they violate the vehicle code and I see it, they get a ticket. That's a fantastic attitude you have there, Ma'am. Have a nice day. (quickly walk away before my mouth gets me in trouble).
Ok...after much thought, here is what I would've enjoyed saying instead....
violator: You only stopped me because I'm a black female.
me: Dammit! You caught me. I was at the local Supremacy meeting just last night and I decided to employ my most sinister of plans to destroy the Black community. We've had enough with the cross burnings and the segregation, and affirmative action. It's time to pull out all the stops! Those old ways just weren't getting the job done. I'm going to take all of you down with $100 fines one by fucking one!!! Muahahahahahahaa. Damn you and your civil rights and your flagrant violation of the sanctity of the California Vehicle Code. My one regret is that I can't cite MLK or Rosa Parks, those fussy malcontents! I bet my seatbelt ticket would've brought the entire movement to a screeching halt and our country would be a different place!
Are you fucking kidding me, lady? It's a traffic infraction fine. Put on your fuckin' seatbelt and go about your day! The audacity of this woman in this day and age to accuse me of racism over a seatbelt violation. I truly do not care what race, creed, religion, sexual preference, age, insert whatever damn label you want, of any violator I stop. Bottom line is violation = ticket. Should be obvious by now I enjoy the ticket.
Thank the good Lord for the Blog (shudder) as an outlet because I would have loved to give this lady an earful. I hope someday she drives by me while I'm citing one of the bevy of white male juveniles in this Town. Unreal.
Welcome to the ridulousness of today's citizenry, folks. Feel my pain.
We are currently hip deep in the Click It or Ticket campaign in the fine State of California. Feel free to translate that as if you're not wearing your seatbelt and I see you, you're getting a ticket. Used to be a $20 fine. It's now upwards of $90 to start. Ah, inflation. At any rate, I stopped what was like my 20th person last week for not wearing the seatbelt. I'm riding N/B on Any St. and the violator is driving S/B on the same street. I am less than 20' from the violator's vehicle. It's sunny. I can see the buckle hanging against the B-Pillar of the vehicle. The fucking sun is glinting off the damn thing. An obvious violation. Here's how the contact went...
me: Do you know why I stopped you?
violator: No.
me: You weren't wearing your seatbelt.
(violator is now wearing the seatbelt...fairly common, but all too late since I've already seen the violation)
violator: But I'm wearing it it.
me: You weren't when I saw you.
violator: *stunned/frustrated silence*
me: Are you telling me I didn't see the belt hanging loose on the door pillar and the buckle gleaming in the sun? I'm giving you the opporunity to be honest with me
violator (hands me her info): whatever
me: ok...be right back.
(I go back and scratch out a quick cite and return to the vehicle)
me: ok, go ahead and sign the highlited yellow portion at the bottom. This isn't a moving violation, but simply a fine.
violator: you only stopped me because I'm a black female.
***break for a moment*** Take a minute and digest that one, shall we? Deep breath. And continue.
me (trying mightly to remain calm): Are you kidding me.
violator: None of my white friends ever get a ticket in Town. I've lived here for 30+ years.
me: Well, I wish I could show you my stats of who I stop because I could not care less who they are. If they violate the vehicle code and I see it, they get a ticket. That's a fantastic attitude you have there, Ma'am. Have a nice day. (quickly walk away before my mouth gets me in trouble).
Ok...after much thought, here is what I would've enjoyed saying instead....
violator: You only stopped me because I'm a black female.
me: Dammit! You caught me. I was at the local Supremacy meeting just last night and I decided to employ my most sinister of plans to destroy the Black community. We've had enough with the cross burnings and the segregation, and affirmative action. It's time to pull out all the stops! Those old ways just weren't getting the job done. I'm going to take all of you down with $100 fines one by fucking one!!! Muahahahahahahaa. Damn you and your civil rights and your flagrant violation of the sanctity of the California Vehicle Code. My one regret is that I can't cite MLK or Rosa Parks, those fussy malcontents! I bet my seatbelt ticket would've brought the entire movement to a screeching halt and our country would be a different place!
Are you fucking kidding me, lady? It's a traffic infraction fine. Put on your fuckin' seatbelt and go about your day! The audacity of this woman in this day and age to accuse me of racism over a seatbelt violation. I truly do not care what race, creed, religion, sexual preference, age, insert whatever damn label you want, of any violator I stop. Bottom line is violation = ticket. Should be obvious by now I enjoy the ticket.
Thank the good Lord for the Blog (shudder) as an outlet because I would have loved to give this lady an earful. I hope someday she drives by me while I'm citing one of the bevy of white male juveniles in this Town. Unreal.
Welcome to the ridulousness of today's citizenry, folks. Feel my pain.
Friday, May 16, 2008
The Force is strong with this one...
So, I'm not even at work and I get a complaint. Now that is skill! The kid was sick, so I stayed home to take care of her so the Wife could concentrate on her school work. Consequently, I missed traffic court.
Here's the back story on the cite...
I'm working at one of my usual duck ponds when I see an SUV pass me at about 40 mph or so...no biggie, except for the kid hanging half his body out the rear left passenger window. Junior obviously has no seatbelt on. I caught up to the car, pulled it over, contacted the driver (Junior's mom) and explained the violation. Turns out Junior is seven years old. Old enough to know better than to be hanging outside a damn car. Now I kept in mind this is just a kid, so I very politely explained to him that he was getting older and was old enough to know better. Seemed to go well at the time. Junior seemed to take what I said to heart and I felt fairly confident he wouldn't put himself in harm's way like that again.
