Man walks into gas station/mini-market. Man asks clerk if they accept credit cards. Clerk stated that they do. Man says, "Good. I ran out of cigars at my store so I'll be buying a ton."
Man proceeds to take plastic shopping bags from his pants pockets and fill the bags with those cheap, dime-store cigars.
Clerk watches man, while tending to other customers. Clerk periodically looks over the counter with a "W.T.F." look on his face, while the man at the cigar rack, which is only about 2.5 feet from the front counter, continues to fill bags with the cigars.
Man fills about 3 to 4 bags of cigars and as 2 other customers come into the store, the man leaves with the bags of cigars....without paying naturally.
Total take: $814.76 worth of various Phillies and Black & Mild cigars.
Loser: The zombie clerk.
The most angry: The zombie clerk's Manager
The winner: The man!
We'll let the crook win this one.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Party Pooper
Fireworks. Everybody likes to watch them. Some people like to set them off...myself included. Well, they're not allowed in the city. But, that doesn't stop people from setting them off, naturally.
Now, I'm not a hard ass and I'm not about to bust anyone's stones about it either, considering I used to set them off all the time when I was a kid, and then the big, big ones when I lived in the South.
But....some people like to complain. And people who like to complain a lot have a tendency to have a need to inform someone of what they have an issue with. Who you gonna call.....the police of course. Why not?
"Respond to XXXXX, caller stated that people are setting off fireworks."
Ok, usually by the time we get wherever, the fireworks are done. So, As I arrive in the area, I stop the car in the vicinity, park, and start writing my report as nothing is around.
Hark, those finely honed senses kick in and something is heard not far off. A "pop" and a "bang" and, oh, look at those pretty colored sparks and lights in the air. A CLUE (cop talk there). Must be fireworks.
Off I go, moving the car into an alley, peering through the thick, lush vegetation of a hedge row.
AH! Through that shrubbery....I see flame.
Through the hedges, over a damn fence, and across to 3 yards I happen upon someones back patio, in the center of which is a giant pile of expended fireworks....and good ones too, wish I got to see all of the show.
Now, as I begin to speak to the homeowner of whose patio I invited myself onto, the communications center calls me on the radio stating the the original caller about the fireworks called back to tell them that they observed me in the alley and wanted to say that I was going in the right direction.
Quite the sleuth, should have given him a job application on the way over.
Anyway, I speak to the homeowner and amateur pryotechnician and advise him that the fireworks are illegal in the city and that several (embellishment there) neighbors have called to complain.
"Ok. I wasn't aware. I wont set anymore off."
B.S. didn't know, but I'll play...."Ok, now you know. Have a good evening."
Now, while I'm finishing up with this good citizen, his neighbor is setting off bottle rockets and some small fireworks while I'm standing just one back yard away, shining my flashlight over their way.
Jack ass. But, again, I'll play.
To the next yard over, by way of a stone wall and another fence to hurtle, I make my way to a not as friendly mutant teenager.
"What are you doing?'
"Nothing."
Alright, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.
"The fireworks...dude."
"I'm not setting off fireworks." as I casually look at his small pile of as yet to be set off bundles of assorted pyrotechnics.
"I watched you set them off while talking to your neighbor right over there. And should I assume that those fireworks are not yours?"
"I purchased them here, so I'll set them off."
Ok, wise ass, I think as my sharpened senses pick up on the just opened, only one swallow taken from the bottle of beer sitting next to this fine citizen on the deck railing. Oh, and he looks to be all of about 18 too.
"They're not allowed in the city."
"They're just bottle rockets and some small fountains."
"They're not allowed in the city.And I thought you said that you weren't setting them off?"
"Well, I'm going to finish them off."
Ok shitbag, I'm done with you. Could I issue him a citation? Yes. It's a Summary offense, which by issuance of a citation is considered an arrest, even though it's just a citation and he doesn't go to jail or anything, just gets a notice to appear in court and if found guilty would be given a fine to pay, between $100.00 and $300.00 depending on the judge.
Do I issue a citation?
No, as I grab his freshly opened, sans one swallow, bottle of beer and proceed to pour it over what's left of his small pile of fireworks.
"Ok then. You're done for the night. Next time you will get cited. Have a good evening."
Problem solved.
"Hey, you can't do that."
"Oh? Do you have ID? How old are you?"
"Good night officer."
"Bye now."
Problem solved.
Now, I'm not a hard ass and I'm not about to bust anyone's stones about it either, considering I used to set them off all the time when I was a kid, and then the big, big ones when I lived in the South.
But....some people like to complain. And people who like to complain a lot have a tendency to have a need to inform someone of what they have an issue with. Who you gonna call.....the police of course. Why not?
"Respond to XXXXX, caller stated that people are setting off fireworks."
Ok, usually by the time we get wherever, the fireworks are done. So, As I arrive in the area, I stop the car in the vicinity, park, and start writing my report as nothing is around.
