True Detective Stories

Saturday was interesting.

So an hour into the tour, an officer walks in with a bizarre-looking witness and sits him on the bench. The officer comes to my desk and says, “This is the man who reported the endangered missing person.” Perplexed, I replied, “What missing person?”

Apparently, the overnight shift took a call from a captain, stating an elderly man walked away from his care facility. The witness claimed the missing person suffered from dementia and schizophrenia. With that, we need to run all sorts of protocols. The facility needs to be held as a crime scene, constant radio messages need to be broadcast, and patrol cars need an active search. In short, missing persons like these are a nightmare.

So I look at the report and am about to assign it to a detective when I notice the report doesn’t include the person’s last name or date of birth. Both are necessary to put out the report locally and nationally. When I asked this pretty, but clueless officer why she omitted those important details, she said neither the residence nor the witness had them.

Awesome.

The assigned detective brought in the “witness,” and five minutes later escorted him out. Apparently, the officer declined to mention the fact our star witness did not work at the residence; he was a patient there. Oh, and the patient suffers from paranoid delusions, so there’s that.

After speaking to an actual member of the staff, we found the gentleman does not suffer from dementia, and does not suffer from schizophrenia. Oh, and spoiler alert; the man is allowed to come and go as he pleases.

Honestly, it warms my heart to know this police department is in truly capable hands.

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Take The A Training

For the past two days, I have been subjected to our annual police training. Monday and Tuesday were classroom lectures, so I only have to re-certify in CPR and re-qualify with my pistol. Thee classroom lectures are beyond boring; more so when you suffered through the crowd I had.

Monday’s class featured an instructor who spent half the day telling war stories. Normally I wouldn’t mind, but this supervisor hasn’t been on the street since Clinton was president. Dude, no one cares about the time you grabbed your revolver, ran to a call box, and reported the streetcar accident. We especially don’t care when you’re telling this story instead of, say, handing out the exam!

Tuesday was no better. The storyteller was back again, but since all his old fossil stories were told, he kept his trap shut. The problem yesterday was the theater screamer.

There was a black female officer sitting behind me all day. During the course of instruction, she continually blurted out inane comments, or worse, fragments. For eight hours, I had to listen to running commentary such as, “Mmm hmm,” “Yeah, that’s right.”, and the omnipresent, “Yep!” I realize this is a stereotype (and possibly racist) but it felt like I was sitting with her in a movie theater. I kept waiting for her to yell, “DON’T GO IN THERE!” or “LOOK OUT, HE’S GOT AN AX!”

Look, training is bad enough without the unnecessary distractions. Please just emulate your fellow officers and sit there, try not to fall asleep, and shut your dick trap.

True Detective Stories

Nightwork began this week, and as usual, my violent, crime-ridden division was incredibly busy. In a total of thirty-two hours of work, I entered over 100 jobs, ranging from shootings to thefts. Suffice to say, we were too busy for shenanigans.

Halfway through the first night, a man comes to the window says he received a call from a Detective Davis. He claimed Detective Davis told him he was a suspect in a shooting, and needed to come in right away. There is a Detective Davis in our division, so we immediately met him in the hallway, sat him down and obtained his information.

We searched the databases, ran him for warrants, but nothing came back. We notified out shooting team, and they took a run at the guy, but no warrants appeared. A detective kept the man unsecured but seated while we figured out what the hell was going on. Five minutes later, another man came in with the same story. He received a call from Davis, ordering him to report to our division in reference to a shooting. Again, nothing came back on this guy, either.

Now shootings are our highest priority. If someone is a suspect in the shooting, we need to get him cuffed, searched, and secured immediately because the idiot cops on the first floor will send people up without asking any questions. Questions like, “Are you armed?”

So now we have two shooting suspects in our hallway, but no warrants to go with them. Suddenly, the first man says, “This is the number which called my phone if you want to call him back.” A member of the shooting called the number, it rang a few times, then was answered with this…

*laughter* “You’ve just been pranked by 106 FM!” *more laughter*

The detective is very good at what he does, and is usually on an even keel. This time, he let loose.

“YOU ASSHOLES SENT TWO PEOPLE HERE CLAIMING TO BE SHOOTING SUSPECTS? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? THIS ISN’T A FUCKING GAME!”