Oh yeah...I still cited Mom.
Anyhoo...fast forward three months to traffic court. I'm not there. The cite gets dismissed. Yes, kids, the rumours are true...no cop = not guilty. Mom is not happy, however. She brings her whiny ass to the PD to complain because she felt I was condescending. To her seven year old. Three months ago. My supervisor, God bless him, told her he didn't believe a seven year old understood condescension. Love it! Bottom line, she was just pissed off because she didn't get to vent in court. She should be fucking happy, since my not showing up saved her dumbass nearly $500 (the fine). I'm sorry, did that sound condescending?
Not to mention the fact that if she was so bent about my treatment of Junior, why in the hell did she wait THREE months to whine about it? Unreal...
I was proud of myself for generating a complaint on a day I wasn't even at work. Brilliant. The Force runs deep in this Jedi.
Hehe...
Here's the back story on the cite...
I'm working at one of my usual duck ponds when I see an SUV pass me at about 40 mph or so...no biggie, except for the kid hanging half his body out the rear left passenger window. Junior obviously has no seatbelt on. I caught up to the car, pulled it over, contacted the driver (Junior's mom) and explained the violation. Turns out Junior is seven years old. Old enough to know better than to be hanging outside a damn car. Now I kept in mind this is just a kid, so I very politely explained to him that he was getting older and was old enough to know better. Seemed to go well at the time. Junior seemed to take what I said to heart and I felt fairly confident he wouldn't put himself in harm's way like that again.
Oh yeah...I still cited Mom.
Anyhoo...fast forward three months to traffic court. I'm not there. The cite gets dismissed. Yes, kids, the rumours are true...no cop = not guilty. Mom is not happy, however. She brings her whiny ass to the PD to complain because she felt I was condescending. To her seven year old. Three months ago. My supervisor, God bless him, told her he didn't believe a seven year old understood condescension. Love it! Bottom line, she was just pissed off because she didn't get to vent in court. She should be fucking happy, since my not showing up saved her dumbass nearly $500 (the fine). I'm sorry, did that sound condescending?
Not to mention the fact that if she was so bent about my treatment of Junior, why in the hell did she wait THREE months to whine about it? Unreal...
I was proud of myself for generating a complaint on a day I wasn't even at work. Brilliant. The Force runs deep in this Jedi.
Hehe...
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Trifecta!!!
Ok. We all know you're required to wear your seatbelt whilst your vehicle is in motion, yes? Good. Come July 1, 2008 (less than two months from now), we'll all be required to have hands free cellphone features. *Giddy* You have no idea how many violations I see where the violator is also yammering on their damn phone. I absolutely cannot wait until July. Make no mistake, folks, I'm looking for you. As a matter of fact, I have a bet with a friend of mine about who can cite more cellphone violations on July 1. It's gonna be a good day!!
Now, guess what I hear on the news this morning. There is a bill currently going through the state senate, after passing successfully through the assembly to ban driver's from having their pets on their laps whilst they're driving! Oh sweet tap dancing Christ on a crutch....it makes me weep with joy.
The Holy Grail: citing someone for speeding while on their cell phone, not wearing their seatbelt with Fifi on their lap. I might just fall over from overwhelming excitement.
I've heard tell from my brethren of a fellow officer that has cited someone for speed because they had a dog on their lap. Follow along....CVC 22350 states that a vehicle shall not travel at a speed that is unsafe for conditions. You tell me....what speed is safe to travel with a yorkie on your lap? Notice the section says nothing about a speed limit. A speed limit, my uninitiated friends, is typically what the safe speed is, but it is not finite. The safe speed can change based on weather, traffic conditions, visibility, and/or roadway conditions. So, technically, the safe speed to drive at whilst Spot is on your lap, or you're reading the paper, or putting on your makeup is....wait for it.....zero. The violator allegedly fought the ticket. The violator was found guilty. Justice is sweet. I have yet to have the required cajones to cite some like that. I generate enough complaints as it is.
You've been warned...
Now, guess what I hear on the news this morning. There is a bill currently going through the state senate, after passing successfully through the assembly to ban driver's from having their pets on their laps whilst they're driving! Oh sweet tap dancing Christ on a crutch....it makes me weep with joy.
The Holy Grail: citing someone for speeding while on their cell phone, not wearing their seatbelt with Fifi on their lap. I might just fall over from overwhelming excitement.
I've heard tell from my brethren of a fellow officer that has cited someone for speed because they had a dog on their lap. Follow along....CVC 22350 states that a vehicle shall not travel at a speed that is unsafe for conditions. You tell me....what speed is safe to travel with a yorkie on your lap? Notice the section says nothing about a speed limit. A speed limit, my uninitiated friends, is typically what the safe speed is, but it is not finite. The safe speed can change based on weather, traffic conditions, visibility, and/or roadway conditions. So, technically, the safe speed to drive at whilst Spot is on your lap, or you're reading the paper, or putting on your makeup is....wait for it.....zero. The violator allegedly fought the ticket. The violator was found guilty. Justice is sweet. I have yet to have the required cajones to cite some like that. I generate enough complaints as it is.
You've been warned...
Forensic Mapping
Sounds wicked exciting, no? No? That's cuz it isn't. Guess what, kids? Not everything we cops do involves high speed chases, kicking in doors, and newsworthy drug busts. From time to time, we have to do additional training to make us more well rounded. Call it a necessary evil.
