Saturday, March 29, 2008

FTO school

I completed the 2 day Field Training Officer school and am now certified. In a few weeks I'll be moving to a new training squad and will soon have my first OIT (Officer In Training). During the school I had the pleasure of sitting next to a mouth breather. You know, the kind of person that keeps a wide open mouth all the time when simple nostril air breathing would suffice.

I found it hard to concentrate on the instructor's lecture as this guy's breathing became louder and smellier. The air surrounding us became damp and and stale. At the end of each yawn, he was sure to bellow out a long and forceful blast of breath (like when you were a kid and tried to 'see' your breath on a cold morning).

Just when I became used to the smell we had our first break. Imagine my delight when my partner returned to his chair with a fresh wad of chewing tobacco in his lip. Now, the smell of rancid chew filled the air. The sounds of loud breathing were replaced by the constant spitting of tobacco juice into a paper cup.

He eventually fell asleep which allowed me to concentrate on the lesson.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Dogs and Dragons

This guy bailed out of a stolen car and started jumping backyard fences in a residential neighborhood. The K-9 sniffed him out in a tool shed. Instead of coming out as ordered, he decided to take a fighting stance and challenge the dog.

As the police dog charged, this tough guy swung a wild punch trying to hit the dog. As the punch missed the dog, the arm was now perfectly positioned in front of his body for a vicious bite. The dog clamped down and violently shook the suspect to the ground. He cried all the way to the hospital.

If you decide to fight a police dog while shirtless, be advised the 'scary' dragon tattoo will offer no protection.

In other news, I recently interviewed for the position of Field Training Officer (FTO) and was selected with 4 others. I'll be attending FTO school in a week and will the be transferred to a new squad. I'll be training rookie officers fresh out of the academy.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Now that took balls

After a night of heavy drinking, a 31 year old man returned to his gated apartment complex and looked forward to sleeping off his inebriation. As he approached the mechanical gate he realized he did not have his access key.

'No problem', he thought. 'I'll just climb over the six foot metal fence and head for my apartment.' It doesn't take an engineering degree to figure out the spear-head tips are meant to discourage people from climbing upon them. As he prepared to scale the fence, he forgot to consider (3) very important factors:

1. Alcohol consumption impairs balance and agility.
2. Baggy shorts are not ideal for fence climbing.
3. Testicles are fragile and defenseless in the 'straddle' position.

As most you have already guessed, this stunt ended very badly. He made it to the top of the fence but as he attempted to swing one leg over to the other side, he lost his balance and fell. His baggy shorts were snagged and ripped by the pointed fence tip. To his despair, the shorts were not the only thing ripped during the fall. He staggered home, changed into a pair of less bloody underwear, and went to bed.

Twelve hours later, his mother came to check on him after several phone calls to him went unanswered. She found son on the couch unable to move due to the incredible pain. The fire department was summoned and inspected the wound. Fearing post traumatic stress syndrome, I chose not to look at the injury. The firefighter described it as "His nutsack is ripped open, like a filet, and his testicles are falling out."

The guy's mother believed he was the victim of some kind of knife attack from a sexual partner. He insisted the only attacker was the iron fence. His shorts appeared to confirm his version:

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

My new ride

"When's the soccer game?", one of my squadmates asks. I have just parked my white minivan in the parking lot of the police station and am heading in for briefing. My fellow officer catches up with me and continues the light-hearted insults. "How many kids do you have -10?" "How many soccer balls can you load in that thing?"

He's a muscular and handsome guy who stands about 5 foot 6 inches tall so I answer his jabs with my own comments: "How many clowns come streaming out of your car with you during the show?", and, "How many phone books do you need to sit on to see out the windshield?"

After my shift I began to think about getting a new vehicle. The minivan has served me well but it's getting up there in miles and it's about time to upgrade. As I ponder my choices I think of all the masculine trucks and SUV's my fellow officers drive. This could be my chance to change my image of "soccer-mom cop" to "regular cop".

On my night off, I load the kids into the minivan for their final drive and head to the car dealership. I'm feeling nostalgic and take a final picture of my trusty steed:

Now I peruse the endless parking lot sea of trucks and SUV's and compare prices, options, and safety features. Finally, I have made a decision on a new vehicle. After careful consideration about my image as a police officer I have selected:
Another minivan.

I am not ashamed. I love the comfort, practicality, passenger and cargo loads, and safety of the good ol' minivan.

The next day as I parked my minivan at the police station, the same fellow officer approached with astonishment, "Another minivan?"
"You know it", I answer.
"Well, at least this one isn't white. I guess you're not a soccer mom anymore."

Sunday, March 02, 2008

Returning to Work

Well, I've had the last 13 days off which is the longest stretch of time I've been off work. My wife and new baby are doing fine so it's time to dust off the uniform and hit the streets. Tonight will be a trial run for my wife handling the little one alone. If all goes well, she'll let me return to work.

I'm anxious to see how big the criminal element swelled in my beat while I was away. If it's too rough, I have a plan to rid the area of malcontents by using a few 'leftovers' from home. Equipped with an arsenal of dirty diapers, sour breast milk, and projectile vomit, the bad guys don't stand a chance.