Correlation and other jailhouse myths.

correlation  (ˌkɒrɪˈleɪʃən)
— n
1.	a mutual or reciprocal relationship between two or more things
2.	the act or process of correlating or the state of being correlated
3.	statistics  the extent of correspondence between the ordering of two variables.  Correlation is positive or direct when two variables move in the same direction and negative or inverse when they move in opposite directions

There is generally an inverse relationship between the amount of shit you, as a prisoner, may talk and the amount of pants you are wearing while waiting in the nurse's line. This is a correlation. The two phenomena (shit talking and pantlessness) are related, though this doesn't necessarily imply causation. I will bet however that shit talking does have a causal effect upon the state of your pants. So stop talking smack and threatening nurses and you'll be allowed your clothes. 

Miranda Rights:

Everyone who's seen any cop procedural drama knows the miranda warning, or the hollywood version of it. You have the right to remain silent, etc etc. I'll tell you now that odds are you will not be read your Miranda warning if you are arrested. This is because in 90% of cases I don't give a damn what you have to say. If anyone bothered to actually understand what the warning said they'd see that it's related to interrogation, rather than just being arrested. Actually, these guys did a pretty sweet job of explaining this: http://www.cracked.com/article_18385_7-bullshit-police-myths-everyone-believes-thanks-to-movies_p2.html

Arrested for No Reason/Bullshit

This might come as a surprise to you, but depriving a man of his innate freedom isn't easy. There is a tedious amount of paperwork, and a chain through which all arrests have to go through before I'm allowed to leave jail. If you get arrested, you may notice that your arresting officer is annoyed. He might be annoyed with you, if you're a dick, but likely he's annoyed at the 1-3 hours of paperwork (unavoidable paperwork) you just forced him into. Once you're actually in jail, he has to justify his arrest to a detached review staff operating in some other building somewhere, to a jailhouse administrator, usually a sergeant who specializes in arrest policy and elements of offenses under the state penal code, and then a magistrate, all before you can even think of leaving the building. There's a joke that criminals tend to be released before the officer has even finished the paperwork. While this is exaggerated, the truth is criminals are usually processed through and are just waiting for the officer to finish the paperwork so they can leave. So it's a stretch to claim that an officer is willing to put up with this tedium for shits and giggles, or because they don't like you. 

The limits of Four Wheel Drive

Okay, we're going to get this out of the way really quick. I don't care if you have 4WD, 6WD, or freaking tank treads on your car; if your car isn't physically in contact with the ground then you're not going to be in control of the vehicle. To those of you driving Civics, Camaros, Mustangs, Corvettes, (insert other two wheel drive cars) if there's ice on the ground you don't need to be driving 50 mph. I don't care what the sign says, there's ice on the ground and visibility is absolute shit.

Maybe pattern recognition is a trait that isn't common in adults, but don't worry. I'm here to help you out. You ever notice that even though it's 30 degrees outside, the snow and ice that occupy the ground tends to melt anyway, but overpasses and bridges tend to be icy? That's called a pattern. It has to do with the ground retaining some heat and melting the ice immediately above it, and there is no ground under an overpass/bridge so that water freezes and stays that way. So maybe, I dunno, don't go roaring onto an overpass at 65 mph while changing lanes and texting. You'll deserve what happens to you at that point.

Suicide: The Ultimate Pigeon Drop

This is a phrase I heard while in CORE training, which is basically a refresher course we have to take every few years to cover over RBT and Defensive Driving and other administrative junk so the city looks like they're taking an interest in the continuing education of their officers. So don't say I'm not learning anything, because I hadn't thought of suicide in quite that way before.

A quick explanation: A pigeon drop is a common type of scam. Before the internet, though it still happens today, somebody will try to convince the target to part with their money as a confidence to look after a larger amount of money. Then the scammer will give the target an opportunity to flee or escape with what they think is a much larger sum of cash when they're really just running away from their own money, left with the scammer. At work a pigeon drop is when an officer who's either first at the scene or otherwise responsible for the scene instead turns to another (usually lower ranked) officer and tells them to process and do the report instead. It's a bad thing.

Thus, in the realm of death, suicide is taking all of that hurt and crap that you're suffering and giving it to someone else. Your spouse. Siblings. Parents. Children. All the people that depend on you now and in the future get crapped on because of your decision.

EDIT: Just to add, here are some things that you shouldn't kill yourself over.

