So the Weirdo's dad, my father in law, finally got a liver transplant.
The call came in very early Thursday morning around 4 AM. The Weirdo woke me up as she was excitedly talking to her mom on the phone. I gained just enough consciousness to figure out if I needed to get out of bed. My brain heard that my in-laws were going to go up to the hospital first, and that we wouldn't meet them up there until a more reasonable hour - like 7:30 or 8 AM. The Weirdo then proceeded to call what seemed like 15 other people to tell them the good news about the available liver. I kicked her out of the bedroom so I could go back to sleep. I was beyond thrilled about the liver, but if I can get two more hours of sleep then seriously, GTFO.
So a few hours later we made our way up to the hospital and began the long wait. The Monkey was surprisingly well behaved, when considering the fact that hospitals are probably among the worst places to be waiting with a toddler for a long period of time. So I drove the Monkey to my mom's house. That day was also her birthday. The transplant team at the hospital said the day you get a transplant is like your second birthday, so in that sense my mom and my father in law now share a birthday, which is kinda cool.
Back to the hospital. Waited and waited, playing cards and eating hospital cafeteria food and doing anything to pass the time. Finally he was out of surgery and everything was looking OK. The Weirdo and I got home feeling exhausted. We went to sleep, only to wake up a bit later to horrifying news that there was some kind of complication. The Weirdo rushed back to the hospital, leaving me home with the Monkey.
Thankfully there was nothing seriously wrong. So after a few days my father in law is talking, sitting up, and even cracking jokes. I've commented to several friends and family about how amazing medical technology is. Really think about this: someone died, so they took an organ out of that person, cut open my father in law's abdomen, put the organ in... and it WORKS.
There was a time when people no doubt said something like that was impossible. Makes you wonder what things that are impossible to us will be routine in the future.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Who are you?
So the other day I was watching a television show, and to make a long story short a guy ended up going to jail. There was talk about the guy - who was not a hardened, bad criminal - still being able to make a life for himself after he got out of prison. It kinda got me thinking.
In this day and age just about everything we do is documented somehow. Records are kept of almost every aspect of your life. Birth certificate. Social Security Number. Tax forms documenting how much you earned and where you earned it. Court records accessible nationwide detailing every criminal or traffic offense you've ever committed. Driver's licenses with your picture, height, and weight.
Now imagine life a hundred years ago. No driver's license. No Social Security card. No government records available on the internet. You were who you told people you were. If I wanted to live under ten different names in ten different states the only thing in my way was my imagination. In Georgia I'm Anthony the cop. In New York I'm Anthony the teacher.
The thought occurred to me that if I was to get myself arrested for, say, stealing an old lady's purse, today I would be booked into a jail where my picture and fingerprints would be taken. My information would be sent to the FBI, so a permanent record could be kept. The local court system would handle my case, and we'll say I'm sentenced to serve one week in jail. When I've finished serving my time no matter where in the country I go my record will follow me. I could leave Georgia and try to get on with another law enforcement agency in California thousands of miles away. Almost immediately they would check my record through the FBI and see that I was a purse snatching bastard, and promptly throw my application in the trash. My actions, my decisions, follow me for the rest of my life.
A hundred years ago I get arrested for stealing a purse. I do one week in jail. When I get out I make my way across the country to California. I don't have any identification, and there's no way to prove who I am, so I pick out a new name and run with it. Nobody ever learns of my old purse snatching days.
I guess it's kind of a double edged sword, our modern way of documenting everything. If someone rapes or kills someone else I want those records kept, copied, distributed, and readily available so everybody in the world knows that person is a terrible son of a bitch. The flip side of that is there are no second chances, even when well deserved. The example on television was an 18 year old kid getting busted for stealing a car. He is remorseful and apologetic. Should an 18 year old be punished - by being permanently labeled as a convicted felon - for the rest of his life? It's hard to imagine that, assuming that same 18 year old goes on to live a normal, productive, crime-free life, that when he was 58 he still wouldn't be allowed to enjoy some of the privileges that non-felons enjoy because they didn't make a big mistake 40 years prior.