So, what is forensic mapping, you ask? (And thanks for asking...) Ever see cops on the news after some heinous crash using a machine on a big 'ol tripod? That is similar to survey equipment. Basically, we use to to digitally capture the aftermath of a crash. We take a "shot" (unfortunately, not the kind that pops to mind) and then we can transfer that "shot" (or more accurately, hundreds of them) to a CAD, or Computer Aided Diagramming, program to draw out the scene. Then, using what we've captured at the scene, we can go back and reconstruct the collision (refer to previous post regarding getting closer to knowing everything).
Although it is not exactly a GTA IV tournament or anything, it's useful. Well, there you go...I'm off to get me some coffee to assist with maintaining consciousness for the next 8 hours.
Ta...
So, what is forensic mapping, you ask? (And thanks for asking...) Ever see cops on the news after some heinous crash using a machine on a big 'ol tripod? That is similar to survey equipment. Basically, we use to to digitally capture the aftermath of a crash. We take a "shot" (unfortunately, not the kind that pops to mind) and then we can transfer that "shot" (or more accurately, hundreds of them) to a CAD, or Computer Aided Diagramming, program to draw out the scene. Then, using what we've captured at the scene, we can go back and reconstruct the collision (refer to previous post regarding getting closer to knowing everything).
Although it is not exactly a GTA IV tournament or anything, it's useful. Well, there you go...I'm off to get me some coffee to assist with maintaining consciousness for the next 8 hours.
Ta...
Monday, April 28, 2008
I am that much closer to knowing Everything...
After two weeks of brain-melting fury, yours truly has successfully completed Recon I. Thanks for your patience....so, what was the point, you ask? Believe me when I saw this is the simplified, watered down answer, but I can now mathematically calculate the pre-impact velocity of two vehicles based on their entry/exit angles into/out of a collision. We were given a couple real life case studies to work on and were provided with some basic info that we'd otherwise have to figure out for ourselves in the real world (i.e. drag factor, weights of both axles and, in turn, each wheel, skid marks, etc).
We then had to figure out which cars made which marks and using transparency cut-outs of each vehicle, place them at maximum engagement (where the most damage is done), then subsequently figure out the next logical place for each vehicle to be on the road (this is all done to scale, by the way, on an 8 1/2" X 11" piece of paper). Whatever the next logical place is, you draw a line from that vehicle's center of mass at it's original position to it's new position. Then, you figure out the angle change from one to the other. And so and so forth.
Based on, say, V-2's exit and entry angle, I can calculate it's pre-impact velocity (speed) and taking that, it's a trigonometry wonderland to figure out the rest. Don't get me started on what to do if either vehicle rotates....whole other kettle of fish...which I can do, by the by, but won't bore you with the intricacies therein. My head still spins a bit just thinking about it.
At any rate, my patient friends, I will do my best to once again brighten your civilian lives with tales of awe and wonder from the seat of a Harley. Thanks again for being giving me some time off. I tried ever so hard to refrain from explaining the difference between Potential Energy and Kinetic Energy and how even though they're different, they should still sum up to equal the same number of ftlbs. You're welcome....
Oh yeah...a postscript...all the math bullshit I completed in the last two weeks can all be calculated damn near instantaneously by a computer program we were provided at the end of the course. Sure, we still have to come up with all the variables to insert into the equations...but the actual calculation bit? Total waste as it turns out. Stupid technology.
We then had to figure out which cars made which marks and using transparency cut-outs of each vehicle, place them at maximum engagement (where the most damage is done), then subsequently figure out the next logical place for each vehicle to be on the road (this is all done to scale, by the way, on an 8 1/2" X 11" piece of paper). Whatever the next logical place is, you draw a line from that vehicle's center of mass at it's original position to it's new position. Then, you figure out the angle change from one to the other. And so and so forth.
Based on, say, V-2's exit and entry angle, I can calculate it's pre-impact velocity (speed) and taking that, it's a trigonometry wonderland to figure out the rest. Don't get me started on what to do if either vehicle rotates....whole other kettle of fish...which I can do, by the by, but won't bore you with the intricacies therein. My head still spins a bit just thinking about it.
At any rate, my patient friends, I will do my best to once again brighten your civilian lives with tales of awe and wonder from the seat of a Harley. Thanks again for being giving me some time off. I tried ever so hard to refrain from explaining the difference between Potential Energy and Kinetic Energy and how even though they're different, they should still sum up to equal the same number of ftlbs. You're welcome....
Oh yeah...a postscript...all the math bullshit I completed in the last two weeks can all be calculated damn near instantaneously by a computer program we were provided at the end of the course. Sure, we still have to come up with all the variables to insert into the equations...but the actual calculation bit? Total waste as it turns out. Stupid technology.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sines and Arc Tangents, and Delta-Vee's...Oh My!!!!
Things are gonna be slow around the blog for the next couple weeks, folks. I'm taking an 80 hour Traffic Accident Reconstruction class (TAR 1 for short). Think of it this way....your average college course meets for 3 hours a week over a ten week period for a total amount of 30 total hours of instruction. I'm getting nearly 3 times that in two weeks. This will take my accident investigation training up to 240 hours of total training! Yikes, now the powers-that-be will probably expect me to know what the hell I'm talking about. The training is very math-heavy...lots of trig and some physics thrown in for kicks, so I'll probably be too wiped to blog. Then again, you never can tell...