1.) Your parents took away your cell phone. I really wish that one wasn't based in truth.
2.) Your girlfriend/boyfriend/plantfriend/mineralfriend broke up with you. It sucks, but you're just gonna make it worse. For everyone else. And you're not that much of a dick right?
3.) There is nothing to live for. If that were true you'd have already died. Your body knows this. If you don't believe me try to stop yourself from taking that next breath. That'll last about 15 seconds before your brain chokes you out.
4.) Someone took away your (last) beer. Seriously?
5.) Mayan Apocalypse 2012.
6.) Anything related to the fact that you're under 30. You haven't even made it through half of your expected life span yet. Odds are, the best stuff is ahead of you and you're trying to miss out.

If you're dead set on going through with it though, just do me a favor and stay home. No jumping off an overpass onto some poor schmuck's car while he's stuck in rush hour. That's bullshit. He never did anything to you and now he's gonna be in therapy for a long long time. No jumping three stories into an ice skating rink. Especially if it's full of children at the time. I shouldn't even need to explain this.

Things to call 911 for

There needs to be standardized list of reasons to call for emergency response, though since nobody is willing to pursue charges related to abuse of 911 (crank callers and their sort) I suppose no such list will ever be formalized.

Thankfully we have this blog, which is wholly informal and absolutely steadfast in its refusal to name names or departments.

Reason to call 911:

I have been stabbed/shot/beheaded/disembodied/otherwise mangled - That's cool, it'd be fun to see that and then compare various brands of spaghetti sauce to different body parts and their oozes.

I am in the process of being beaten - This does not apply if you are a child in severe need of discipline.

I have just been robbed - Please make sure you call immediately after being robbed. If you call during the robbery, I'm going to be skeptical that an armed robber is allowing you to make this phone call. If you wait a half hour before calling then I'm going to assume that this isn't particularly important to you and take it just as seriously. Note, I am willing to be flexible if your phone was stolen and it took a minute to find a payphone to call from. I just want to catch the guy leaving the scene, and for that I need no more than a few minutes between robbery and phone call.

There is someone in my house/business/shed/water heater - These are fun calls. It's hide and seek with AR-15s and shotguns. And I sometimes get to call out the dog. Fuzzy monsters are amazing at hide and seek.

Not a reason to call 911:

There is (insert local wildlife here) nearby - Unless it is actually chewing on you (see "otherwise mangled" above) I don't care. The local fauna is probably very exciting to the local Boy Scout Troop, but I have a job and things to do before I can go home at the end of the day.

Road Rage - I don't know that it's ever possible to actually find these calls as, by their nature, the call itself is constantly moving and cardinal directions are a mythical construct to most modern people. "We're going left on such and such street now!" means nothing because most streets (all of them where I work) are TWO WAY STREETS!! There are two lefts! Also, if someone is giving you the finger on the road, chalk it up to their freedom to express themselves and just move along with your day. I'm sure you have things to do too.

I just saw a man carrying what may or may not have been a gun - I can tell he didn't point it at you, because your brain would have gone into "Oh Shit" mode and very quickly figured out if that's a gun or a broom handle. And if he didn't shoot it, or otherwise commit any crime with it, I don't care. There are probably more guns than people in this state, and you have to get those things from your car to your house somehow. Telling me that this person may have gotten in trouble for firing pellet guns previously doesn't help me, especially since I've had to take over for pest control at my own apartment and use a pellet gun to down the pigeons around here.

I'm sure there are far more calls, but I have things to do, even now at 1:22 AM. Leave a comment with your own stupid reason for calling 911. "I found a dead body" doesn't count, unless you're narrated by Morgan Freeman and are a Stephen King novel.

The Busiest Paddy Wagon

The Paddy Wagon is a large van used for transporting a large number (in our case ten) of prisoners, usually for misdemeanor arrests such as public intoxication or outstanding warrants, due to the fact that felony suspects must be brought before a magistrate as soon as possible (and thus shouldn't wait around in a van for four hours) and that the paddy wagon operators can't actually testify to anything involving the arrest and so cannot file offense reports for other misdemeanor arrests. That run-on sentence out of the way, we can move on to the story.

I was assigned to the paddy wagon tonight, and usually that's fine as it's a simple shift with an almost guaranteed chance of going home on time. I was partnered with an officer who had only recently been transferred to my area, and since I'm still not allowed to drive, I was the navigator giving directions. I anticipated running out the the armory to replace my gun sights, going to Comms to return their stuff, and visiting the Quartermaster to return his stuff; all things I'd missed doing since I was gone for the last several months. Instead we were immediately dispatched to collect a prisoner from the Adult Probation Office down south. That's fine. Just because I anticipated a quiet start doesn't mean I don't have a job to do, and it's rare that they have anyone for us anyway so I chalked it up to bad luck. Immediately after that we were sent to collect a shoplifter from the far north corner of the channel. But before we could even get there, a woman turned herself in at the substation, so we stopped to collect her. As we're leaving the substation, a detective calls and says he has three burglars that need to go downtown. I'd like to digress here.

