Merry Christmas

A bit of a rough start to Christmas this year.

I was already kinda bummed about working Christmas Eve, but I stayed positive hoping it would at least be a really quiet shift. Well, not so much. We had a car run off the interstate into a tree. We had a 3 car pile-up that became a hit & run when the guy at fault decided he was gonna get his jolly happy ass out of there. We had some damn kids throwing rocks at cars, which turned into five different people wanting five different reports about damage to their cars.

We had a demented person. A nice family came home from Christmas festivities, and as they unloaded their car a strange woman walked up, got inside their car, and closed the door. A little stunned, the family asked the woman to get out of their car. She said no. A quick 9-1-1 call later and I was talking to the car squatter. I asked for her i.d., and she handed me the Rand McNally road atlas.

Awful lot of pictures on your i.d., aren't there ma'am?

We had a domestic dispute where a grandmother insisted her 18 year old grandson be immediately thrown out of her house, where he had been living with her for years. Some people say "Merry Christmas! I love you!" in the wee hours of Christmas day.

Grandma said "Get the fuck out!"

Last, but certainly not least, I had to shoot another deer. Deer got hit, and I pulled up to see it laying in the road looking blankly off into nothing. I walked up and unholstered my gun just as the deer turned and stared at me. The freakin' deer stared at me. Then I shot it. Walked back to the victim's car to see the old lady in the passenger seat was crying because I shot the deer. I got the victim out of there, and as I dragged the deer carcass off the road - leaving a bloody smear on the asphalt - I thought to myself "Christmas Eve sure has changed from the days when I would stare out my window at night trying to spot Santa."

So maybe I had a bit of a blue Christmas for most of my shift tonight. I'm not going to let it spoil the rest of Christmas. Work is work - it's always gonna be at least a little rough regardless of what holidays come around. Even the nights that are a little rougher than usual are still a blessing so long as I get to go home to my family at the end of them.

I hope you have a very merry Christmas, because I certainly will!

Statistical Improbabilities

So last night I ended up reading through some old internet journals, and wound up reading the Weirdo's online journal from when we first started dating. There were some people that were openly (maybe even forcefully?) against the idea of us talking about marriage so quickly. She was 19 and I was 21, we had been dating for 2 months when we started openly talking about how we were getting married.

Talked to the Weirdo about it this morning too. We had a couple laughs, a couple sarcastic eye rolls thinking about back in the day.

I can't shake the feeling of being a little miffed by the doubters - even 6 1/2 years later.

I get it. To the normal, rational, logical person we were crazy. Nuts. Who talks about getting married after knowing a person for 2 months? And one is still a teenager for God's sake! I get it. Looking back, I have no doubt that every single person in our lives had their doubts - even if silently.

But then again, maybe that's the whole point. The people that loved us, that, despite their doubts, wanted the very unlikely to actually become a happy story, never really voiced their doubts. They were concerned, but they kept it to themselves because they saw how happy the Weirdo and I were together. They hoped that it really would work out for us, regardless of the statistical improbabilities.

Here's the problem with openly voicing your serious concerns about a newly budding relationship: you're setting yourself up one way or the other. If the relationship lasts, you're the guy who challenged that it would. If it doesn't, you're the asshole with the "I told you so" condescension. Furthermore, when you openly speak out against someone's new love for whatever reason you're not just being a concerned friend (most especially if you're not even a close friend to begin with). You're questioning the judgement and on some level even the intelligence of two people - two people who are busy falling in love.

So I'll end with this: people are going to fall in love. It's almost guaranteed that most of us have or will, at some point, fall in love with the wrong person. That's part of being a human being. I think the best thing you can do for a lovestruck friend is to hope for the best, wish them well, and be ready to catch them if they fall.

And after 6 1/2 years I still love my Weirdo <-->, just like I said I would.

Chilly Bathrobe

It's been a cold, icy night. The temperature has been hovering right around freezing since the shift started, and we've had the car accidents to prove it. On a four lane divided highway earlier tonight we had two cars lose it on the same patch of black ice and wreck. One officer checked out with the first wreck. That driver had jumped the grassy median and wound up facing the opposite way from whence he came.