Thursday, April 10, 2008
I just may have saved a life...
What follows is not an effort to "toot my own horn"...this is just the way I felt today.
As I may or may not have mentioned by now, I love my job. That translates to "I write a shitload of tickets". Today was no different. I was on par to beat my personal best (17 in a day). I was aiming for 20. I had two hours and about five cites to go when the following happened...and you'll forgive me cuz I spent about four hours from start to finish on this little event and had to document it all, so this may very well read like my report. Sorry.
I was W/B on, shall we say ABC St., about to get on the freeway headed N/B. Off to my left, I see an older SUV in the far left lane. The intersection with ABC St. doesn't allow traffic in the far left lane to turn because that would take them the wrong way onto the freeway. Well, foreshadowing aside, that is precisely what the driver of the SUV did. She turned left. Onto the freeway. Going the wrong way. It was two in the afternoon.
I did the only thing I could do....and let's be specific here...God was watching out for yours truly. I was already committed to going N/B on the freeway. I credit God here because there was no one behind me which allowed me to activate my lites and siren, turn around, blow the intersection and catch up to the driver. The driver was going S/B on the N/B offramp to the freeway. There were two cars on the offramp, but they were already stopped for the light and there were no additional vehicles exiting the freeway. Again, God. Since there was no traffic, I felt it was safe for me to also enter the offramp S/B. The driver apparently realized that all the traffic on the freeway was either going the wrong direction, or she was. Amazingly enough, she stopped, then made a U-turn.
If she had kept going, I would not have pursued her. Policy is very clear about this kind of thing. All that shit you see on the TV about cop shows, even reality clip shows, where the cops chase the bad guy the wrong way on the freeway? Those cops are morons who get caught up in the adrenaline and the fact that they're gonna be on TV. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for chasing the bad guys and driving fast, especially with lights and sirens. And on a motor to boot? Please. I dig on the adrenaline, too. Let me be clear, though. I have one goal throughout each and every day when I'm at work. Come home and hug the Wife and my daughter. Everyone else means exactly nothing. I understand I have a dangerous job and we all put our lives on the line, but that line shifts based on the totality of the circumstances, folks. Sorry to burst your bubble.
At any rate, back to the issue at hand. Eventually, the driver yields and I contact her. I basically ask her what in the hell was she thinking. Her reply is not important. The important part is what I smelled. Ah, the familiar odor of an alcoholic beverage. *Tip* Cops who say they smelled alcohol couldn't be more wrong. Alcohol in and of itself has no smell. The alcoholic beverage, however, does. Class dismissed.
Right about the time I smelled her particular odor, I noticed the two cute twin girls in the rear seat. Turns out, they just turned five two days ago. The driver is their nanny. Their nanny is fucking hammered. Long story short, I conduct the DUI investigation and she gets arrested for Deuce and two felony counts of child endangerment. Mom came and picked up the twins and, obviously, will be firing the nanny. The legal limit in CA is .08. This woman tripled that score.
A minor aside...a city to the south of the Town had a bad run of luck a few weeks ago involving collisions. A ten year old boy was run over by a small commuter bus. Truly tragic and not something most of you need to see. About two or three days later, I man hit a 13 year old girl in the crosswalk on her bike. He had one or two kids in his vehicle. He was drunk. The 13 year old girl, to the best of my knowledge, wasn't killed, but she was seriously injured. The collision occurred in the middle of the day. These things were prevalent in my mind during this incident.
Again, I love my job. Tickets make me happy. This one made me feel like a real life superhero. I got lots of "great hook"s and "nice pop"s from my peers and supervisors. We're a tight knit bunch, so being recognized by your peers that you respect so much means a lot to me. When you add in them telling you that you probably saved a life today, well, I almost don't have the words for it. All of that takes a back seat, however, to seeing two things. One, the look on the face of the twins' mom. She felt terror, anguish, relief and happiness all in the span of about three seconds. Can you imagine trusting someone with your children, your Children for God sakes, and discovering that someone could very well have been responsible for their death? God willing, we'll never have to feel that way. This woman did. I was able to help her with that. Secondly, seeing my own daughter when I came home and hugged the bejeezus outta her. And she was all smiles and laughter. The salve that soothes my wounds.
One little caveat...did I forget to mention the strong arm robbery that occurred about a minute after I stopped this drunk bitch? Oh I didn't? Yeah...it was an interesting day in our little burg. No rest for the weary.
And finally...the true tragedy at the end of the day...I only got 17 cites. *sigh* There's always tomorrow. Hehe
As I may or may not have mentioned by now, I love my job. That translates to "I write a shitload of tickets". Today was no different. I was on par to beat my personal best (17 in a day). I was aiming for 20. I had two hours and about five cites to go when the following happened...and you'll forgive me cuz I spent about four hours from start to finish on this little event and had to document it all, so this may very well read like my report. Sorry.
I was W/B on, shall we say ABC St., about to get on the freeway headed N/B. Off to my left, I see an older SUV in the far left lane. The intersection with ABC St. doesn't allow traffic in the far left lane to turn because that would take them the wrong way onto the freeway. Well, foreshadowing aside, that is precisely what the driver of the SUV did. She turned left. Onto the freeway. Going the wrong way. It was two in the afternoon.