These three burglars were born between 1986 and 1993. They broke into a home on the same street as one of my problem halfway houses and were caught almost immediately because one of them is so incredibly stupid he doesn't know how to shut his mouth, even while hiding from the police. They're not just burglars, but they're terrible burglars as they're caught almost every time they go out, to go by their records. I only wish they broke into the crazy-man halfway house and were clubbed to death by various bits of furniture and footwear. Never underestimate an insane Korean man with a flip flop.

So having collected six people now, we decided to go to jail to turn them over, and we're notified that holdover has three more prisoners for transfer and that we can't go to jail without them. So we drive down to hold over and I go inside to collect the prisoners while my partner moves one of our male prisoners to a patrol officer's vehicle to make room for a rather heavy transfer prisoner. I go upstairs and meet a rather drunk, smelly, and horribly tempered tiny woman. The first thing she decides to do upon finding out that I'm there to take her to county jail is to try and fight.

Personally, I'm not fighting. My right leg is still smaller than my left, and it hurts every day so I'm not risking it in a knock-down, drag-out brawl. Luckily this lady is about five feet tall and about 120 pounds so I simply pick her up by the arms and pin her against the wall while the corrections officer helps me restrain her with cuffs. She made the poor decision to try and fight again at county jail, though I wasn't present (I was collecting various warrants) and she was soundly brought to the floor.

All this took about 5 and a half hours to sort out, though luckily the rest of the day was spent prepping the van for turn over to 1st watch. Not a terrible day.

First Day Back

Today was my first day back on the streets, and it's a Saturday night to boot. The doctor told me to be careful, to take it easy, to keep the compression sleeve in such a way, and to alternate so my knee doesn't overheat and start swelling and etc, etc, etc. I should have picked up on that as it's impossible to adjust the sleeve without taking off my pants. And I can't just quickly undo them in the car when nobody's looking as I have to take off my gigantic batman-belt of goodies first. So the sleeve stayed on and curled and furled and I just had to deal with it.

So I get to work and the first call of the day is a citizen concerned about the thermonuclear explosion nearby, and could we please investigate. Assuming that the dispatcher and the 911 operator were having a communication error/prank war I went out thinking this was either a head case, or a transformer did explode nearby. After jumping over a fence, after the doc told me to be careful and tender and all with my knee (it hurt), what I found was a schizo-affective woman who believed that Germany was going to invade the United States and had deployed atomic strikes across the US. Having pointed to the sky and noted the lack of mushroom clouds we left her to her imaginary war and her demands for K Rations (does the Army still even use those?).

It was the usual array of family squabbling and car thefts for a saturday and we ended the evening pushing a large SUV up a hill. Apparently the driver didn't want us scuffing up her car with our push bumpers so we had to manually push (my knee was so happy) this vehicle back up a hill into a parking lot. Why we couldn't just let the stupid thing roll down the hill and coast until she found another lot is beyond me.

Some lessons: Children are greedy evil monsters. A grown woman will refuse to allow her cancer stricken mother access to her medical caretaker for vital breathing treatments in order to collect on an inheritance. Luckily we got rid of the daughter and the mother got her treatments. She was a very nice lady. Children will physically assault the mentally ill, and frankly I don't fault them when the mentally ill is making a pass at a 15 year old. Mandated to adult supervision there. Grown men will move in with bipolar people and then get upset that they're bipolar. That one ended without our intervention as the local management was fed up and simply evicted everybody.

Fun day. I'm glad it's the weekend now.

A Polite Request

So a buddy of mine has asked, politely, that I review this video.

Well, it appears to be about someone getting choked out by some ripped fabric. And nobody seems to care really. Fat Tony goes off. So yeah. Not wild about the music either. But I'll say it was well shot. Cinematography work was quite well done so hire that guy. The rest.... eh.

Answering the Phone

I've been stuck on desk duty for a long time thanks to the knee injury from the last post. I got to have surgery and am recuperating well, thanks for asking. Back to the desk, there are some things that I tend to deal with while answering the phone. You see, most people don't know how to call me. I'm grateful for this. The ones who call saying "It's not an emergency, but I need police to stop by", that's fine. I can accept and forgive that you didn't know that I don't dispatch officers, and I will happily refer you to 911 to get an officer. It's the other ones. The ones that 911 hangs up on. That 311 just won't pick up for. The ones who call about squirrels eating acorns or whatever out in the yard. Yes, it's a squirrel. I understand that it's weird because it's staring at you, but I assure you it will run away if you do literally anything but stare back. Wave. Sneeze. Think really really hard at it. Squirrels can almost sense hostility and know how to run. Honest. While we're talking about squirrels, there are no ninja stick wielding squirrels, and they aren't levering your windows open at night. And they're certainly not doing it at the behest of invisible stealth suit wearing burglars who want to steal your intellectual property. If you can afford invisible stealth suits, you probably don't need to commit petty theft just to get by. If your wife wants to complain to me that you got pulled over "for no reason" even though you just told me 4 different reasons why you should get pulled over, I feel for you, but put your wife on the line. I'm more than happy to put her on speaker phone so my coworkers can have a nice laugh, and she can vent, and everyone feels better.