Hark, those finely honed senses kick in and something is heard not far off. A "pop" and a "bang" and, oh, look at those pretty colored sparks and lights in the air. A CLUE (cop talk there). Must be fireworks.
Off I go, moving the car into an alley, peering through the thick, lush vegetation of a hedge row.
AH! Through that shrubbery....I see flame.
Through the hedges, over a damn fence, and across to 3 yards I happen upon someones back patio, in the center of which is a giant pile of expended fireworks....and good ones too, wish I got to see all of the show.
Now, as I begin to speak to the homeowner of whose patio I invited myself onto, the communications center calls me on the radio stating the the original caller about the fireworks called back to tell them that they observed me in the alley and wanted to say that I was going in the right direction.
Quite the sleuth, should have given him a job application on the way over.
Anyway, I speak to the homeowner and amateur pryotechnician and advise him that the fireworks are illegal in the city and that several (embellishment there) neighbors have called to complain.
"Ok. I wasn't aware. I wont set anymore off."
B.S. didn't know, but I'll play...."Ok, now you know. Have a good evening."
Now, while I'm finishing up with this good citizen, his neighbor is setting off bottle rockets and some small fireworks while I'm standing just one back yard away, shining my flashlight over their way.
Jack ass. But, again, I'll play.
To the next yard over, by way of a stone wall and another fence to hurtle, I make my way to a not as friendly mutant teenager.
"What are you doing?'
"Nothing."
Alright, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer.
"The fireworks...dude."
"I'm not setting off fireworks." as I casually look at his small pile of as yet to be set off bundles of assorted pyrotechnics.
"I watched you set them off while talking to your neighbor right over there. And should I assume that those fireworks are not yours?"
"I purchased them here, so I'll set them off."
Ok, wise ass, I think as my sharpened senses pick up on the just opened, only one swallow taken from the bottle of beer sitting next to this fine citizen on the deck railing. Oh, and he looks to be all of about 18 too.
"They're not allowed in the city."
"They're just bottle rockets and some small fountains."
"They're not allowed in the city.And I thought you said that you weren't setting them off?"
"Well, I'm going to finish them off."
Ok shitbag, I'm done with you. Could I issue him a citation? Yes. It's a Summary offense, which by issuance of a citation is considered an arrest, even though it's just a citation and he doesn't go to jail or anything, just gets a notice to appear in court and if found guilty would be given a fine to pay, between $100.00 and $300.00 depending on the judge.
Do I issue a citation?
No, as I grab his freshly opened, sans one swallow, bottle of beer and proceed to pour it over what's left of his small pile of fireworks.
"Ok then. You're done for the night. Next time you will get cited. Have a good evening."
Problem solved.
"Hey, you can't do that."
"Oh? Do you have ID? How old are you?"
"Good night officer."
"Bye now."
Problem solved.
Shhh.....Don't tell the neighbors
Got the call. "Domestic in progress." "Male on second floor and refusing to leave. Female is on the first floor."
Ok, first thing is first. Domestics SUCK!
So, upon my as swift as I really wanted to get there arrival, I see a female standing outside and quickly go inside upon sight of the nice, shiny, gleaming, POS 120,000 mile, squeaky, broken ball joint, barely working A/C, police cruiser.
Approaching the open doorway, cautiously, calling out....Ma'am, are you ok?
He's upstairs on the third floor.
Shit...even more steps.
Ok, can you come outside please?
He's up in the attic room and won't leave, she frantically states.
Ok, what's the problem? Has he hit you at all?
No, he didn't touch me, but he won't leave. I've told him he's not allowed to come here anymore. And he's been drinking.
OH, theres a F****** surprise.
Up I go, along with the other 3 officers who showed up to assist.
I hear a faint sound of someone mumbling as I call out climbing up the steep and narrow stairway.
Let me tell you...stairs suck. Not just the climbing part, but the fact that you can't see shit that's up there or around the corner when you're going up.
So, there he is, standing in the middle of the floor in an attic bedroom, pacing, and mumbling. I can smell the alcohol from the second floor. Now, I can see the eyes as well, alcohol and cocaine. GREAT.
Come on sir, lets go outside and talk.
Mumble, mumble.
What?
Mumble, mumble.
Can you speak up, I can't hear a goddamn thing you're saying.
Shh...I don't want the neighbors to know.
?
Know what?
Shhh.
Come on, let's go.
Shh. I don't want the neighbors to know.
Know what?!?
I have a small penis.
??????
WHAT?!!!!?
I don't want the neighbors to know that I have a small penis.
Ok. It'll be our secret, now lets go. Downstairs, NOW.
No, I'm not going, I have things here.
You can get them later, now lets go! As I grab an arm and start escorting.
Now, out into the hall, and something kicked. Oh, he did. Kicking, wailing, refusing to go.
What happens next is reminiscent of a wrestling royal rumble match... 4 cops piled on top of a cocaine addict, high as a kite, trying to keep him still and down so handcuffs can be placed on him.
Cuffs on, navigating the stairs was a treat. Lets just say one word, DRAG.