Just some food for thought I guess.
In this day and age just about everything we do is documented somehow. Records are kept of almost every aspect of your life. Birth certificate. Social Security Number. Tax forms documenting how much you earned and where you earned it. Court records accessible nationwide detailing every criminal or traffic offense you've ever committed. Driver's licenses with your picture, height, and weight.
Now imagine life a hundred years ago. No driver's license. No Social Security card. No government records available on the internet. You were who you told people you were. If I wanted to live under ten different names in ten different states the only thing in my way was my imagination. In Georgia I'm Anthony the cop. In New York I'm Anthony the teacher.
The thought occurred to me that if I was to get myself arrested for, say, stealing an old lady's purse, today I would be booked into a jail where my picture and fingerprints would be taken. My information would be sent to the FBI, so a permanent record could be kept. The local court system would handle my case, and we'll say I'm sentenced to serve one week in jail. When I've finished serving my time no matter where in the country I go my record will follow me. I could leave Georgia and try to get on with another law enforcement agency in California thousands of miles away. Almost immediately they would check my record through the FBI and see that I was a purse snatching bastard, and promptly throw my application in the trash. My actions, my decisions, follow me for the rest of my life.
A hundred years ago I get arrested for stealing a purse. I do one week in jail. When I get out I make my way across the country to California. I don't have any identification, and there's no way to prove who I am, so I pick out a new name and run with it. Nobody ever learns of my old purse snatching days.
I guess it's kind of a double edged sword, our modern way of documenting everything. If someone rapes or kills someone else I want those records kept, copied, distributed, and readily available so everybody in the world knows that person is a terrible son of a bitch. The flip side of that is there are no second chances, even when well deserved. The example on television was an 18 year old kid getting busted for stealing a car. He is remorseful and apologetic. Should an 18 year old be punished - by being permanently labeled as a convicted felon - for the rest of his life? It's hard to imagine that, assuming that same 18 year old goes on to live a normal, productive, crime-free life, that when he was 58 he still wouldn't be allowed to enjoy some of the privileges that non-felons enjoy because they didn't make a big mistake 40 years prior.
Just some food for thought I guess.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Five
I really tried last night. I went to bed around 10 PM, deciding against my impulse to stay up and watch the State of the Union address. I would get a nice, full night of sleep before my long day and everything would be peachy.
Tomorrow is my long day because I get up in the morning with the Monkey, stay up all day with him, and then go to work all night. I'll sleep during the day Thursday after being up about 24 hours, and then work Thursday night. Then when the weekend hits I'll get back onto a day schedule where I'm sleeping at night. Then the whole cycle starts over. So basically twice a week I go from a day schedule to a night schedule. It's a little like a square peg and a round hole, but more like a peg that's been chipped away enough that it fits both square and round and you don't know where the hell to put it.
Well, 3 AM hit and I sat up in bed wide awake. I had a dream that I was at work and in trouble for doing a bad job approving reports. Like I had missed all kinds of spelling and grammar mistakes. Who the hell has dreams about spelling errors?
I guess work and being a supervisor has been on my mind a lot lately. If all goes well, if all goes the way I've been told it will go, I'm looking at a promotion to Sergeant in March. And yet, I'm worried. I'm worried that something will change, or somebody will change their mind. I have plenty of confidence in myself and my ability to be a supervisor. I'm worried that at the last minute they'll give it to someone else for some reason. Like move a Detective Sergeant back to Patrol Division to save the money from giving me a raise - basically the same treatment the Weirdo got at her job last year. It's like the closer it gets to March the more anxious I get. I just hit my 30th working day as shift supervisor, which qualifies me to get paid as a Sergeant. Submitting the paperwork to get the raise got me excited, but then I started wondering if the paperwork would bring just enough attention to the situation to motivate a change.