Okay, that's enough. Next update when I'm back on the street.

Long Absence and Explanation

So, I've been gone for a while. They say a picture is worth a thousand words so I'll be brief. This is why:

I won't go into what happened, other than a "client" decided that the physical relocation service I provided was not to his liking. For obvious reasons I can't go into the background regarding this particular shit stain upon the adult diaper that passes for my particular clientele, nor the consequences of his.... lack of impulse control, but needless to say he regrets his decision.

For stuff I can discuss, the leg should heal. There is a tear in the right lateral mensicus, with a possibility for another tear to form in there. The swords in the background are a gift from a good friend of mine who is currently stationed in Okinawa. I think they add a bit of class to the look of the room.

Since my injury I've been stuck on desk duty. Mostly it's been boring until I got reassigned back to my substation desk, where I get to deal with people too neurotic for 911 to deal with, and those are some jaded people. There has been a never ending waterfall of failed parenthood cascading upon my desk and one gentlemen even called to request a "surprise officer" so that he could make a man implicate himself in a crime, and then (I can't make this up) have the officer "spring out" and arrest the man for being involved in a crime. I can't wait to get out into the field again.

One of those days

At a normal job things usually start with coffee. Or checking email. Or catching up on watercooler gossip (this is a 50's office sitcom right?). My day started with "Naked B/F sprinting down [the street]". Well, either the Flash has developed some kind of superfan, or this is another case of "you done had too much PCP". So, first thing's first. We pursue the lady (from the comfort of a vehicle, no sense in getting all sweaty) until she collapses. Then the ambulance wraps her up. Whatever shall I do for entertainment now? Oh look, a known prostitute right across the street, and she's got a parole violation. Come back from that arrest. Grab some dinner? Nope, robbery in progress! Run, we can still catch the bad guys! What's that? You called your roommate to complain about being robbed but didn't even think to call 911? And it's your roommate who called in the "in progress robbery" 20+ minutes after the fact, only after he finally got you to quit bitching over the phone about it? Okay, you're an idiot, good luck getting your stuff back and call the police next time. Maybe I have time to go try to eat dinner again? Oh no, a security officer is being attacked by five juveniles! Better go help him out. Chase the kids off. Maybe now I can OFFICER ASSIST!!! OMG!!! RUN ACROSS THE ENTIRE CHANNEL AND RUN INTO THE WOODS AFTER THEM!! A schizophrenic escaped the hospital and ran off into the woods in a state of excited delirium. We catch him, haul him (literally) back to the hospital and wrestle him into what appears to be a giant fishing net with a pimp's fur collar. Okay, it's almost the end of shift. I better just take it easy and grab a drink. Drive over to the gas station and lo and behold a drunken asshole harassing the clerk and the customers. Son of a bitch.

The Officer Assist

Among officers there is a certain understanding, a code if you will. Regardless of race, gender, creed, we are brothers and we are blue. If trouble befalls one of our brothers then we shall befall that trouble. On one occasion we were setting up for a rather massive raid. 40 vehicles were brought in to raid a single apartment complex with the end goal of nabbing a violent offender. All 40 vehicles met at one location prior to initiating the raid, and just then an assist comes out. A university police officer was fighting four suspects about six blocks up the road. 40 vehicles and their officers immediately forgot about the raid. We'll get that guy later. Right now a brother is in need. We shut down the entire area through sheer saturation. There was absolutely no chance for the suspects to escape and all were caught. The officer was mildly injured but was amazed at the sheer tonnage of help that came for him. And we're not even on the same dept.

And then there's the other side. The ones who abuse, or try to abuse, this code among brothers. There's nothing criminally illegal about having an affair. A marriage, in the eyes of the state, is a civil contract. So an officer sleeping with someone else's wife isn't a criminal act, but it is an immoral one and will likely result in administrative discipline. An officer sleeping with another's wife, and then having the husband come home to catch them will be in a tricky situation. An officer who leaves all his uniform parts and weapons in another room, which the husband finds before catching his wife and the officer will likely lead to a fight or just tragedy. Now if the officer does all that, he should take his lumps, or dish them out, retrieve his equipment and take the punishment he's going to get. What he should not do is call for an assist and attract every officer within 20 miles, as well as helicopters and press, to his location because he was entirely unable to keep his dick inside of his pants, as well as deal with the consequences. That's how you lose your job. Don't do that.