Outside and onto the porch, suddenly, he sees, THE NEIGHBORS. Well, he starts yelling and crying like a 1 year old, sobbing, "they know...they know." Ah, says I. "What? Know that you have a small penis?" Loudly spoken of course.
Cry, cry, sob, sob.
Into the back of that wonderful police car. Oops, he doesn't want to go in. Well, a quick statement made loudly, "Stop resisting" and a properly placed thumb into the side of the head at a certain and specific spot made him change his mind, and in he went.
Now, officer "B" who did tantalize him slightly, got the best of our little drug fiend and once into the back of my police car........
Now, most police cars are so equipped with a cage in the back. That is, iron bars separating the front and back seats with Plexiglas covering it, and iron bars across the two back door windows. Well this particular vintage, barely working model that I have this particular day, was absent the nice iron bars across the two back door windows.........
So as our little friend with the small penis lays himself don on his back on the back seat....KICK goes the window.
Great. More paperwork for your humble narrator to do.
To the station and into the holding cell.
While perusing the Crimes Code book and deciding on the charges I'm going to use a glimpse of our friend is caught on the video camera in the cellblock and I pause to watch him tear the elastic from his boxer shorts and wrap it around his neck.
Ok, enough. Off we go, myself and the House Sgt. to the cell block.
What are you doing? We ask as he sits there on the floor, crying, saying that "I can't do it."
Give me that! As I take the elastic from him.
Off we go. Leaving him to his misery....for a few moments, until we return to see him trying to rip more material from his boxers to use as a noose.
OK. Enough. Off to the hospital he goes.
So, one report for the initial domestic, a criminal complaint that had to be written and filed and sworn to at the judge for the charges filed, a report for the damaged window of my car, and a report for the medical commitment.
Court day..guess what, surprise, surprise....the girlfriend doesn't want to testify.
Oh well, I still have a conviction on the Criminal Mischief and Disorderly Conduct charges that I filed that didn't need the "victim" to testify to.
MUTANTS!
Ok, first thing is first. Domestics SUCK!
So, upon my as swift as I really wanted to get there arrival, I see a female standing outside and quickly go inside upon sight of the nice, shiny, gleaming, POS 120,000 mile, squeaky, broken ball joint, barely working A/C, police cruiser.
Approaching the open doorway, cautiously, calling out....Ma'am, are you ok?
He's upstairs on the third floor.
Shit...even more steps.
Ok, can you come outside please?
He's up in the attic room and won't leave, she frantically states.
Ok, what's the problem? Has he hit you at all?
No, he didn't touch me, but he won't leave. I've told him he's not allowed to come here anymore. And he's been drinking.
OH, theres a F****** surprise.
Up I go, along with the other 3 officers who showed up to assist.
I hear a faint sound of someone mumbling as I call out climbing up the steep and narrow stairway.
Let me tell you...stairs suck. Not just the climbing part, but the fact that you can't see shit that's up there or around the corner when you're going up.
So, there he is, standing in the middle of the floor in an attic bedroom, pacing, and mumbling. I can smell the alcohol from the second floor. Now, I can see the eyes as well, alcohol and cocaine. GREAT.
Come on sir, lets go outside and talk.
Mumble, mumble.
What?
Mumble, mumble.
Can you speak up, I can't hear a goddamn thing you're saying.
Shh...I don't want the neighbors to know.
?
Know what?
Shhh.
Come on, let's go.
Shh. I don't want the neighbors to know.
Know what?!?
I have a small penis.
??????
WHAT?!!!!?
I don't want the neighbors to know that I have a small penis.
Ok. It'll be our secret, now lets go. Downstairs, NOW.
No, I'm not going, I have things here.
You can get them later, now lets go! As I grab an arm and start escorting.
Now, out into the hall, and something kicked. Oh, he did. Kicking, wailing, refusing to go.
What happens next is reminiscent of a wrestling royal rumble match... 4 cops piled on top of a cocaine addict, high as a kite, trying to keep him still and down so handcuffs can be placed on him.
Cuffs on, navigating the stairs was a treat. Lets just say one word, DRAG.
Outside and onto the porch, suddenly, he sees, THE NEIGHBORS. Well, he starts yelling and crying like a 1 year old, sobbing, "they know...they know." Ah, says I. "What? Know that you have a small penis?" Loudly spoken of course.
Cry, cry, sob, sob.
Into the back of that wonderful police car. Oops, he doesn't want to go in. Well, a quick statement made loudly, "Stop resisting" and a properly placed thumb into the side of the head at a certain and specific spot made him change his mind, and in he went.
Now, officer "B" who did tantalize him slightly, got the best of our little drug fiend and once into the back of my police car........
Now, most police cars are so equipped with a cage in the back. That is, iron bars separating the front and back seats with Plexiglas covering it, and iron bars across the two back door windows. Well this particular vintage, barely working model that I have this particular day, was absent the nice iron bars across the two back door windows.........
So as our little friend with the small penis lays himself don on his back on the back seat....KICK goes the window.
