Brotherhood . . .

A few years ago just as I had finished my probationary period with the city FD, the city PD's new hiring class finished the academy. Some of those officers and I became good friends. Last night, I would not have wanted to be in a fight with anyone else watching my back but them. My two all time favorite city cops were partnered together last night. Our squad gets called to a female unresponsive, passed out. We arrive onscene to find them there for other unrelated matters. Female is possibly intoxicated, drugged, or just plain CRAZY. She is naked, in someone elses house where no one knows her, with altered mental status.
All is well until we go to load her in the squad and she goes crazy on my partner and I. My two city boys come flying out of the house to see naked girl fighting two female firefighters. Let the jokes begin . . . Well we would have done ok, except crazy girl's friends decided at that time to appear out of the apartment complex behind us. So now we have five or six people charging us. Two cops. Two firefighters. Six or seven crazy drunks. We won. Multiple people went to the drunk tank. Crazy girl got arrested.

We walked away and the cops started to leave, and I thought about something.
"Hey guys, wait up."
"What's up?"
"Thanks."
"No problem."
"No, really thanks. . . You know I love you guys."
"*awkward silence* . . . Yeah, we love you guys too."
"See? It didn't kill you to say that."

BROTHERHOOD

Rules of traffic enforcement . . .

So the traffic Sgt. taught class today, and it was amazing. Hilarious. Here are some of the better moments . . .

"Do you know what you say when someone gives you a lame excuse?"
"No sir."
"Press hard, you're making three copies."

"Do NOT swing a flare around to direct traffic. You're an idiot, and you'll only succeed in lighting yourself on fire. And the grass. And probably your cruiser."

"What is the first rule of car vs. train? The train wins. The second rule? Get your damn cruiser off the tracks genius or you're the next target."

"Has everyone here seen the COPS episode with the cruiser stuck on the tracks? Good. If you do that, I will laugh at you. And then I will write you up and suspend you for 60 days or so. If you do that on national TV, you will no longer work here."

"RADAR IS BORING?!?! Listen here kid, you're going to be doing this for the next 25 years of your life . . . get over yourself."

"It takes a special kind of stupid to blatantly violate most traffic laws, you will be able to recognize it instantly."

"You know what happened to the last person who acted like an idiot during a traffic stop? Their FTO wasn't as nice of a cop as I am.They almost died."

This is your notification . . .

A few days ago I got one of those quality postcards with a guy's picture, address and info letting you know a convicted sex offender lives in your neighborhood. Immediately my neighbors gravitated to me as I walked out of the house carrying my uniform and assorted corrections gear.

"Should we be afraid?"
"What can we do?"
"Was he in your jail, what did he do?"

Sigh.

Ok, here's the deal folks. You know as much as I do. I deal with thousands of prisoners a year. I have no idea where this guy committed his crime, was convicted or served time. He could be from out of state for all we know. All I can tell you is tell your kids to stay away from him, since the card says his victims were children and they were raped. Tell them he's a man who did bad things and run to a neighbor if he tries to talk to them. Tell them to find a police officer, a firefighter, a teacher or a trusted adult. I wish I could give you the answers, tell you to run him out of town, or do whatever it is you want to. I can't.

Sometimes being in public safety isn't all it's cracked up to be . . .

Europe is a continent . . .

So we have these forms in intake that the arresting officer fills out with their prisoner's basic information. One of the boxes is "Country of Birth" another is "Place of Birth." We take paperwork on this guy who has fifteen warrants. Under "Country of Birth" the officer has written "Europe." Ok, ok. So Europe's a continent, but we'll figure it out. Maybe he meant England? Then I look down and realize he's written "USA" under "Place of Birth." What the hell? Either I need to give him a geography lesson, a civics test or an eye exam.

(The guy was born in Germany . . . at least he had the continent right)

Don't use my name . . .

Ugh. Today's moment in awkardness brought to you by job seekers. Let's do a quick PSA for all of you out there . . .
DON'T TELL MY EMPLOYER THAT
A. You know me
B. Are friends with me
C. I recommend you
D. I told you to call
IF NONE OF THESE ARE TRUE

You will know if I am friends with you. Otherwise, steer clear of using me for your own personal gain. Besides, it creates awkward times when I tell HR the truth . . .

Aren't you like, practically a doctor?

That was the question my other half asked me yesterday afternoon when I was done with the academy. Yes, I have a bachelor's degree in community health. Yes, I'm an EMT. No, I am not qualified to diagnose and prescribe.
The problem? He claims to have a sinus infection, so I have him give me all his symptoms over the phone. That being done, I take a quality stab in the dark and buy some DayQuil and some Mucinex. Because "Mr. I'm Never Sick" is probably underplaying his symptoms, I buy some Gatorade and saltines just in case. Upon arrival I discover his claim of a sinus infection is bogus. He's sick as a dog. So after the home health care attempt, I try and pursuade him to go to the doctor. No. Not so much. Not only that, SuperCop thinks that it's ok to go to work. After twenty minutes of argument he leaves, in full uniform, for work. Well that was successful.
Two hours later . . .
Either someone is breaking in or SuperCop came home sick. Oh look. His sarge sent him home. I am rewarded with a glare. To which I respond, "Told you so."