Credibility Issues

There are some things I am prepared to believe. The universe is expanding at a given rate flinging the very stars themselves further apart. I can't observe it, but I trust the astrophysicists when they tell me that this is true. I believe them because I trust their ability to outperform my own ability to measure stellar light and all that. I am willing to believe that Jesus, or Gesua of Nazareth, was crucified sometime around 33AD. I can't prove it, but I am willing to accept that this happened as it is well known that ridiculous numbers of people were nailed to bits of wood in various configurations at the time. What I am not prepared to believe is that you, a man with his pants undone and a condom mounted upon his dick and a known prostitute in the passenger seat, were not about to have sex in your car. I have yet to find the fast food chicken place that requires a condom to go through the drive through. Don't bullshit me.

The Death of Pookie

There are certain cliche's you hear whenever dead people are involved. For example, we'll use a dead 20 year old high school drop out. He was trying to sell drugs when a rival dealer shot him. It didn't come as a surprise to the deceased, as he had his own loaded .45 in his hand upon death. His family will invariably say something along the lines of:

"He was turning his life around, going back to school and making something of himself."
or the more bald faced lie:
"He was a straight A student with his whole life ahead of him."

Credit for below goes to Garey McKee of Police Limit Comic Strip (hosted on policeone.com)

The truth is that in most cases the guy who got shot pretty much deserved getting shot. For the most part criminals don't spend money on ammunition going around and shooting random citizens. Granted, there are exceptions who are few and far between so naturally they get media coverage far over representing their frequency. In most of the cases where the person shot didn't deserve it, he was standing near someone who did. This accounts for drive by shooting victims most of the time. Gangbangers really need to work on their aim.

And lastly, the logical conclusion of the above comic strip, thanks again to Garey McKee:

How to get away with shooting someone

This is a step by step instructional guide on how to shoot someone and get away with it. Scot free. No consequence. Honest. 

1.) First, obviously, you need to shoot someone. Grab two of your closest friends, pile up into your personal vehicle and drive over to the targets (preferably someone who knows you and your car very well) house (preferably within several hundred yards of your home and surrounded by witnesses) and unload a few rounds. Try to make sure you get as many shell casings as you can to land inside the vehicle, and maybe let a few token ones land outside for the CSI guys to compare. 

2.) As you drive away, be sure to take several pictures with your camera phone of you and your friends holding the guns. Captions reading "Take that sucka" or similar sentiments are encouraged. 

3.) As the sounds of sirens get closer be sure to start texting all of your friends asking how the police could have possibly found out about the shooting, and asking for advice on how to hide the guns. For greater effect, attach full names, birthdays from facebook, and addresses to the contact info on your cell phone. 

4.) Ask your friends on facebook how to evade the police and hide incriminating evidence. Do not use private messaging. This will not work and your friends will think you have no balls. Only use public posts. Preferably searchable through Google. 

Following these simple steps will ensure that you will never be found by police and are free to continue your vendetta against random teenagers. 

There's a Time and a Place

Far be it from me to tell you to never question authority. Often, authority is just some guy like any other doing a job he likes just as much as you like yours. I always maintain that a man should always be able to ask why, or for clarification, especially when people who are supposed to serve the public trust are involved. However, when I come running up to your car after you've been in a wreck yelling "Are you okay? Get out of the car now! It's on fire!" perhaps you should consider holding any questions and getting out of the burning vehicle. You're welcome to ask anything you want once we're out of range of the melt-your-clothes-to-your-skin flames.

Angry Angry Dogs

Pregnancy can cause a great variety of unusual problems for the mother. In addition to cravings, and swellings, and joint pain and tenderness and all that, apparently her IQ can drop to dangerous levels. It was a dark and frosty night, with temperatures plunging to the low 90s (30s for our non American friends). Our little lady is chilling at home with her dachshund when she makes the mistake of pissing the little guy off and, being a dog, he bites her upon the foot. Immediately the city screams out and fire and police come rushing to the scene. By which I mean everyone looking quizzically at their call sheets and wondered who was playing the joke. This lady called on her own dog? Does that make this family violence? Will supplement reports be required? But no, the young lady was worried that somehow the dog bite would influence the baby. I see, perhaps the dog crawled into your uterus to bite you? Like some kind of horrible fetishistic remake of the end of the Shawshank Redemption? Did you hear the voice of Morgan Freeman anywhere? Lastly, that kicking you feel is the baby trying to slap the stupid out of you, because he knows he's gonna need you for everything and won't make it if you're the intellectual equivalent of cabbage.