The “suspects” were immediately released, and we all wondered what would have happened if one of them would have reached into their pocket while ignoring our commands. Assholes.

True Detective Stories

In my twenty-four years in law enforcement, there is really only one thing that truly scares me anymore is the telephone. The effects of picking it up run the gamut from wrong numbers to terrifying, idiotic questions. Yesterday I had the latter.

Officer: “Hi, we had a complainant come to the window to report an assault. Should we send the report up to you?”
Me: “That depends. What exactly happened?”

Officer: “Well, this female was walking down the street when an unknown black male walked by her, brushed his hand across her leg, and said, “Nice thighs.”

At this point I both face-palmed and head-desked.

Me: “I’m sorry, but are you f**king kidding me?” (Sadly, those were my actual words.)

Officer: “No, the woman is here and wants to make a police report for assault. We called the Special Victims Unit-”
Me: YOU CALLED SPECIAL VICTIMS?!!!”
Officer: “Yes, and they said they wouldn’t take it because the male didn’t tough her genitals.”

Me: “So, let me see if I understand this. A woman is walking down a busy street at a busy intersection in the middle of the day. Some clown brushed past her, blurts out, “Nice thighs,” and you believe this is an assault. Have I got that right?”
Officer: “Yes, and she wants to press charges.”
Me: “She wants to press charges against an unknown man who brushed past her?”
Officer: “Yep.”

Me: “Officer, you sound new, so just send the report up and I’ll deal with it. That said, we work in one of the busiest divisions in the city, and last I checked, we lead the city in shootings. Do you really think a brush-by is the best way to utilize investigative time? People brush past each other on the streets, in the subways, at sporting events, and so on. Should we get arrest warrants for them, too?”
Officer: “I guess I see your point.”

Yeah, I figured she would. This department is swirling the toilet, and I am unable to anything about it.

True Detective Stories

Yesterday was my first day back to work after funeral leave. I didn’t want to go back, but I was worried sitting home for a week would see the depression return. Unfortunately, this place is so toxic that I should have stayed in bed.

I’m trying to be a better person, because I think that’s what my father-in-law would have wanted. He loved me for who I am, but he was also as much aware of my faults as you guys are. I’m far from a perfect person, and at work, I anger easily because I’m usually surrounded by lazy, stupid people. I’m trying to be better.

I didn’t lose my temper yesterday, and tried to be more polite, even though the annoyances were plentiful. Only a few coworkers said anything about my FIL, which is fine, but it gives you a sense of who your friends are. My plan from here on out is to arrive, do my job, and go home.

And try to be better.

Exit Wounds

In a rare case of my department being ironically timely, I was scheduled for active shooter training yesterday. Unlike the original active shooter training given by the department, this update included simulation rounds, or simunition.

Sim rounds mark you with paint (like paintball rounds), but the projectile travels about 400 feet per second. We had to wear a paintball helmet with a face-mask, our ballistic vest, and groin protection. Some people suggested bringing gloves, but pfft, gloves are for pussies.

During the first scenario, a plainclothes officer comes from behind a screen and walks toward me with a pistol sticking out of his waistband. I don’t see it immediately, but when I do, I draw, and tell him to raise his hands. The officer, obviously playing a bad guy, scrams at me, and draws his pistol. We each fire at each other – he is firing sim rounds, and I am firing blanks. After the first few shots, the supervisor blows her whistle, and the scenario ends.

The supervisor comes toward me and asks, “Are you okay?” Well duh, of course I’m okay, because we’re firing sim- AARGH, THAT F**KING HURTS! I looked down at the pistol and noticed blood on the grip, and in a small puddle on the floor, and the entirety of my left hand.

My first thought was, “When the hell did I get shot?” I never felt the hits, but then again, I was in a high-stress situation. All I remembered was the other shooter, his gun and me firing.

The supervisor gave me some towels to stop the bleeding while she grabbed antiseptic wipes and bandages. The rounds took off a chuck of skin from my middle finger, and a slightly larger chunk from my index finger. I cleaned myself up as best as possible, applied the bandages, and went to the scenarios.