I did the only thing I could do....and let's be specific here...God was watching out for yours truly. I was already committed to going N/B on the freeway. I credit God here because there was no one behind me which allowed me to activate my lites and siren, turn around, blow the intersection and catch up to the driver. The driver was going S/B on the N/B offramp to the freeway. There were two cars on the offramp, but they were already stopped for the light and there were no additional vehicles exiting the freeway. Again, God. Since there was no traffic, I felt it was safe for me to also enter the offramp S/B. The driver apparently realized that all the traffic on the freeway was either going the wrong direction, or she was. Amazingly enough, she stopped, then made a U-turn.
If she had kept going, I would not have pursued her. Policy is very clear about this kind of thing. All that shit you see on the TV about cop shows, even reality clip shows, where the cops chase the bad guy the wrong way on the freeway? Those cops are morons who get caught up in the adrenaline and the fact that they're gonna be on TV. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for chasing the bad guys and driving fast, especially with lights and sirens. And on a motor to boot? Please. I dig on the adrenaline, too. Let me be clear, though. I have one goal throughout each and every day when I'm at work. Come home and hug the Wife and my daughter. Everyone else means exactly nothing. I understand I have a dangerous job and we all put our lives on the line, but that line shifts based on the totality of the circumstances, folks. Sorry to burst your bubble.
At any rate, back to the issue at hand. Eventually, the driver yields and I contact her. I basically ask her what in the hell was she thinking. Her reply is not important. The important part is what I smelled. Ah, the familiar odor of an alcoholic beverage. *Tip* Cops who say they smelled alcohol couldn't be more wrong. Alcohol in and of itself has no smell. The alcoholic beverage, however, does. Class dismissed.
Right about the time I smelled her particular odor, I noticed the two cute twin girls in the rear seat. Turns out, they just turned five two days ago. The driver is their nanny. Their nanny is fucking hammered. Long story short, I conduct the DUI investigation and she gets arrested for Deuce and two felony counts of child endangerment. Mom came and picked up the twins and, obviously, will be firing the nanny. The legal limit in CA is .08. This woman tripled that score.
A minor aside...a city to the south of the Town had a bad run of luck a few weeks ago involving collisions. A ten year old boy was run over by a small commuter bus. Truly tragic and not something most of you need to see. About two or three days later, I man hit a 13 year old girl in the crosswalk on her bike. He had one or two kids in his vehicle. He was drunk. The 13 year old girl, to the best of my knowledge, wasn't killed, but she was seriously injured. The collision occurred in the middle of the day. These things were prevalent in my mind during this incident.
Again, I love my job. Tickets make me happy. This one made me feel like a real life superhero. I got lots of "great hook"s and "nice pop"s from my peers and supervisors. We're a tight knit bunch, so being recognized by your peers that you respect so much means a lot to me. When you add in them telling you that you probably saved a life today, well, I almost don't have the words for it. All of that takes a back seat, however, to seeing two things. One, the look on the face of the twins' mom. She felt terror, anguish, relief and happiness all in the span of about three seconds. Can you imagine trusting someone with your children, your Children for God sakes, and discovering that someone could very well have been responsible for their death? God willing, we'll never have to feel that way. This woman did. I was able to help her with that. Secondly, seeing my own daughter when I came home and hugged the bejeezus outta her. And she was all smiles and laughter. The salve that soothes my wounds.
One little caveat...did I forget to mention the strong arm robbery that occurred about a minute after I stopped this drunk bitch? Oh I didn't? Yeah...it was an interesting day in our little burg. No rest for the weary.
And finally...the true tragedy at the end of the day...I only got 17 cites. *sigh* There's always tomorrow. Hehe
Monday, April 7, 2008
#*&@ Thanks, Mom
At the beginning of this little experiment, my loving Mom mentioned that I would have an experience and think to myself, "That is so bloggable." As per previous posts, we are well acquainted with how stupid I think the word "blog" is. Today, to my shame, I said out loud and with a certain verve, "Bloggable." That was it. There was no one else in the car. So. Fucking. Sad.
At any rate, please to enjoy (credit Joel McHale) the following experience...
I worked a little OT tonite, so I was in a fully marked patrol car;however, the motorcop never rests, so I'm always looking to write more cites. I was in the #1 right turn lane waiting to enter the freeway N/B (that's the left most turn lane for you non-traffic dorks). There was a pickup truck immediately to my right, also getting on the freeway. The lite cycles to green and we both go. The truck swings wide and begins to enter my lane. The lane in which I was currently in. As in already there. As in he would hit me if I wasn't paying attention. I quickly hit the brakes and the horn, which is connected to the siren, and hit my lites.
The truck pulls over on the on-ramp. The conversation goes something like this...
Me: Evening. Do you know why I stopped you?
Idiot: Yeah. I swung a little wide in my turn.
Me: A little wide? You almost hit me.
Idiot: Sorry about that.
Me: No problem...license, registration, and insurance, please.
***INTERMISSION WHILST THE CITE IS WRITTEN***
I return with his citation....
Me: Ok, sir, I just need your signature on the highlighted yellow portion on the bottom.
Idiot (incredulously): You're giving me a ticket.
Me (disbelievingly): Uh, yes, sir. You almost hit me.
Idiot (still incredulous): Well, I know, but don't you think a warning would be more appropriate.
Me: No. (now walking back to my car shaking my head)
At which point Idiot signs the ticket but internally curses the cruel Fates that have brought him to this experience. Now, I ask you, dear random Internet masses, what the fuck is wrong with this guy? How do you nearly hit a moving, fully marked police car and not expect to get a ticket? Are you retarded? How can you possibly think you wouldn't get a ticket for that?
