For some reason, the detectives who run the front desk when I’m off are usually busy doing important things – like shaking candy out of the vending machines, hanging up on complainants, and watching YouTube. This may surprise you, but unlike my personal life, I am a thoroughly responsible person at work, and nothing angries up the blood more than lazy coworkers.
So I sat down at my desk, looked left to see if any hot police babes were in the office – sadly, no – then looked right toward our inbox. There were a few reports lying there – about four – which isn’t bad, considering. Any jobs which are not assigned the night before, or come in after our shift is over, are placed in the squad inbox to be assigned the next day…
I pulled out – heh – the reports and checked the supervisor’s queue. Some reports are sent via the computer when hard copies – heh – are unavailable. The lieutenant had eighteen reports in his queue – EIGHTEEN REPORTS! – some of which went four days without being assigned to a detective.
I immediately shuddered, looked at my desk, and screamed, “WHEN THE F**K ARE MY DEPRESSION MEDS GETTING HERE!!!”
Okay, I didn’t scream it, but I thought it… as a scream.
My shift begins at 3pm, and I was working literally non-stop for almost five hours. Shortly before eight, I looked at my sergeant and said, “I’m caught up! Now I can start entering today’s workload.” I enjoyed a sensible dinner at 8:30pm, and finished the day’s work at 10:10pm.
By the time my shift was over at 11pm, I had entered 37 jobs, which is roughly fifteen more than a usual busy evening.
All this nonsense – the data entry, the brain aneurysms, the threats to burn down the building, and the uncontrollable weeping – could have been avoided if my coworkers stopped rubbing their Glocks and helped a brotha out.