True Detective Stories

The first three days of the daywork tour have been a nightmare. We had three detectives on Saturday, four on Sunday, and four on Monday. Monday was more egregious because as I walked in, the previous tour left us with a robbery, a burglary arrest, a stolen gun, and a self-inflicted gunshot wound. So every detective caught a terrible job before 7:30am.

Naturally everyone was pissed, but the worst job of all turned out to be the burglary. The cops were abysmal human failures who took three hours to bring in the report. They then went downstairs to START their paperwork, and that took another half hour. The cops – a male and a female – looked like they were twelve, but definitely had the maturity of six year olds.

When the paperwork was finished, the male came to my desk and just stared at me. Annoyed, I asked, “What do you have, officer?” He replied he had an arrest, which he told me a half hour before. I asked him for the paperwork, and he snidely replied, “I’m getting it all together.” Now, I’m angry.

“All I need is your incident report. Do you have that?” He handed me the report, and I entered it into the system before sending him on his way to his detective. The two dolts recovered a crowbar from the scene, and placed it on a property receipt.

Both cops kept walking back and forth through the building like they had ADHD. The male dealt with the detective and the female just did her own thing. At one point, she was sitting in the lobby with the crowbar. Moments later, I saw she was gone and the crowbar was lying on the floor. A short time later, the bimbo pops back up, walks past the crowbar, and enters the division.

I stopped her and said, “Just a little bit of advice. You may want to stay near the crowbar, since people walk through this area all the time. You know, since it’s EVIDENCE.” She looked at me and said, “Well, it’s just a crowbar.”

I stared at her for a moment, and responded, “It’s also the only evidence linking your defendant with the burglary. But hey, you be you.” I swear, these cops are getting dumber by the day.

1,270 days.

True Detective Stories

So Wednesday was a rather easy day for me at work. My supervisors decided they wanted me to be the administrative assistant for the tour – I was effectively Toby from The Office – so instead of entering jobs, I ran errands and made my coworkers sign for things.

The downside to all this is someone had to cover my position. In this case, it was Diego the Idiot Detective.

The bulk of my time was spent either inside or just outside the supervisor’s office; filing reports, doling out Chinese Wuhan Virus masks, and making sure Diego did not f**k things up. Unfortunately, I could not babysit this slack-jawed yokel every minute of the tour, so occasionally I missed something.

From what I heard, I missed something… significant.

Diego handled a shooting incident the other day, and while no one was hit, he did recover twenty-plus shell casings. Since he is not a conscientious detective, Diego took three days to process the scene, and was still working on the job. (A job like this takes an hour, tops, but hey, Dummy gonna Dummy.)

Anyway, Diego was apparently working at my desk while also trying to finish the shooting job. At one point, he took out the bag of spent shell casings and lined them up on the desk. Diego cannot multitask, so while he was entering jobs into the computer, he was also fondling the casings.

THE. CASINGS. ARE. EVIDENCE.

As a result, most evidence custodians, district attorneys, defense attorneys, judges, and juries usually frown upon fondling evidence and spreading your fingerprints/DNA all over shell casings! The supervisor saw this, and asked, “Diego, what the hell are you doing?”

Diego responded, “What do you mean?”

The supervisor replied, “You’re picking up and touching the casings with you bare hands!”

Diego, in typical fashion, laughs and says, “Oh yeah, you’re right.”

Welcome to my nightmare.