I Ams What I Ams

There are some things I just won't believe, like the status of Wyoming's statehood, or the existence of intelligent life in Oklahoma. So when a girl who's obviously no older than 26 tells me that she's a 40 year old who'd undergone some massive plastic surgery for her face, and ran 80 lbs of fat worth (if there some kind of fat to miles conversion please email it to me) off and somehow has no scars or stretchmarks anywhere I'm gonna be somewhat incredulous. I've been around long enough to know that 99% of everything I hear is a lie and 80% of everything I see is a lie and 100% of everything in Australia wants to kill you or can. Shockingly, giving me ID didn't settle things because the photograph and the person standing there are obviously two different things. Surgery can fix many things, and alter a great many more. What it's not going to change is your ears, if what you had was a chin tuck. I have no idea what a forehead lift is, but I doubt the surgeon is going to dent your teeth in getting in done without letting you know. Further, what kind of quack plastic surgeon would "fix" your face but mess up your teeth and then not tell you about it? That goes beyond malpractice to saturday morning cartoon villain levels. I was unaware the reincarnated ghost of Josef Mengele was a plastic surgeon in "Cali".

On the other side, if you want to give a more believable alternate identity, at least someone who looks like you (like a brother), you should probably check out why they suddenly fled the US before just dropping their name as your own, lest you get caught up in a murder investigation trying to dodge your probation violation. That's not out of the frying pan into the fire. That's frying pan to putting your nuts in a C clamp and slapping piranha with it.

Shortest Post Ever

Don't call 911 because someone took "your" parking spot at the mall. There are far more important things happening than forcing emergency services to deal with your incredibly petty bullshit.

Lessons When Allowing People into Your Car

Chris Rock actually did this already, and he did in a far better, catchier, and probably more thorough manner than I did. You can see his version here:

Just skip ahead to 2:20 to see what I'm talking about.

"No man" said Donne, "Is an island." He was wrong, but not for reasons relevant here. We all have friends. We all try to go out and have some fun with friends. Our friends have friends. And at some point we'll find that four or five friends can fit in the same car to go out. While I'm sure you love your friend, and you trust them completely, and you'd never do anything to throw them under the bus, so to speak, try to figure out who his friends are. See what they're carrying with them. Find out a bit about their background. If you're an insurance adjuster at heart, make a form:
Do you have guns? Knives? Drugs? Warrants? Are your stickers out of date? Is there anything about YOU that's going to land ME in jail tonight? If the answer is yes to any of these questions, then fuck that guy. He doesn't need to be in your car. Or if he's giving the ride, call a cab. It's just not worth it to take that kind of risk. If you're carrying drugs, plan on going to jail. Odds are you won't, as people who get away with carrying get good at blending in, but try to plan for the worst anyway. For instance, if you decide to carry your drugs to a bar and decide that no-pants is the way to go to the bar, bring some pants just in case. It's not in any way my fault that you decided to leave the house without pants today. Nor is it my fault that you get to ride downtown without any pants.

Lastly, we have enough children with severe problems in America. Too many kids in foster care. Too many kids in abusive homes. Too many kids with debilitating illnesses and birth defects that will only contribute to an environment of neglect and/or abuse assuming they survive for very long. Fetal Alcohol Syndrome is a bitch. So please, quit smoking drugs, getting wasted, and getting high while you're pregnant. That's just idiotic.

No Arms, No Legs, No Problem

A gentleman with no arms below the elbows and two legs that don't work got drunk and was found in the middle of the street passed out in his electric wheelchair. He had no cash in the bag strapped to the side, a touchscreen iPhone, credit cards, and a wallet with ID inside. The questions this proposition raises are:

1.) How did he get drunk?
2.) How does he lift a cup?
3.) How did he pay for the drinks to get drunk?
4.) If he used a credit card, how did he sign it?
5.) Why does he have a touchscreen phone if he has no fingers?
6.) How does he call people?
7.) How does he get the phone out of the bag without hands?

These questions aside, there is also the matter of the guy driving drunk in a public street on a motorized wheelchair. While I don't pretend to think that he might lose control and hit someone, he will probably get himself run over. So, we get him off the street and switch off his chair while we try to figure out who he is. This causes him to wake up, turn on his chair, and try to drive away, running over my boot in the process. As that just won't do, I turn off the chair again and ask him to wait and if there's anyone who can pick him up.