I then return to my car, get in, close the door and say in a sing-song voice, "Bloggable." Oh, the depths I have reached. To be fair, or to pass the buck, I have heard the Wife utter the B-word a number of times, so I am claiming some kind of unfair adversity here. But, the fact remains I said it and, again, Mom was right. Shit, twice in one week and I admit it? Fuck, fuck, fuck. (That was just payback, cuz I know she hates it when I swear....Evil Little Monkey that I am.)
Off to sleep and recharge the batteries for more soul crushing on the morrow....
At any rate, please to enjoy (credit Joel McHale) the following experience...
I worked a little OT tonite, so I was in a fully marked patrol car;however, the motorcop never rests, so I'm always looking to write more cites. I was in the #1 right turn lane waiting to enter the freeway N/B (that's the left most turn lane for you non-traffic dorks). There was a pickup truck immediately to my right, also getting on the freeway. The lite cycles to green and we both go. The truck swings wide and begins to enter my lane. The lane in which I was currently in. As in already there. As in he would hit me if I wasn't paying attention. I quickly hit the brakes and the horn, which is connected to the siren, and hit my lites.
The truck pulls over on the on-ramp. The conversation goes something like this...
Me: Evening. Do you know why I stopped you?
Idiot: Yeah. I swung a little wide in my turn.
Me: A little wide? You almost hit me.
Idiot: Sorry about that.
Me: No problem...license, registration, and insurance, please.
***INTERMISSION WHILST THE CITE IS WRITTEN***
I return with his citation....
Me: Ok, sir, I just need your signature on the highlighted yellow portion on the bottom.
Idiot (incredulously): You're giving me a ticket.
Me (disbelievingly): Uh, yes, sir. You almost hit me.
Idiot (still incredulous): Well, I know, but don't you think a warning would be more appropriate.
Me: No. (now walking back to my car shaking my head)
At which point Idiot signs the ticket but internally curses the cruel Fates that have brought him to this experience. Now, I ask you, dear random Internet masses, what the fuck is wrong with this guy? How do you nearly hit a moving, fully marked police car and not expect to get a ticket? Are you retarded? How can you possibly think you wouldn't get a ticket for that?
I then return to my car, get in, close the door and say in a sing-song voice, "Bloggable." Oh, the depths I have reached. To be fair, or to pass the buck, I have heard the Wife utter the B-word a number of times, so I am claiming some kind of unfair adversity here. But, the fact remains I said it and, again, Mom was right. Shit, twice in one week and I admit it? Fuck, fuck, fuck. (That was just payback, cuz I know she hates it when I swear....Evil Little Monkey that I am.)
Off to sleep and recharge the batteries for more soul crushing on the morrow....
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Mon Raison D'etre (High School French, bitches!)
I never thought I'd want to be in the Traffic Unit. I never thought I'd want to spend my days writing tickets. Turns out, I freakin' love it. I mean like righteously love it. You know that ass that cuts you off on the freeway and didn't even have the courtesy to wave, let alone signal? I get to write that prick a ticket. Puts a smile on my face.
Here's another reason I love traffic. I practically get to be judge and jury on each violation. Sure, it's an infraction. No, typically no one goes to jail. But guess what, folks? It's the quickest, easiest, and cleanest way to exact justice. Allow me to explain...
Say I arrest some dipshit for beating his wife/girlfriend/transgenderfied cousin/whatever. The victim has obvious injuries (traumatic injuries for you purists out there). I interview everyone involved. I take pictures. I write a report. I transport dipshit to jail. The whole process takes about five hours, on a simple case. Guess what happens next? Dipshit's victim bails dipshit out of jail. The D.A. (district attorney for you neophytes) won't file the felony because the victim isn't the most cooperative of subjects. If I'm lucky, dipshit gets charged with misdemeanor domestic battery, does no jail time, and if Jupiter is in the seventh house, maybe gets probation. Maybe.
Not enough? Too hypothetical for you? Try this on for size....
I'm at work. In uniform. In a fucking police car. I'm stopped for a red light. Just sitting there minding my own business. All of a sudden...SLAM!!! I'm now halfway in the intersection and being pushed even further into it. I look in my rearview and see smoke coming from the tires of the vehicle behind me as the driver is standing on the accelerator. I am now standing on my brakes trying to avoid being pushed any further. I get on the air, advise I was just struck from behind and, oh....what's this? The driver throws it in reverse and is now attempting to flee. Uh....HELL NO! I flip a quick U, throw on the lites and siren and chase this motherfucker. Didn't last long as the driver drove over the sidewalk, into a parking lot, up a small landscaped hillside to a stop. I pull behind the car and get out. I am not happy.
I walk over to the car, hand on my gun, and I see a mid to late 50's female behind the wheel of the car. Huh?!? You guessed it...drunk bitch. Long story short, she goes to jail for deuce (DUI) and I go home and then the chiropractor for a few months. A few months later, a warrant comes out for her arrest. My partner and I go to the house and hook her. She had no fucking clue who I was. Oh, and guess what else...SHE WAS DRUNK!!! Unreal. Off to jail she goes. Both times she was in jail less than a day because her husband bailed her out. Case never went to trial. Know why? The D.A. and drunk bitch's bottom feeder (defense attorney) worked out a plea deal. Know what she got for being involved in a deuce crash? Basically, fuck all. No jail time, minimal fines, and probation. That's it, kids. She hit an on-duty police officer and didn't spend any significant time in jail. Nice, huh?