In other news, had one of those "moments" with a kid at work last week. This deadbeat son of a bitch "father" was visiting his ex wife and their son. He had watched the son all day so the mom could go to work. At first you'd think it was a good thing for him to do; put aside the troubles that ended the marriage so their son could be taken care of. Not so much. The jerk interrogated his 5 year old son all day.
Does your mom bring men over here?
Does your mom talk to other men on the phone?
Does your mom talk about me to other men?
Five years old. This poor kid wants to talk to his dad, wants the approval of his dad, but also doesn't want to talk about his mother to his dad because he knows that's a gray area. So the mom comes home just in time to catch the father in a rage.
Nobody will ever want you.
You'll never find better than me.
Whore.
This is, of course, right in front of the five year old. The verbal jabs turn to actual jabs, and the guy pins the woman down on the floor. He slaps, punches, and chokes her. Bends back her hands and fingers as she tries to defend herself. He draws blood. The five year old is crying, no doubt thinking that this is all because he talked to his dad during the day. At one point the guy snatches his son by the front of his shirt and drags him across the room like a bag of rocks. The woman got free, got a knife, and scared the monster enough to make him run out the front door of the apartment. He was long gone by the time we got there.
So I'm taking my notes and gathering all the required information. The woman decided to gather up some stuff and stay with her sister for the night. She was afraid to stay in her own apartment. As I'm standing in the hallway explaining how I would swear out warrants for the guy's arrest the five year old suddenly walked up in front of me and held his arms out to the side. He wanted a hug. I hugged the kid, realizing that it wasn't really me he was hugging. He was hugging safety, comfort, security. He was hugging the idea of a police officer and the stability that comes with them.
As we walked out the front door the five year old reached up and held my hand while scanning the woods and parking lot with his eyes. He asked me if I thought his daddy was going to attack us if we walked outside.
Not on my watch buddy.
He held my hand all the way to the car. The next morning I decided against going home and going to bed, and instead I stayed up to make sure the warrants for Battery and Cruelty to Children were signed, filed, and put onto the computer.
The way I see it, even if something goes wrong and I don't get the promotion in March, at least I can still spend my time at work locking up worthless assholes like this guy.
Tomorrow is my long day because I get up in the morning with the Monkey, stay up all day with him, and then go to work all night. I'll sleep during the day Thursday after being up about 24 hours, and then work Thursday night. Then when the weekend hits I'll get back onto a day schedule where I'm sleeping at night. Then the whole cycle starts over. So basically twice a week I go from a day schedule to a night schedule. It's a little like a square peg and a round hole, but more like a peg that's been chipped away enough that it fits both square and round and you don't know where the hell to put it.
Well, 3 AM hit and I sat up in bed wide awake. I had a dream that I was at work and in trouble for doing a bad job approving reports. Like I had missed all kinds of spelling and grammar mistakes. Who the hell has dreams about spelling errors?
I guess work and being a supervisor has been on my mind a lot lately. If all goes well, if all goes the way I've been told it will go, I'm looking at a promotion to Sergeant in March. And yet, I'm worried. I'm worried that something will change, or somebody will change their mind. I have plenty of confidence in myself and my ability to be a supervisor. I'm worried that at the last minute they'll give it to someone else for some reason. Like move a Detective Sergeant back to Patrol Division to save the money from giving me a raise - basically the same treatment the Weirdo got at her job last year. It's like the closer it gets to March the more anxious I get. I just hit my 30th working day as shift supervisor, which qualifies me to get paid as a Sergeant. Submitting the paperwork to get the raise got me excited, but then I started wondering if the paperwork would bring just enough attention to the situation to motivate a change.
In other news, had one of those "moments" with a kid at work last week. This deadbeat son of a bitch "father" was visiting his ex wife and their son. He had watched the son all day so the mom could go to work. At first you'd think it was a good thing for him to do; put aside the troubles that ended the marriage so their son could be taken care of. Not so much. The jerk interrogated his 5 year old son all day.
Does your mom bring men over here?
Does your mom talk to other men on the phone?
Does your mom talk about me to other men?