Great. More paperwork for your humble narrator to do.
To the station and into the holding cell.
While perusing the Crimes Code book and deciding on the charges I'm going to use a glimpse of our friend is caught on the video camera in the cellblock and I pause to watch him tear the elastic from his boxer shorts and wrap it around his neck.
Ok, enough. Off we go, myself and the House Sgt. to the cell block.
What are you doing? We ask as he sits there on the floor, crying, saying that "I can't do it."
Give me that! As I take the elastic from him.
Off we go. Leaving him to his misery....for a few moments, until we return to see him trying to rip more material from his boxers to use as a noose.
OK. Enough. Off to the hospital he goes.
So, one report for the initial domestic, a criminal complaint that had to be written and filed and sworn to at the judge for the charges filed, a report for the damaged window of my car, and a report for the medical commitment.
Court day..guess what, surprise, surprise....the girlfriend doesn't want to testify.
Oh well, I still have a conviction on the Criminal Mischief and Disorderly Conduct charges that I filed that didn't need the "victim" to testify to.
MUTANTS!
Friday, April 6, 2007
Teenagers suck
Ok, you decide which is worse.
Mutant teenager "A":
Trial date: a few days ago
Charge: Possession of a small amount of controlled substance
Disposition: Continued.
Reason: The Probation officer and defense attorney just received that day of the trial a new set of charges against the same mutant for Possession with intent to deliver (a felony), in this case a different drug (pharmaceutical grade).
Background: Dad is retired from a big city PD, mom has several medical issues (hence is on a lot of nice prescription narcotics - candy for junior), and older sibling #1 is mentally handicapped, functions at a job, but also collects money from the state which goes into a jar on his dresser (funds for someones habit).
Mutant teenager "B" &"C":
The both go together. A few months ago "B" & "C" get into a snowball fight. Ok, harmless and most 13 year olds engage in such activity. Well, "C" apparently gets pisses off at "B" and decides to pick up a snow shovel and take a swing at him. "C" may have mad contact with "B" in the abdomen with the shovel but "B" says F*** this and slugs "C" in the face and leaves a nice shiner. Since "C" is a sore loser, and probably pissed because he had a weapon and still lost, he goes crying to mom. Well mom gets all bent out of shape and calls the Po-Po.
Ultimately "B" gets arrested for harassment because "C" has a nice mark left from "B" and a few witnesses observed "B" hit "C." Only "B" offers up the info that "C" took a swing at him with a shovel first, no one saw that (B.S.). So how do we resolve this? Simple. Arrest them both for Disorderly Conduct and yell at them both for being jack asses.
Mutant teenagers "D" & "E":
A long story in a nutshell: both in 9th grade and at school. "D" nails "E" on the head and face a few times in the hall between classes.
Ok, I speak to the victim first, "What happened?"
"I was walking down the hall and was hit in the head from behind. I turned around and saw this kid. I yelled at him, but didn't want to get involved so I ran to my next class."
OK, now move to the next change of classes in the hallway.
"I was going to last period and when I came down the hall this kid was there and he started hitting me."
"Ok, do you know him?'
"No."
B.S. B.S. B.S.
Now, I hate that, and hear it all the time. Oh, I was just walking....minding my own business....and this person hit me for no reason and I don't even know that person. WHAT A CROCK!
Well, as far as this case goes, "D" sat there and lied out his ass to me, stating that he didn't do anything. All the time "D" is talking to me, I'm watching the video footage from the cameras in the hallway and I can clearly see "D" doing a number on "E." Poor "D" thought he was pulling one over on me until I called him to the carpet and flipped the monitor around and showed him the video. Needless to say, he had nothing further to say.
As a sidebar to "D" & "E," their parents are just as big of mutants. "D's" mom is "at her wits end" and doesn't know what to do. She is thinking on "putting him in one of those special schools." Yeah, real good mom. Be a parent and take charge. Do something. Work with him. Let's try something other than just moving the problem out of view and placing him in a room with total mutants so they just feed off of each others jack hole tendencies.
As far as "E's" mutant parents, they come to the school screaming bloody murder because she is terrified of revenge against her and her son by "D's" friends and wants to know what the school will do to keep the people away from their house. Ok, calm down. First, the school isn't doing shit outside of the school as their hands are full inside. Second, the Po-Po handle stuff about town. And gee, lady, you called the Po-Po to see what was happening with the case, call the Po-Po is the mutants attack. What a concept.
Ok. Enough kid talk for now. More to follow.
Mutant teenager "A":
Trial date: a few days ago
Charge: Possession of a small amount of controlled substance
Disposition: Continued.
Reason: The Probation officer and defense attorney just received that day of the trial a new set of charges against the same mutant for Possession with intent to deliver (a felony), in this case a different drug (pharmaceutical grade).
Background: Dad is retired from a big city PD, mom has several medical issues (hence is on a lot of nice prescription narcotics - candy for junior), and older sibling #1 is mentally handicapped, functions at a job, but also collects money from the state which goes into a jar on his dresser (funds for someones habit).