So, back to the point. I get personal and immediate satisfaction knowing that when I stop someone, the odds of them getting what they deserve are astronomically higher than if they commit a random misdemeanor, or even a felony. Twisted, but this is the criminal justice system, trusting citizens!
It gets better, though. Some of these fools actually fight the ticket! Silly rabbit, fines are for violators. I've literally been to court and testified hundreds of times. I've lost exactly twice and only because the court documentation on file was outdated. I don't have to rely on the D.A. or any other attorney for that matter. In court, I represent the state, present my case, and await what has come to be fairly inevitable. I get the satisfaction of knowing everything will be handled from start to finish with little or no plea deals and the defendant will end up paying for his/her actions.
At the end of the day, I love my job. Yeah, there are drawbacks to working in the Town and we'll get into those sometime soon, but overall, there are very few days I wake up and lament going to work. My job makes me happy.
I just wanted to offer up a brief explanation of why I love my job so much. To be honest, I've never really thought about it in this particular context before. Dear Lord, Mom was right. This IS a good idea. Damn...she'll probably read that bit, too. Great, now I have to hear about it. *sigh*.
Here's another reason I love traffic. I practically get to be judge and jury on each violation. Sure, it's an infraction. No, typically no one goes to jail. But guess what, folks? It's the quickest, easiest, and cleanest way to exact justice. Allow me to explain...
Say I arrest some dipshit for beating his wife/girlfriend/transgenderfied cousin/whatever. The victim has obvious injuries (traumatic injuries for you purists out there). I interview everyone involved. I take pictures. I write a report. I transport dipshit to jail. The whole process takes about five hours, on a simple case. Guess what happens next? Dipshit's victim bails dipshit out of jail. The D.A. (district attorney for you neophytes) won't file the felony because the victim isn't the most cooperative of subjects. If I'm lucky, dipshit gets charged with misdemeanor domestic battery, does no jail time, and if Jupiter is in the seventh house, maybe gets probation. Maybe.
Not enough? Too hypothetical for you? Try this on for size....
I'm at work. In uniform. In a fucking police car. I'm stopped for a red light. Just sitting there minding my own business. All of a sudden...SLAM!!! I'm now halfway in the intersection and being pushed even further into it. I look in my rearview and see smoke coming from the tires of the vehicle behind me as the driver is standing on the accelerator. I am now standing on my brakes trying to avoid being pushed any further. I get on the air, advise I was just struck from behind and, oh....what's this? The driver throws it in reverse and is now attempting to flee. Uh....HELL NO! I flip a quick U, throw on the lites and siren and chase this motherfucker. Didn't last long as the driver drove over the sidewalk, into a parking lot, up a small landscaped hillside to a stop. I pull behind the car and get out. I am not happy.
I walk over to the car, hand on my gun, and I see a mid to late 50's female behind the wheel of the car. Huh?!? You guessed it...drunk bitch. Long story short, she goes to jail for deuce (DUI) and I go home and then the chiropractor for a few months. A few months later, a warrant comes out for her arrest. My partner and I go to the house and hook her. She had no fucking clue who I was. Oh, and guess what else...SHE WAS DRUNK!!! Unreal. Off to jail she goes. Both times she was in jail less than a day because her husband bailed her out. Case never went to trial. Know why? The D.A. and drunk bitch's bottom feeder (defense attorney) worked out a plea deal. Know what she got for being involved in a deuce crash? Basically, fuck all. No jail time, minimal fines, and probation. That's it, kids. She hit an on-duty police officer and didn't spend any significant time in jail. Nice, huh?
So, back to the point. I get personal and immediate satisfaction knowing that when I stop someone, the odds of them getting what they deserve are astronomically higher than if they commit a random misdemeanor, or even a felony. Twisted, but this is the criminal justice system, trusting citizens!
It gets better, though. Some of these fools actually fight the ticket! Silly rabbit, fines are for violators. I've literally been to court and testified hundreds of times. I've lost exactly twice and only because the court documentation on file was outdated. I don't have to rely on the D.A. or any other attorney for that matter. In court, I represent the state, present my case, and await what has come to be fairly inevitable. I get the satisfaction of knowing everything will be handled from start to finish with little or no plea deals and the defendant will end up paying for his/her actions.
At the end of the day, I love my job. Yeah, there are drawbacks to working in the Town and we'll get into those sometime soon, but overall, there are very few days I wake up and lament going to work. My job makes me happy.
I just wanted to offer up a brief explanation of why I love my job so much. To be honest, I've never really thought about it in this particular context before. Dear Lord, Mom was right. This IS a good idea. Damn...she'll probably read that bit, too. Great, now I have to hear about it. *sigh*.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Damn you, 21st century!!!
Ok. I've taken a deep breath and am bravely stepping off the 20th century cliff and waiting to freefall into the next century.
So, here's the deal. I'm conflicted about this whole "blogging" thing. First of all, what in the fuck is a blog? Seriously. Gotta be one of the stupidest new words. Secondly, as the majority of my friends and family can attest, I suck at returning emails. How does that relate you ask? Consistency, friends, consistency. I make no promises to hourly, daily, weekly, monthly update my new nemesis; however, on the rare occasion in which I do, I can promise an uncensored look into the life of a motor cop.