Five years old. This poor kid wants to talk to his dad, wants the approval of his dad, but also doesn't want to talk about his mother to his dad because he knows that's a gray area. So the mom comes home just in time to catch the father in a rage.
Nobody will ever want you.
You'll never find better than me.
Whore.
This is, of course, right in front of the five year old. The verbal jabs turn to actual jabs, and the guy pins the woman down on the floor. He slaps, punches, and chokes her. Bends back her hands and fingers as she tries to defend herself. He draws blood. The five year old is crying, no doubt thinking that this is all because he talked to his dad during the day. At one point the guy snatches his son by the front of his shirt and drags him across the room like a bag of rocks. The woman got free, got a knife, and scared the monster enough to make him run out the front door of the apartment. He was long gone by the time we got there.
So I'm taking my notes and gathering all the required information. The woman decided to gather up some stuff and stay with her sister for the night. She was afraid to stay in her own apartment. As I'm standing in the hallway explaining how I would swear out warrants for the guy's arrest the five year old suddenly walked up in front of me and held his arms out to the side. He wanted a hug. I hugged the kid, realizing that it wasn't really me he was hugging. He was hugging safety, comfort, security. He was hugging the idea of a police officer and the stability that comes with them.
As we walked out the front door the five year old reached up and held my hand while scanning the woods and parking lot with his eyes. He asked me if I thought his daddy was going to attack us if we walked outside.
Not on my watch buddy.
He held my hand all the way to the car. The next morning I decided against going home and going to bed, and instead I stayed up to make sure the warrants for Battery and Cruelty to Children were signed, filed, and put onto the computer.
The way I see it, even if something goes wrong and I don't get the promotion in March, at least I can still spend my time at work locking up worthless assholes like this guy.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Checkers
Earlier today the Weirdo posted "walking the fine line between being hopeful and being the queen of denial". I get that. I get her. It's stuff that holds an ever-present spot near the front of your mind, but bears so much weight you just don't want to talk about it.
I don't do defeat well. I'm usually an optimist until a little ways after there's no point anymore. I remember playing checkers with my grandfather as a kid. He believed in teaching that life is tough, so he didn't just let me win. When I was down to my last checker, backed into a corner with nowhere to go and no move left to make, I would spend whole minutes studying the board looking for any last chance I had to do something about it. My grandfather would laugh, knowing the game was over, but I wouldn't give in. Finally, grudgingly, I would concede - and it absolutely ate me up to do it.
When two officers both wanted to go to the same class recently there appeared to be no way to logistically make it happen. They were both on the same shift and manpower would be too drastically affected. Enter Anthony, Boy Wonder. I sat down and figured out a plan that involved switching and changing around half of patrol division, but in the end I had a viable plan. The Lieutenant shot it down because it was unrealistic, but I had a solution. I had a move.
I am stubborn and bull-headed and I won't stop hoping for another move. The Weirdo and I, our whole family, are waiting for a phone call about a liver transplant. If the call doesn't come this minute, there's always the next minute. If not today, there's tomorrow. We still have moves open to us.
I don't do defeat well. I'm usually an optimist until a little ways after there's no point anymore. I remember playing checkers with my grandfather as a kid. He believed in teaching that life is tough, so he didn't just let me win. When I was down to my last checker, backed into a corner with nowhere to go and no move left to make, I would spend whole minutes studying the board looking for any last chance I had to do something about it. My grandfather would laugh, knowing the game was over, but I wouldn't give in. Finally, grudgingly, I would concede - and it absolutely ate me up to do it.
When two officers both wanted to go to the same class recently there appeared to be no way to logistically make it happen. They were both on the same shift and manpower would be too drastically affected. Enter Anthony, Boy Wonder. I sat down and figured out a plan that involved switching and changing around half of patrol division, but in the end I had a viable plan. The Lieutenant shot it down because it was unrealistic, but I had a solution. I had a move.
