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.

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?

Welcome

Welcome....To the first entry of my new blog. Why? Because everyone else is doing it and I feel left out. So, why the titles I chose? First, "strange wine" comes from a short story by a favorite author of mine, Harlan Ellison. Yes, I "stole" the name, but I like it and if Harlan doesn't, he can sue me. Why the blog title "Notes from the Mutant Zombie Invasion?" Well, it's simple. The invasion has already occurred and we're all in the middle of it. As I've come to find out over the years from reading the news, listening to the radio, and watching the "Glass Teat (yes, that came from Harlan too)" mutants have taken over society and the rest of us have become zombies. This revelation has become even more obvious to me since embarking on my new career in Law Enforcement and dealing with "mutants" on a daily basis. So, what better forum to show everyone the absurdity that exists than to share some of my more memorable exploits than on a blog for the world to see. Additionally, I can post my ramblings that no one else wants to hear, but I know many would read, considering the amount of useless junk I read each day on the Internet.
So, sit back, grab a really hot cup of tea, and have a read.