Wait . . . what?

For amusement purposes . . .

This guy comes to visitation at the main complex of our SO. We happen to be large enough to have multiple facilities. His girlfriend is at one of the other complexes; he knows this and tells me this. I inform him that he needs to go to the complex she is housed in to visit her. The response?
"Are you serious?" Funny, that's what I said to my partner once he left.

While seated, in uniform, behind the bullet-proof window with "VISITATION" stenciled above it I get the following. Man walks in, takes a number for the "serving now" line. Makes it up to me and goes "I'm here to see my girlfriend but there's no deputy back in the visitation room and the door is locked."
"Sir visitation is a secure area, I have to hit a button to let you in."
"Yes I know but there's no deputy out here to tell who I'm here to see."
"Sir that's me."
"Really?"
REALLY.

From a phone call we took in intake and receiving:
"I'm worried about my son, he said he is in with some tough guys."
"Ma'am this a jail."
"He's not a violent offender!"
"He's at a minimum security work program."
"Well bad things can happen in there!"
"Tell him these are the best accommodations our county can offer. The only upgrade I have available is disciplinary isolation."

I hate everybody . . . and other myths

I don't know how many of you in law enforcement get this from your significant other/family members regularly, but I get it every once in a while. Every once in a while they drive it into the ground.
"You hate everybody." "You're grouchy all the time." "You won't trust anybody." "You're like talking to a rock when you come home from work." "Somebody from WORK is on the phone for you." "Why do you have to take a call from a supervisor if you're not at work?"
You get the point.
Here's the thing, I don't trust many people. Unfortunately, sometimes that includes people I work with. I am not about to tell people at the grocery store, your barber or the guy installing my cable that I am a cop. Sorry. Not happening. Don't get crappy when you get "the look" shot at you for telling random people "Oh do you know what she does for a living? You'll never guess . . "
I work 12 hour midnight shifts. I'm not grouchy, I'm tired. Okay, who are we kidding here? I am grouchy. That's because I want to go to sleep in the morning. I also want to sleep without getting awoken to "Hey, do you know where the can opener is?"
If I told you what actually happened at work, you would panic. I'm just saying. Some of the guys I work with are spazzed out after things we do.
Public safety unfortunately is not a 9-5 job where you leave everything at work. There are times when work calls and you have to answer. Somebody got seriously injured at work. There is a shift shortage and you are getting called in early. Your vacation is approved/denied based on coverage. Surprise! You have/do not have court today.
So here's the thing; I'm sorry. It's nothing personal, I'll try harder. How are you supposed to explain to your friends and family how to handle you when you spend most of your time trying to figure out how to handle everything else?

What you do matters . . .

Recently, I was in one of those annoying funks where you're fairly certain your supervisor wouldn't pay attention to you if you were on fire. Then amazing things happed. I wrote a memo. Someone read that memo, and, wait for it . . .

DID SOMETHING ABOUT IT.

I think I'll be in a good mood for the rest of winter now. Sometimes that's all you need, a shot in the arm of "What you do matters."

So for all of you out there with the winter blahs, what you do matters. Thank you.

For every CO that's ever been spit on, for every cop that's ever done their best and still got complained on, for every 2am call EMS has responded to for an earache and for every "structure fire" that's a tiki torch; thank you for what you do.



BROTHERHOOD

Amazing . . .

Sometimes I feel like this is my life. The only warning I give is there is some bad language, and remember this is a joke. I don't want any nurses coming after me with pitchforks and torches.

Firefighter vs. Nursing Home
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k6yRpnkPlzg

Good times . . .

So here's just a few of the better moments of the last few days at work . . .

I logged a guy's property who had these little white business sized cards that said: "You park like an asshole." Hilarious. Not that I would use them personally, but hilarious.

A sign over our visitation window says "You must possess and present a valid US government issued ID to visit." A guy hands me an ID made in the back of some gas station probably, that says the following across the front. "Not a valid government ID." Then he's shocked we don't accept it. Awesome.

One of our deputies was waiting on a vehicle registration to be faxed to him from dispatch for a report. An hour later he calls them on the phone and goes "Could I have that before the vehicle registration expires?"

Why did you have to go and do a thing like that . . .

It has been awhile. I did not think the following was appropriate to post during the holidays. I think it needs to be said though.

Every time someone brings up that our profession has one of the highest rates of suicide, you might think: "Not our department. Not my friends. Not here. Maybe some department 500 miles away of people I don't know."

And then one day someone wakes you out of a dead sleep and sends you flying headfirst out of your little land of denial. It is your department. He was your friend. You do know him, his family and all of the co workers. You spend about two weeks wrestling the question that won't leave: "What the hell did I miss?" Along with a few others. "Why didn't he talk to me?" "What could I have done?"

Eventually you start to understand that it was their choice that they made. Maybe you'll always have those questions unanswered.

If you find yourself in that deep dark place that you cannot escape . . . please, I beg you, come talk to me. Please. Please talk to me.

BROTHERHOOD

Finding Jesus in a bottle of pills and other not so good endeavors . . .

So it's been awhile since I've got to share something worthwhile on here (not that I'm entirely sure any of the following qualifies). Call it writer's block. Or, as my partner in psych pointed out this evening, call it "we're pretty sure not too much shocks us any more." That being said . . .

A girl takes an indeterminate amount of unknown pills. After her ER visit, and various other medical adventures, she arrives at our jail. She proceeds to tell us she has found Jesus. Wonderful. In the pills. Ok, maybe not so good. Apparently we are all going to hell, (according to my partner, not news). We are evil, Godless souls ect. Then she pulls down her pants and presses parts of her anatomy I don't need to see against the cell window. Nice. I don't think Jesus was impressed . . .

Don't decide to eat something that's inedible as a quick way to the hospital. Especially if that something is a bolt, or a pencil, or anything else your mom taught you not to put in your mouth. It will not end well. Trust us.

I had to write a medical report that made my Sgt. call me and say, "I never want to read another report containing 'foul smelling discharge from the vaginal area' again." Sorry, the medical department told me we had to document it. Next time I guess I'll have to put a disclaimer on my reports.

Do not think that the best course of action after rolling a tanker truck (commercial not firefighting) is to get out and walk around. Please, please let us backboard you. You're making me nervous . . .

Please do not eat razor blades . . . see the earlier disclaimer about bad ends.

Never underestimate how short of a fuse your partner may have after his/her beloved NFL team of choice gets beaten.