I am stubborn and bull-headed and I won't stop hoping for another move. The Weirdo and I, our whole family, are waiting for a phone call about a liver transplant. If the call doesn't come this minute, there's always the next minute. If not today, there's tomorrow. We still have moves open to us.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Quit
So I've decided to quit smoking.
I'm coming up on 48 hours without a cigarette, with help from the patch. It's weird, but it's both hard and easy at the same time. I get these little triggers all the time as I go through my day. I eat, I drive down a certain road, I make a hot cup of coffee, and I want to smoke. It's like a little lightning bolt hits my brain and for a few seconds I can't think about anything but how much I really want that cigarette.
Then it passes, and I'm guessing that's due to the patch.
I initially wanted to quit starting New Year's Day. I made it about 6 hours going cold turkey before the Weirdo told me to just go get a pack. I was miserable, jittery, and not really in much of a mood to be alive.
The patch seems to take just enough of an edge off to make it bearbale. I still want to smoke at certain moments, but because this time I'm quitting for me, quitting because I want to quit, I get through those moments.
Tonight has kinda been one giant moment of wanting to smoke. We're having some rare snow and ice in the Atlanta area, and I'm here at work. It's been stressful, to put it lightly. This is probably the most stress I've had since starting on the patch, and I'm kinda proud of myself. I was tempted a couple times to rip the damn patch off and sprint into the first ice-covered gas station I could find that sold Marlboros.
Maybe I'm just writing this solely to encourage myself, pat myself on the back for not breaking down and lighting up, but if I need to toot my own horn all day to stay off cigarettes then so be it.
Food is already starting to taste better.
I'm coming up on 48 hours without a cigarette, with help from the patch. It's weird, but it's both hard and easy at the same time. I get these little triggers all the time as I go through my day. I eat, I drive down a certain road, I make a hot cup of coffee, and I want to smoke. It's like a little lightning bolt hits my brain and for a few seconds I can't think about anything but how much I really want that cigarette.
Then it passes, and I'm guessing that's due to the patch.
I initially wanted to quit starting New Year's Day. I made it about 6 hours going cold turkey before the Weirdo told me to just go get a pack. I was miserable, jittery, and not really in much of a mood to be alive.
The patch seems to take just enough of an edge off to make it bearbale. I still want to smoke at certain moments, but because this time I'm quitting for me, quitting because I want to quit, I get through those moments.
Tonight has kinda been one giant moment of wanting to smoke. We're having some rare snow and ice in the Atlanta area, and I'm here at work. It's been stressful, to put it lightly. This is probably the most stress I've had since starting on the patch, and I'm kinda proud of myself. I was tempted a couple times to rip the damn patch off and sprint into the first ice-covered gas station I could find that sold Marlboros.
Maybe I'm just writing this solely to encourage myself, pat myself on the back for not breaking down and lighting up, but if I need to toot my own horn all day to stay off cigarettes then so be it.
Food is already starting to taste better.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
I Love You More Than I Could Ever Promise
Well the holidays are over, and we're on to a new year.
No shortage of happy memories from the past couple weeks. Christmas was great, but extremely tiring. I hardly slept at all through the weekend because aside from work we were driving all over town spending time with family. The Monkey got more toys than he (or we) know what to do with. I really enjoyed watching him open his presents because he's finally at the age where he has an idea of what's going on. Last year we would open a present in front of him and he would mostly just stare. This year he would help open, visibly show surprise, and then start trying to pull open the various boxes of stuff to start playing with it. It was great.
Then New Year's Eve came along, which is also our wedding anniversary. It was our 5th anniversary, so it was a big one. For most of the day I was feeling very romantic and mushy, thinking about spending the evening gazing into the Weirdo's eyes while we hold hands and gush about how much we love each other. In the back of my mind I knew this wouldn't fly because the Weirdo isn't big on that kind of stuff. I got my What light through yonder window breaks time in the car on the way to dinner though. We held hands and talked about our favorite moments from the past five years. I of course mentioned all the big ones, like trips to the beach we took, the birth of the Monkey, and so on. It's been a few days now, and as I've thought more about it I've realized it's all the little moments, that don't necessarily pop into memory immediately, that I also treasure. It's the simple fact that we don't have to be at the beach or in the mountains for me to appreciate her love and companionship. Even when we're just sitting on the couch together chatting about our days, or what's on tv, or the Monkey's latest discovery of his capacity for destruction, I'm happy. I'm content. Just being with her from day to day, during the ho-hum parts of life, evokes the same feelings of love and togetherness that I get when we're having a "big" moment.