Mutant teenager "B" &"C":
The both go together. A few months ago "B" & "C" get into a snowball fight. Ok, harmless and most 13 year olds engage in such activity. Well, "C" apparently gets pisses off at "B" and decides to pick up a snow shovel and take a swing at him. "C" may have mad contact with "B" in the abdomen with the shovel but "B" says F*** this and slugs "C" in the face and leaves a nice shiner. Since "C" is a sore loser, and probably pissed because he had a weapon and still lost, he goes crying to mom. Well mom gets all bent out of shape and calls the Po-Po.
Ultimately "B" gets arrested for harassment because "C" has a nice mark left from "B" and a few witnesses observed "B" hit "C." Only "B" offers up the info that "C" took a swing at him with a shovel first, no one saw that (B.S.). So how do we resolve this? Simple. Arrest them both for Disorderly Conduct and yell at them both for being jack asses.
Mutant teenagers "D" & "E":
A long story in a nutshell: both in 9th grade and at school. "D" nails "E" on the head and face a few times in the hall between classes.
Ok, I speak to the victim first, "What happened?"
"I was walking down the hall and was hit in the head from behind. I turned around and saw this kid. I yelled at him, but didn't want to get involved so I ran to my next class."
OK, now move to the next change of classes in the hallway.
"I was going to last period and when I came down the hall this kid was there and he started hitting me."
"Ok, do you know him?'
"No."
B.S. B.S. B.S.
Now, I hate that, and hear it all the time. Oh, I was just walking....minding my own business....and this person hit me for no reason and I don't even know that person. WHAT A CROCK!
Well, as far as this case goes, "D" sat there and lied out his ass to me, stating that he didn't do anything. All the time "D" is talking to me, I'm watching the video footage from the cameras in the hallway and I can clearly see "D" doing a number on "E." Poor "D" thought he was pulling one over on me until I called him to the carpet and flipped the monitor around and showed him the video. Needless to say, he had nothing further to say.
As a sidebar to "D" & "E," their parents are just as big of mutants. "D's" mom is "at her wits end" and doesn't know what to do. She is thinking on "putting him in one of those special schools." Yeah, real good mom. Be a parent and take charge. Do something. Work with him. Let's try something other than just moving the problem out of view and placing him in a room with total mutants so they just feed off of each others jack hole tendencies.
As far as "E's" mutant parents, they come to the school screaming bloody murder because she is terrified of revenge against her and her son by "D's" friends and wants to know what the school will do to keep the people away from their house. Ok, calm down. First, the school isn't doing shit outside of the school as their hands are full inside. Second, the Po-Po handle stuff about town. And gee, lady, you called the Po-Po to see what was happening with the case, call the Po-Po is the mutants attack. What a concept.
Ok. Enough kid talk for now. More to follow.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
In dire need of an update
So, many happenings in the last month. I need to keep up on this. And so we have it. The current holder of the "Mutant of the Year Award" goes to....
Occupation: Middle School Principal
Salary: $97,660.00
Tenure: 20 years
Criminal offense: Being apprehended in his office with $200.00 in marked bills acquired from selling crystal methamphetamine.
MUTANT STATUS: Found in his office with lit candles, watching gay porn, naked, wearing a cock ring, and playing with a penis pump.
HE WINS!
Occupation: Middle School Principal
Salary: $97,660.00
Tenure: 20 years
Criminal offense: Being apprehended in his office with $200.00 in marked bills acquired from selling crystal methamphetamine.
MUTANT STATUS: Found in his office with lit candles, watching gay porn, naked, wearing a cock ring, and playing with a penis pump.
HE WINS!
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Weekly Winners
None so extraordinary as to win a spot of their own, so in lieu of I ask:
Why would you call the Police? Robbery? Theft? Assault? Witnessing a homicide? Auto accident? Vandalism? All reasonable and legitimate circumstances to dial those 3 digits on the telephone that summons aide.
NOT OUR MUTANTS.
The old message has been replaced. "To Serve and Protect" has transcended to "Living Your Life Because You Don't Know How To."
Callous you say? Cynical perhaps? Downright sarcastic even?
"Yes, hello. I'm stuck. Been stuck for 45 minutes, I need help." or something so similar the caller tells the dispatch center.
".....go to ***** caller stated he's been stuck in the snow for 45 minutes..." comes across the radio.
"10-4" ("ok", for the non-jargon types)
"So, how did you do this?" I inquire, more than a little peeved as I look at the late 1990's model BMW, rear wheel drive, tires not touching the ground as the car is supported a few centimeters off the road surface by a rather large mound of snow.
"Well, I thought I could get through. I tried pushing it, but it wouldn't move"
"Hmm." or some such sound emanates from my throat as I look at his nice Oxford shoes, dress shirt, tie, slacks, and London Fog coat. "Do you have AAA?"
"Yes, I do" he stated matter-of-factly.
"Ok, so why did you call the police?"
"Well, I'm stuck."