For a few moments, the bandages didn’t take, and blood was running down my fingers, but it wasn’t too terrible. I was, however, shot in my shooting hand, which made racking the pistol slide difficult. You can see above how the blood seeped through the half-assed bandages, and below you can see my fingers when I changed bandages at home.

Thankfully, I was able to finish the course without much discomfort, and spent the rest of yesterday afternoon either lying down or lying in my car at Kyle’s lacrosse practice. I am due back in work tomorrow for a day of one-handed typing, but maybe my sergeant can put me in for a Heroism commendation. I mean, my typing fingers are my livelihood!

Welcome To The World Of Tomorrrow

The leftists snowflakes at the Ford Motor Company have submitted a patent request for their newest idea: robot police cars. The idea is allegedly a step toward “bias-free” policing.

My Saturn Vue is eleven years old. I think I’ll look elsewhere when it’s time for a replacement.

Unsympathetic to excuses and invulnerable to flirtation, the robot will flash its lights to pull you over. It will scan your driver’s license, decide whether to issue a warning or ticket, and inform you of its decision before letting you drive off.

The concept is outlined in a Ford patent filing for a self-driving cop car capable of using artificial intelligence “to find good hiding spots to catch violators of traffic laws.” An optional human passenger could override settings that prevent the car from breaking traffic laws itself.

Personally, I’m all for this; especially if it can get me to retirement more quickly. Of course, what happens when one of these robots malfunctions and goes all Ed-209 on someone?

True Detective Stories

So yesterday was a rather awful day. The city was cleaning up after the Super Bowl riots celebrations, half my division didn’t bother to show up for work, and the idiots were out in full force.

The first idiot called asking about the status of her theft case. During the brief conversation, the woman kept repeating an odd word choice. For example, the woman’s money was “tooken.” It was “tooken,” you see, by her ex-boyfriend, and she wants to make sure her items are never “tooken” again.

Your Philadelphia public schools at work, folks.

The second idiot called from a Philadelphia public school looking for answers about a job she had. The officer claimed a high schooler brought a cookie to the school, and shared it with his fellow students. The wrapper had a picture of Betty Boop on it, and bragged it has “So much ‘suga,’ it’ll get you high.” And that it did.

Apparently the cookie was chock full of marijuana, and a few students got sick after eating it. The officer wanted to know if the original teen should be arrested for, oh, I don’t know, possession of a narcotic pastry. Or maybe assault with a deadly cookie.

When I asked if the officer was serious, she demanded to speak to a supervisor. I handed that call off.

Below, the obligatory Seinfeld reference…

True Detective Stories

Monday was the first day of a five-day, Monday to Friday day work week – easily the worst combination in recorded history. My shift work schedule hits us with a “normie schedule” once every few months, but working the same hours as regular people is depressing. It is even more depressing when you work with stupid, incompetent people.

The first contestant was a firefighter who claimed his vehicle was stolen. Okay, that’s a nice, run-of-the-mill job. Wait, your uniforms, fire gear, and SCBA tanks were in your vehicle, as well? Awesome! Let’s ignore the fact this is a violation of city policy and address why the f**k you would leave items like those in your car overnight in the hood!

The second contestant was even more “special.” The police officer came to make a report he lost his firearm. Okay, that seems bad on the surface, but it became even more interesting when we were told the officer lost his city-issued firearm. Up twinkles!

The moral of the story? Life is hard, kids. It’s harder when you’re stupid.

Submitted With Little Comment

My last work day of the week was an exciting one, especially toward the end of the day, when we received word one of our officers had been shot.

Before you freak out, the shooter was not your regular, run-of-the-mill thug. Read on…

The officers had responded to a report of a dog attacking an 80-year-old woman inside a rowhouse in the 2900 block of Judson Street around 12:30 p.m. when the shooting took place, Police Commissioner Richard Ross said at a news conference at Temple University Hospital, where the officer and the woman were taken.

One of the officers fired his gun at the dog several times inside the house, and one of the bullets ricocheted, striking the second officer.

The injured officer, Kevin Fay, a four-year veteran of the force assigned to the 39th District, was treated and released. The name of the officer who fired the shot was not released.

The woman, whose identity was withheld, sustained extensive injuries to both legs from the dog, Ross said. She was listed in critical condition.

Since I know the injured officer and this occurred in my division, I’ll refrain from comment.