At dinner the Weirdo gave me a new wristwatch, which is great because for years I have been wearing a $10 Wal Mart special. She had a jeweler engrave the following on the back of the watch:
I Love You More Than I Could Ever Promise
It's from a song, and she said she thought it was very appropriate to describe her feelings for me. I was blown away by it. If the ring on my left hand ever isn't enough of a reminder that my gal loves me, I need only shift my eyes to my wrist. I'm a lucky guy. And, that definitely provided the mushy romance I was hoping for. After that we spent most of dinner playing Angry Birds on her iPhone.
Following our wonderful dinner we went out to a bar with Bestie & the Firefighter to ring in the new year. We spent the first little while standing off to the side of the place waiting for a table to open up. An older couple suddenly had the check on their table, and the Weirdo was waiting to pounce. We finally got to sit down. Had some drinks, some laughs, and the Weirdo and I got to dance.
So we ended one year and started a new one. Here's hoping for a great 2011!
No shortage of happy memories from the past couple weeks. Christmas was great, but extremely tiring. I hardly slept at all through the weekend because aside from work we were driving all over town spending time with family. The Monkey got more toys than he (or we) know what to do with. I really enjoyed watching him open his presents because he's finally at the age where he has an idea of what's going on. Last year we would open a present in front of him and he would mostly just stare. This year he would help open, visibly show surprise, and then start trying to pull open the various boxes of stuff to start playing with it. It was great.
Then New Year's Eve came along, which is also our wedding anniversary. It was our 5th anniversary, so it was a big one. For most of the day I was feeling very romantic and mushy, thinking about spending the evening gazing into the Weirdo's eyes while we hold hands and gush about how much we love each other. In the back of my mind I knew this wouldn't fly because the Weirdo isn't big on that kind of stuff. I got my What light through yonder window breaks time in the car on the way to dinner though. We held hands and talked about our favorite moments from the past five years. I of course mentioned all the big ones, like trips to the beach we took, the birth of the Monkey, and so on. It's been a few days now, and as I've thought more about it I've realized it's all the little moments, that don't necessarily pop into memory immediately, that I also treasure. It's the simple fact that we don't have to be at the beach or in the mountains for me to appreciate her love and companionship. Even when we're just sitting on the couch together chatting about our days, or what's on tv, or the Monkey's latest discovery of his capacity for destruction, I'm happy. I'm content. Just being with her from day to day, during the ho-hum parts of life, evokes the same feelings of love and togetherness that I get when we're having a "big" moment.
At dinner the Weirdo gave me a new wristwatch, which is great because for years I have been wearing a $10 Wal Mart special. She had a jeweler engrave the following on the back of the watch:
I Love You More Than I Could Ever Promise
It's from a song, and she said she thought it was very appropriate to describe her feelings for me. I was blown away by it. If the ring on my left hand ever isn't enough of a reminder that my gal loves me, I need only shift my eyes to my wrist. I'm a lucky guy. And, that definitely provided the mushy romance I was hoping for. After that we spent most of dinner playing Angry Birds on her iPhone.
Following our wonderful dinner we went out to a bar with Bestie & the Firefighter to ring in the new year. We spent the first little while standing off to the side of the place waiting for a table to open up. An older couple suddenly had the check on their table, and the Weirdo was waiting to pounce. We finally got to sit down. Had some drinks, some laughs, and the Weirdo and I got to dance.
So we ended one year and started a new one. Here's hoping for a great 2011!
Saturday, December 25, 2010
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!
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!
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