I am not creating this sucker to regale all of you with the newest and coolest stuff my daughter does. The Wife takes care of all of that. No, this is more of a way to relieve some pent up frustration about my job. You all know what I do and where I work, but for the sake of not misrepresenting my Department, I will henceforth refer to the place I work simply as "the Town". I will most likely say some things that will inevitably be misinterpreted by the wrong set of eyes who may or may not look to screw me for excersing my 1st amendment rights. To those eyes, I simply say, "Suck it."
DISCLAIMER:
I work with and around some characters. You know who you are. Characters use colorful language. I, myself, am a character. (This is mostly a warning for you, Mom). There will be R-rated language involved with this blog. I'm a cop. We swear. Deal. 'Nuff said.
DISCLAIMER #2:
I get wordy. Not sure that is a word, but it should be. The Wife can attest to my verbosity. Now, I know that is a word. From time to time, things happen at work that piss me off. When I get pissed off, I tend to run off at the mouth. I type faster than I talk. Figure it out.
DISCLAIMER #3:
If, by some glorious twist of fate, you stumbled across this blog and you happen to be someone I stopped and cited, this is what I really wanted to say, "Holy shit, I can't believe you just (insert violation here). You suck at driving. Sign the fucking ticket and I'll see you in court...can you make it a Monday, though? That way I'll get paid overtime to screw you twice! MUAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" At which point, in a perfect world, fire would come out of the tailpipe of my Harley as I speed away to violate someone else's civil rights.
DISCLAIMER #4:
Disclaimer #3 is only partially true.
DISCLAIMER #5:
Disclaimer #4 is bullshit.
Ok...enough frivolity. I actually want to say a couple quick notes of thanks to three specific people who have inspired me to write this blog (still can't wrap my head around this word). #1 Mom & Dad...Mom has encouraged me for years to get my work thoughts on paper. Not sure this counts as paper, but close enough for gov't work. Dad actually did write the majority of his work details in a log/journal which I've always thought was cool. #2 LKE...I'll bet she didn't even know I read her blog. LKE, I love reading your shit. You are a gifted and talented writer and on more than one occasion, I have laughed out loud at your posts (the flower on the bra comes to mind). #3 The Wife...what don't you inspire me to do? I fucking hate jogging and you got me doing that. This I can do whilst drinking at the same time. Win/win. Seriously, Sweetheart, your vigilant updates have helped keep my family connected with our daughter. I can never thank you enough for that. You, too, are a gifted and talented writer. Your Dad is right...publishable. xoxo.
Well, that about does it for the inaugural post. Enjoy the ensuing hilarity.
I'm off to make friends and influence people....
So, here's the deal. I'm conflicted about this whole "blogging" thing. First of all, what in the fuck is a blog? Seriously. Gotta be one of the stupidest new words. Secondly, as the majority of my friends and family can attest, I suck at returning emails. How does that relate you ask? Consistency, friends, consistency. I make no promises to hourly, daily, weekly, monthly update my new nemesis; however, on the rare occasion in which I do, I can promise an uncensored look into the life of a motor cop.
I am not creating this sucker to regale all of you with the newest and coolest stuff my daughter does. The Wife takes care of all of that. No, this is more of a way to relieve some pent up frustration about my job. You all know what I do and where I work, but for the sake of not misrepresenting my Department, I will henceforth refer to the place I work simply as "the Town". I will most likely say some things that will inevitably be misinterpreted by the wrong set of eyes who may or may not look to screw me for excersing my 1st amendment rights. To those eyes, I simply say, "Suck it."
DISCLAIMER:
I work with and around some characters. You know who you are. Characters use colorful language. I, myself, am a character. (This is mostly a warning for you, Mom). There will be R-rated language involved with this blog. I'm a cop. We swear. Deal. 'Nuff said.
DISCLAIMER #2:
I get wordy. Not sure that is a word, but it should be. The Wife can attest to my verbosity. Now, I know that is a word. From time to time, things happen at work that piss me off. When I get pissed off, I tend to run off at the mouth. I type faster than I talk. Figure it out.
DISCLAIMER #3:
If, by some glorious twist of fate, you stumbled across this blog and you happen to be someone I stopped and cited, this is what I really wanted to say, "Holy shit, I can't believe you just (insert violation here). You suck at driving. Sign the fucking ticket and I'll see you in court...can you make it a Monday, though? That way I'll get paid overtime to screw you twice! MUAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" At which point, in a perfect world, fire would come out of the tailpipe of my Harley as I speed away to violate someone else's civil rights.
DISCLAIMER #4:
Disclaimer #3 is only partially true.
DISCLAIMER #5:
Disclaimer #4 is bullshit.
Ok...enough frivolity. I actually want to say a couple quick notes of thanks to three specific people who have inspired me to write this blog (still can't wrap my head around this word). #1 Mom & Dad...Mom has encouraged me for years to get my work thoughts on paper. Not sure this counts as paper, but close enough for gov't work. Dad actually did write the majority of his work details in a log/journal which I've always thought was cool. #2 LKE...I'll bet she didn't even know I read her blog. LKE, I love reading your shit. You are a gifted and talented writer and on more than one occasion, I have laughed out loud at your posts (the flower on the bra comes to mind). #3 The Wife...what don't you inspire me to do? I fucking hate jogging and you got me doing that. This I can do whilst drinking at the same time. Win/win. Seriously, Sweetheart, your vigilant updates have helped keep my family connected with our daughter. I can never thank you enough for that. You, too, are a gifted and talented writer. Your Dad is right...publishable. xoxo.
Well, that about does it for the inaugural post. Enjoy the ensuing hilarity.
I'm off to make friends and influence people....
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