I pulled in behind the second driver, who had hit the ice and bounced and spun from curb to guardrail to median. One of his tires had been ripped free from it's wheel. The driver was a Hispanic guy wearing a bathrobe. Normally this is when I would start a little investigation into Mr. Bathrobe. First question would have been something like "Why the hell are you wearing a bathrobe?"

But, my mind was a little occupied. The Weirdo had just called to say she was heading home from her parent's house with the Monkey in tow. I was standing in the median panicking. There were two wrecked cars in sight, a third had rolled over a little while ago, and a fourth wreck had happened just before my shift started. There was black ice all over the roads and my wife and kid were driving home. Oh, and just minutes ago I saw a friend's Facebook status about how she had been in a wreck with her baby in the car. Because of the ice.

I lit up a cigarette, not really caring about looking professional, and covered my bases with Bathrobe:

What happened?
Uhh... I skidded.
You want an accident report?
No. 
You want a wrecker?
Yes. 

The wrecker was called, and I stood there in the median. A big van came slushing by, and about 100 feet past me I watched the van suddenly veer left, fishtail to the left, then to the right, and somehow manage to catch it and keep going. I took a puff, imagining the Weirdo fishtailing all over the highway.

She's a good driver. She always bragged about how she really enjoyed hydroplaning in the pickup truck like a freak.

Moments later the Weirdo called, saying she had spotted my patrol car where I was working the wreck with Bathrobe. From that point I was counting in my head, estimating exactly how long it would take her to get home. Right on cue, she called again to say she was safe in the driveway.

The police stuff I can handle. Domestic dispute? Someone's got a gun? Let's do it! But give me half a reason to think my family may be in danger and I become a chain smoking nut. Thank God they made it home safe.

Hmmm.

Hey Bathrobe! C'mere a minute...

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Well, the cold has finally reached town. The air outside is hovering around 17 degrees with the wind chill. In certain ways I don't like the cold. First and foremost, as a parent the cold makes me nervous. I get worried about my toddler getting cold in our poorly insulated 60 year old house. I get nervous that the Monkey won't be warm enough in the car. Aside from the Monkey, the cold is generally irritating when you're dealing with frozen cars in the morning, leaving faucets dripping at night - which our house does automatically for us (60 years old), and a big portion of your fun, outdoor activities list made impossible for all but the legally insane.

It's not all bad though. Christmas comes with the cold, and I love Christmas. Cold weather can mean hot chocolate in a cozy living room. It can be cuddling up with a blanket on the couch watching a movie - but not It's A Wonderful Life. I tried watching it with the Weirdo once and she immediately scolded poor George Bailey for letting people walk all over him. I told her I always felt a little like ol' George - without the suicidal impulses of course. More the desire to help others. Her line was something like:

Every time a bell rings, quit feeling sorry for yourself and grow a pair.

The Weirdo and I do have a Christmas tradition we really love. We always listen to the same radio host when we're driving around at night during the holidays. It's partially for the Christmas music, partially for the nutty people that call in, and partially for the advice or musical response the host responds with. It goes something like this:

Caller: Hi, I'm just calling in to say I miss my best friend. She's in South America studying Aztec ruins and I just miss her a lot because we always spend time together on Christmas.

Host: Aww, you miss your friend don't you? You're together in your hearts. Here's a song for you.

*cue music*  I want a hippopotamus for Christmas...

There are some things I like about the cold weather that aren't related to Christmas too. If I don't have to be outside long, and I can just step outside for a few moments, that rush of freezing air can be exhilarating. The cold weather also seems to bring such incredibly still nights. Summer nights are full and alive. Winter nights are so quiet and serene, like the entire world is sleeping.