Being drunk is generally accepted as an impediment to rational thought so perhaps it forgivable for this gentleman to become irate. What wasn't acceptable or forgivable was his immediate and frequent attempts to strike me with his stumps. My initial concern that he was having some sort of fit was put to rest when he, rather eloquently, informed me of all the different ways he was going to beat my ass. While I stood behind him. And he was unable to turn around. This was a fight even Scott Blevins could win, though he'd still be a douche for trying. Instead of taking advantage of the obvious I simply let the man tire himself out trying to bludgeon me to death without turning around.

Further questions that came to mind:

1.) If a man has no wrists, how do you handcuff them?
2.) If the person attacking you is at higher risk for hurting their own self instead of you, is it still assault?
3.) Would it be inappropriate to somehow tie or duct tape this man's arms to his torso?

Regardless, it's just too much hassle to haul a 300 lb wheelchair just because someone's too drunk to think straight so a friend came by and got his friend.

It ended okay though, as the drunk man apologized and explained "It's nothing personal man. I just really hate you."

Great.

Stealth Mode Error

If, someday, you find yourself in the position of being wanted for some felony that you may or may not have committed and you wish to avoid capture by the police your best strategy is to go home, or go to your girlfriend/baby momma/mother's house, and stay there. Going out in public, where the police are, is not conducive to your staying under the radar. However, if you suddenly develop a craving for cheap tacos that, somehow, overrides your desire to avoid capture by police your best strategy is to be inconspicuous. Even in the largest police departments, patrol officers are regularly outnumbered by citizens anywhere from 100s:1 to 1000s:1. You actually have a pretty decent chance to head out, grab food, and make it home all without even seeing police, let alone having an encounter with one. So, if you're getting your cheap tacos in a relatively crowded cheap taco place, and you see a squad car pull up, the last thing you want to do is draw any sort of attention to yourself. You're like the Predator (tm I'm sure) blending in with the surrounding branches and stuff. Immediately flipping out and running away screaming is like water and/or Arnold Schwarzenegger to your Predator cloak. Suddenly you have the attention of the staff, the officer (who probably just wanted a cheap taco and five minutes of peace with which to eat it) and every officer within a few blocks who just heard that first guy say "Some chump just tore out of here when he saw me. He just might be wanted."

So, to recap:

Don't commit felonies.
If you do, and you become wanted, stay home.
If you can't, be inconspicuous or get someone else to get you tacos.
If you are some kind of friendless hermit who's also wanted, act like everyone else in the taco place.
If you can't follow these simple steps, just turn your self in and save everyone else the drama.

Predator is probably copyrighted by the copyright owner. Arnold is just Arnold. 

Our Lady of Fast Food Lubricant

This is a rather unfortunate story. A couple driving along the border between a city and its suburb get into an argument over something the young lady saw on the young man's cellular phone.

On a side note, it's somewhat staggering how many relationships die as a result of Facebook and text messages. Granted, if your significant other is spying on your wall and sneaking your cell phone to check its messages, your relationship was probably in trouble anyway. 

Back to the story. This couple got into an argument while driving home and the lady became so upset that she began beating her husband while he was driving. This turned out exactly as you expect, though to a less dramatic degree, and the couple was pulled over by suburban police for driving erratically. When the police realized that the driver wasn't drunk and why he was driving like he was they called for the urban police department for two reasons: 

1.) Police are lazy

2.) Domestic violence cases are a pain in the ass and nobody wants to deal with that. 

So the urban po po show up. They observe two suburb police cars in the parking lot of a fried chicken establishment. The vehicle they pulled over was a Volkswagen Beetle. The new version with the cramped "we're in a rocket capsule going to the moon" cabin. The young man driving this vehicle stood 6'5" and weighed in at a healthy 370 lbs. Naturally the first question was "How did you fit in there?". And just as naturally this was answered with a healthy "Fuck you.". He relates his story and the urban police move on to the lady. This young lady stands about 5'10" and a good 320 lbs. And again, the first question was "How on Earth did you both fit in there? And get your arms up to hit him?" This was met with the exact response you'd expect. "Fuck you.". She relates her story, which mirrors the one above, and is placed under arrest for domestic abuse. 

At this point we need to examine a bit of history. The most commonly envisioned police cruiser is a family sized Ford Crown Victoria, first put into use by various police departments somewhere around 1950. Other common vehicles are Intrepids (which look to me like little flying saucers), Chevy Impalas, and perhaps currently the most widely in use, the Dodge Charger. All of these vehicles are four door sedans, but they are not all built to the same technical specifications. Anyone who's seen a Charger driving down the highway will notice that it's quite a bit larger than an Impala or Intrepid. I can't say I've seen one drive next to a Crown Vic, though I'd bet the Ford would give a good run in the cabin space dept. 