Not really wanting to spend more time than would make me want to do something silly with my sidearm, I asked, "have you tried reverse?"
???
"guess not, let's give it a whirl."
"Ok"
WOW. Look at that! It worked.
There was more to it, but not worth going in to or discussing more. Beyond the usual idiopathic (that's my created word there) tendencies of the public at large in a snow and ice storm, I did find myself giving advice to someone who was a social worker for 10 years. Or, so she claimed.
Basically, the story is simple. Son comes home from rehab. (Come on, give him credit, he's trying). Son gets upset because step-dad is "abusing"mom. Step-dad still goes to the methadone clinic once a week. Mom doesn't know what to do, she argues with step-dad all the time. Oops, mom hasn't been taking her medication lately either. Perhaps there should be a family sit down around the methadone jug.
Anyway, without trying to relate the 40 minutes I stayed in this family's love nest, the nuts and bolts is thus: mom has been feeding son and step-dad two different lines of crap. Son and step-dad don't seem to have a great relationship but alas, I have figured out that their relationship sucks because mom is all screwed up. Son and step-dad talk civilly to each other while I'm there and both realize that mom has been telling them different stories. Meanwhile, mom cries to me because she doesn't work now, doesn't know what to do, wants to know what the next step is, AND she didn't even call the police, her son did but realized that there was no need to, once he started talking to his family.
"Ok, have you considered counselling?"
"Well, I was a social worker for 10 years."
"So, you should be very experienced with talking to people and solving problems, right? Have you tried talking to your family?"
"Well, it never seems to work. Can you tell me what I should do now?"
"You do realize that police are not therapists?"
"Yes, but what is the next step?"
"TALK TO YOUR FAMILY!!!!!!!!! You all have issues and need to sit down and talk."
"Oh, you're right."
"See, your son and husband are talking nicely right now. In fact, they are, at this very movement, discovering that you have been feeding them both shit."
"Oh, well....."
"So I suggest you all sit and YOU had better be honest with them."
"I know, you're right."
"Good bye."
Amazing.
Why would you call the Police? Robbery? Theft? Assault? Witnessing a homicide? Auto accident? Vandalism? All reasonable and legitimate circumstances to dial those 3 digits on the telephone that summons aide.
NOT OUR MUTANTS.
The old message has been replaced. "To Serve and Protect" has transcended to "Living Your Life Because You Don't Know How To."
Callous you say? Cynical perhaps? Downright sarcastic even?
"Yes, hello. I'm stuck. Been stuck for 45 minutes, I need help." or something so similar the caller tells the dispatch center.
".....go to ***** caller stated he's been stuck in the snow for 45 minutes..." comes across the radio.
"10-4" ("ok", for the non-jargon types)
"So, how did you do this?" I inquire, more than a little peeved as I look at the late 1990's model BMW, rear wheel drive, tires not touching the ground as the car is supported a few centimeters off the road surface by a rather large mound of snow.
"Well, I thought I could get through. I tried pushing it, but it wouldn't move"
"Hmm." or some such sound emanates from my throat as I look at his nice Oxford shoes, dress shirt, tie, slacks, and London Fog coat. "Do you have AAA?"
"Yes, I do" he stated matter-of-factly.
"Ok, so why did you call the police?"
"Well, I'm stuck."
Not really wanting to spend more time than would make me want to do something silly with my sidearm, I asked, "have you tried reverse?"
???
"guess not, let's give it a whirl."
"Ok"
WOW. Look at that! It worked.
There was more to it, but not worth going in to or discussing more. Beyond the usual idiopathic (that's my created word there) tendencies of the public at large in a snow and ice storm, I did find myself giving advice to someone who was a social worker for 10 years. Or, so she claimed.
Basically, the story is simple. Son comes home from rehab. (Come on, give him credit, he's trying). Son gets upset because step-dad is "abusing"mom. Step-dad still goes to the methadone clinic once a week. Mom doesn't know what to do, she argues with step-dad all the time. Oops, mom hasn't been taking her medication lately either. Perhaps there should be a family sit down around the methadone jug.
Anyway, without trying to relate the 40 minutes I stayed in this family's love nest, the nuts and bolts is thus: mom has been feeding son and step-dad two different lines of crap. Son and step-dad don't seem to have a great relationship but alas, I have figured out that their relationship sucks because mom is all screwed up. Son and step-dad talk civilly to each other while I'm there and both realize that mom has been telling them different stories. Meanwhile, mom cries to me because she doesn't work now, doesn't know what to do, wants to know what the next step is, AND she didn't even call the police, her son did but realized that there was no need to, once he started talking to his family.
"Ok, have you considered counselling?"
"Well, I was a social worker for 10 years."
"So, you should be very experienced with talking to people and solving problems, right? Have you tried talking to your family?"
"Well, it never seems to work. Can you tell me what I should do now?"
"You do realize that police are not therapists?"
"Yes, but what is the next step?"
"TALK TO YOUR FAMILY!!!!!!!!! You all have issues and need to sit down and talk."