Last but not least, winter gets me excited at the thought of snow. We get maybe an inch or two each winter, and it almost always falls in just one day - gone the next. I miss snow from growing up in the Northeast. I don't really miss shoveling driveways or skidding all over the road, but I do miss the fun parts of snow. I don't think I'll ever get to an age where the sight of snow doesn't make me want to go outside and start throwing snowballs. I like the idea of building a snowman with the Monkey someday.

Well, I cracked a car window to fully appreciate the cold I've been rambling about and now my hands are frozen. Time for some hot coffee!

A K-9 & 20 hours

So I'm wrapping up my second night of officially being the shift supervisor. There have been plenty of times in the past where I've stood in for the supervisor in his absence. Sarge had a vacation day or sick day, so I ran the shift. On Wednesday Sarge was moved back to a day shift, leaving me as the go-to guy for the shift. Not a stand-in supervisor, the supervisor.

Two moments stand out thus far:

Last night the shift was together, about to order up a round of late night cheeseburgers. Dispatch suddenly called my number, saying that the next town over wanted to know if we had a K-9 unit available to assist them. I asked what they needed the K-9 for. They replied that two armed suspects had just opened fire on an officer and then fled into the woods. The officer was OK - unharmed - but now they were cordoning off the woods where the two suspects had fled. They wanted the K-9 to go into the woods after the bad guys.

It was a weird mix of feelings that came flooding in after that. Given the exact same situation, if they had been asking me for my help, I would say yes and be on my way there in a heartbeat. The danger would of course be a constant reminder to be safe, but I would go without question. Those assholes needed to get caught. But they didn't want my help, they wanted my officer's help. I glanced at him across the table and he was, of course, already nodding his head to indicate he would go. I wanted to let him go just as much as I wanted to go myself, but the fact that it was my choice made me want to be damn sure I was making the right one. I held off on the approval and started asking questions. How many officers do they have out there now? How big of an area is cordoned off? Have they called for a chopper? Is there a medical crew standing by? Do they have someone that will stay with my K-9 unit while he goes through the woods?

Hmm. When did "the" K-9 become "my" K-9?

After I was reasonably assured that a small army of cops was assembling to look for the bad guys I cleared him to go. Then I sat in my car and waited for an hour. It was horrible. The tension, the anticipation, my mind running what-ifs over and over. What if he gets shot?

It's on your head. You sent him.

While waiting I of course had another officer dropping subtle hints like "I should be there helping them." Well, join the club! My response sounded straight out of Sarge's old playbook: We need adequate coverage here in our city before we can help anybody else.

Thankfully, my K-9 came back without much of a story. They walked around, didn't see anything. His call that he was returning to the city brought another new understanding of the word relief.



And then there was tonight. One of my officers told me earlier this week that she needed some training before the year is over. State law requires every officer to get at least 20 hours of training every year or they lose their arrest powers. It can be any kind of law enforcement related training, so long as it's at least 20 hours. When my shift ended yesterday morning I spent 30 minutes with the training Lieutenant figuring out scheduling and availability so I could get this officer the required training before the end of the year. We got it figured out, and I felt all happy with myself having solved the problem of someone on my shift.
I come to work tonight and let the officer know that I had it worked out. The officer tells me she had actually talked to Sergeant XYZ last night, and that Sarge had offered to get her the training she needed.

Wait a damn minute.

I could see if you went straight to the training Lieutenant with this. That would make sense. Why would you go to another shift supervisor? I almost felt like I had been cheated on. Then came the anger. Ooh you're just gonna get what you want from whatever supervisor ya can huh? I don't think so. You're going to the class I'm sending you to because this is my shift and what I say goes.

As this all played out in my head a little thought popped in there. It's something the Weirdo always says to me when I'm getting mad and loud: de-puff. Like that fish that puffs itself up. After being told to de-puff seventeen thousand times the order now apparently presents itself in my mind without the Weirdo even needing to be in the room.

So I relaxed, and figured that it doesn't matter one way or the other as long as the officer gets the required training.

So, two shifts, two nights, and I've covered both protectiveness and feeling betrayed.
Glad I've got the weekend off!