"Oh, you're right."
"See, your son and husband are talking nicely right now. In fact, they are, at this very movement, discovering that you have been feeding them both shit."
"Oh, well....."
"So I suggest you all sit and YOU had better be honest with them."
"I know, you're right."
"Good bye."
Amazing.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Memorable exploit of the week
So, what would you do for an 84 year old female laying buck-ass naked on the bathroom floor. Well, help her up of course. Any civilized person would do that, wouldn't they? Or perhaps get a robe or something so she could cover up?
In I enter, after painstakingly deciphering the cryptic notes on my computer terminal on just how I am to find the key to enter the dwelling. Fumbling to find a light switch I can hear the ramblings of Jerry Seinfeld, ah...the TV is on. Calling out, announcing my presence as an "official" I finally hear a voice not coming from the tube, "In here...in the bathroom." I flinch. No, not THE BATHROOM. I close my eyes and pause. Slowly I make my way down the hall to the light emanating from an open doorway. "Police" I yell again. "In here." Desperation is heard in the voice. As I slowly peer my head around the doorway, "Oh no. NO NO NO," my brain screams.
"Are you hurt?" A normal question to ask.
"No. GET ME UP!! My neck hurts from laying here."
"Are you Hurt from the fall?"
"No. Just get me up."
"Ok. Can you wait a few seconds until another officer arrives? It will be easier for you if two people assist you getting up."
"Ok, ok. If it won't be too long," she snaps as I see the cruiser of my partner pull up.
"I'm going to go let the other officer in through the front door," I say, walking away quickly.
"Better get gloves," I tell my partner.
In we go, gloved, protected. Where are the blackout glasses from 'Hitchhikers Guide' I wonder to myself going back to that place I'd rather forget.
"Ok ma'am, we have your arms and on '3' we're going to lift. are you ready?"
"Just go, get me up," she barks.
To an upright position we get her, but she keeps her back arched back, not getting upright on her own and refusing to move.
"Stop pulling me!"
"We're not, we're holding you so you don't fall back. You're not standing straight."
As she fumbles relentlessly, grabbing my arm, letting go to grab the door frame, to clutching the cable that connects the microphone of my hand-held radio to the unit attached on my utility belt. "What's that?!?"
"It's my radio ma'am, you're still not standing, are you ok?"
"Just stop pulling!"
"We're not, you're still leaning back."
"Get me to my bedroom, I need to sit on the bed."
"Ok, which one is the bedroom? Can you stand up straight?"
"Stop pulling!"
"We're not!!!!"
"Get me to my bed!"
"Ok, can you stand up straight yet?"
"I can't concentrate, you ask too many questions. Stop babbling."
"Ok, but can you stand up straight? How do you move around on your own?" I ask, as I see a disused walker and wheelchair with many months of dust covering them.
"I need to get to my room, I have to lay down."
"Ok, we're trying." As we now start to pull, for real this time as mounting frustration grows.
"Stop pulling!!!!!"
"Stand up!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Just get me to my room!"
"OK!!!!!!! WE'RE TRYING, BUT YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" I yell.
Finally, a breakthrough, as we get her motor running and the feet begin to move, one in front of the other while still maintaining an arched back, leaning backwards of course, that we are HOLDING up.
"Stop pulling!"
"Just get in your room!"
Oops, we now made it through the threshold of the bedroom door, and surprisingly enough, I was cut off by our helpless Fraulein. Now only she and my partner are in the bedroom as I loom in the doorway watching, unable to assist.
"Get me on my bed."
Ok, I think to myself, there is only one way this can go as I see it, considering that she and my partner are side-by-side, facing the bed and no way for me to get in and no way for him to change position supporting her without letting her go.
Yes, a nice little waltz as they spin like synchronized ballroom dancers, buttocks now towards the long sought after bed. But now what, still can't let go.
Yup, my partner and her both simultaneously flop down, like a pair of newlyweds, on the bed falling slightly backwards as they land.
"Ok, anything else?" my partner blurted quickly as he lunged from the bed to about 5 feet away.
"ring...ring."
"Answer the phone."
?
Ok.......
"Alright, anything else?"
"I need a drink. Get me my drink."
"ok, here you go, here's your water. Is that all?"
"Get me some underpants, and a pad."
???????
"What?!?"
"Get me some underpants, and the pads should be in the bathroom."
Ok, well, how about the underpants then? Just rummage around and fine some I guess.
"Ok, here you go. Anything else?"
"Get these on me."
"What?"
"My underpants."
Uh, I really need to go now. "Ok, look mam, we really can't stay to help you live your life. If you think you need any medical assistance, we can get an ambulance for you."
"No, just get my underpants on. And get the phone again."
??
"Hello."
Ah, lifeline contacted her "close friend" that she has listed, maybe they can come over to help her.
"...no, she's ok but probably could use some assistance, do you live nearby?"
"New York."
?!?!?!?!?!
Nevermind.
"Ok, we're leaving now. You have your water, underpants, pad, and you're in bed. If you have an emergency and need medical assistance, call 911."
"Make sure you close and lock up the doors. And turn the TV off, I don't want to hear that Jerry person."
Gee, ok, want a cheese omelet too?
Well, you decide. Mutant or zombie?
In I enter, after painstakingly deciphering the cryptic notes on my computer terminal on just how I am to find the key to enter the dwelling. Fumbling to find a light switch I can hear the ramblings of Jerry Seinfeld, ah...the TV is on. Calling out, announcing my presence as an "official" I finally hear a voice not coming from the tube, "In here...in the bathroom." I flinch. No, not THE BATHROOM. I close my eyes and pause. Slowly I make my way down the hall to the light emanating from an open doorway. "Police" I yell again. "In here." Desperation is heard in the voice. As I slowly peer my head around the doorway, "Oh no. NO NO NO," my brain screams.
"Are you hurt?" A normal question to ask.
"No. GET ME UP!! My neck hurts from laying here."
"Are you Hurt from the fall?"
"No. Just get me up."
"Ok. Can you wait a few seconds until another officer arrives? It will be easier for you if two people assist you getting up."
"Ok, ok. If it won't be too long," she snaps as I see the cruiser of my partner pull up.
"I'm going to go let the other officer in through the front door," I say, walking away quickly.
"Better get gloves," I tell my partner.
In we go, gloved, protected. Where are the blackout glasses from 'Hitchhikers Guide' I wonder to myself going back to that place I'd rather forget.
"Ok ma'am, we have your arms and on '3' we're going to lift. are you ready?"
"Just go, get me up," she barks.
To an upright position we get her, but she keeps her back arched back, not getting upright on her own and refusing to move.
"Stop pulling me!"
"We're not, we're holding you so you don't fall back. You're not standing straight."
As she fumbles relentlessly, grabbing my arm, letting go to grab the door frame, to clutching the cable that connects the microphone of my hand-held radio to the unit attached on my utility belt. "What's that?!?"
"It's my radio ma'am, you're still not standing, are you ok?"
"Just stop pulling!"
"We're not, you're still leaning back."
"Get me to my bedroom, I need to sit on the bed."
"Ok, which one is the bedroom? Can you stand up straight?"
"Stop pulling!"
"We're not!!!!"
"Get me to my bed!"
"Ok, can you stand up straight yet?"
"I can't concentrate, you ask too many questions. Stop babbling."
"Ok, but can you stand up straight? How do you move around on your own?" I ask, as I see a disused walker and wheelchair with many months of dust covering them.
"I need to get to my room, I have to lay down."
"Ok, we're trying." As we now start to pull, for real this time as mounting frustration grows.
"Stop pulling!!!!!"
"Stand up!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Just get me to my room!"
"OK!!!!!!! WE'RE TRYING, BUT YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" I yell.
Finally, a breakthrough, as we get her motor running and the feet begin to move, one in front of the other while still maintaining an arched back, leaning backwards of course, that we are HOLDING up.
"Stop pulling!"
"Just get in your room!"
Oops, we now made it through the threshold of the bedroom door, and surprisingly enough, I was cut off by our helpless Fraulein. Now only she and my partner are in the bedroom as I loom in the doorway watching, unable to assist.
"Get me on my bed."
Ok, I think to myself, there is only one way this can go as I see it, considering that she and my partner are side-by-side, facing the bed and no way for me to get in and no way for him to change position supporting her without letting her go.
Yes, a nice little waltz as they spin like synchronized ballroom dancers, buttocks now towards the long sought after bed. But now what, still can't let go.
Yup, my partner and her both simultaneously flop down, like a pair of newlyweds, on the bed falling slightly backwards as they land.
"Ok, anything else?" my partner blurted quickly as he lunged from the bed to about 5 feet away.
"ring...ring."
"Answer the phone."
?
Ok.......
"Alright, anything else?"
"I need a drink. Get me my drink."
"ok, here you go, here's your water. Is that all?"
"Get me some underpants, and a pad."
???????
"What?!?"
"Get me some underpants, and the pads should be in the bathroom."
Ok, well, how about the underpants then? Just rummage around and fine some I guess.
"Ok, here you go. Anything else?"
"Get these on me."
"What?"
"My underpants."
Uh, I really need to go now. "Ok, look mam, we really can't stay to help you live your life. If you think you need any medical assistance, we can get an ambulance for you."
"No, just get my underpants on. And get the phone again."
??
"Hello."
Ah, lifeline contacted her "close friend" that she has listed, maybe they can come over to help her.
"...no, she's ok but probably could use some assistance, do you live nearby?"
"New York."
?!?!?!?!?!
Nevermind.
"Ok, we're leaving now. You have your water, underpants, pad, and you're in bed. If you have an emergency and need medical assistance, call 911."
"Make sure you close and lock up the doors. And turn the TV off, I don't want to hear that Jerry person."
Gee, ok, want a cheese omelet too?
Well, you decide. Mutant or zombie?
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