The vehicle that was going to be transporting our young lady was going to be a 2005 Chevy Impala. Without a cage this probably wouldn't be terribly hard if you shoved the passenger seat all the way forward. With a cage there is about 2 feet of clearance to get into the car. The prisoner first tried to enter the car the traditional way, one leg at a time just like pants. This did not work. Then she tried backing in. I know all of you just had that beep you hear when trucks back up playing in your heads and you should know you're horrible people. But that's basically what it was like. It also didn't work. Eventually it was decided that the best way to try and force this fit was to have her enter head first, on her side, and worm in like.... well... a worm. It was the best fit, but she still got stuck. 

In every job there is always that guy who's a complete asshole. Whether he's the guy who jacks your lunch from the break room fridge, or the guy who lets the coffee pot boil tar dregs instead of making a fresh pot when he takes the last cup, it's unavoidable that one day you will work with this person. I suspect that there's some kind of hiring quota every HR department must fill. Or perhaps it's the offices themselves that are haunted by the spirit of soul sucking asshole and some poor chump must be the vessel through which it is channeled. Either way, this guy was there and had some helpful advice as to how to make this prisoner fit in a car. And it wasn't to call for a larger car. Officer Ass runs into the fried chicken establishment (Yay Chekhov's Gun) and returns with whatever cheap fast food industrial equivalent of Crisco they have and proceeds to.... lubricate is the right word.... the inside of the patrol vehicle. Though incredibly pissed off, the prisoner fits, with the assistance of two people pushing and one pulling from either side of the vehicle. 

You should know that cages typically have some kind of grill through which officers can speak with prisoners in the back seat. Most of the cage is steel and plexiglass, but the grill can be iron, plastic, whatever so long as air and sound passes through it. In this case I will only say that trying to drive while fat, squeezed through the grill like Satan's Jello or Play Doh, jiggles in the corner of your eye every time you hit a small bump. 

If you ever spray down a cooking pan with Crisco or Pam or whatever and let it sit you discover that it loses some of it's slippery properties, even on Teflon. It's a minimum 20 minute drive to jail. After trying to explain to an incredulous jail staff that their help is needed to unwedge the prisoner from a vehicle it took a whopping 6 people to get her out. 

Crisco, Teflon, Pam and other proper nouns are owned by their respective owners. 

The Tough Guy

Domestic Violence is a problem, or rather has been a problem, affecting a tremendous number of people within our nation ever since someone realized two people can inhabit one room. Not to slight other nations, or insinuate that no such problem exists abroad, but I have no numbers to back up any opinion I might form about domestic abuse overseas. I do know that here in the US a disproportionate number of arrestees awaiting arraignment are in jail for family violence assault. I also know that the vast majority of these arrests will never make it to court as the victim will decline to pursue charges. However, there is one story I'd like to share as a lesson on how not to build "cred" in prison. Everyone gets hauled into jail with hands behind their backs and metal bracelets on. A select few are rolled in strapped to a dentist chair on wheels, possibly with a mesh "spit bag" over their heads for being a bit... enthusiastic.

Our gentleman was brought in walking, with his hands behind his back and a fresh golf ball on his forehead. Despite what TV and movies will tell you, it is wholly unnecessary and extremely unwise to start any fights, or stab anyone, or whatever else you see on Oz, in order to demonstrate that you're "nobody's bitch". But with the egg on his head, our AP should have been able to convey that he's so bad he had to be knocked out to get dragged in.

In actuality, he was under arrest for assaulting his wife. Specifically, he grabbed her arms and pinned them to her body, thus preventing her from fighting back. Then, with both appendages thus occupied and utterly unaware of the very concept of the term "kick" tries to headbutt her into submission. The human skull, as we all know, is constructed of some pretty thick bone and serves to protect our brains from impact and trauma.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Skull

The human face, while also pretty hard in some places (try punching someone in the mouth and enjoy the stitches) contains considerably more holes, soft points, and soft organs than the top of your head. So, as our arrestee smashed his face into the top of his wife's head over and over he did cause her pain. He also knocked himself out. She walked away with a headache and a slam dunk divorce case while he was checked for a concussion and taken to jail where he either had to explain to a judge that he beat his wife so viciously that he knocked himself out, or that he beat her so ineptly that he suffered the most damage. Best case scenario, he goes to the mental hospital for evaluation due to self harm.

How Not to Engage the Mentally Ill.

We begin with some basic word or phrase association. If I asked you to describe something like an Air Force base to me what would come to mind? Now if I asked you to describe a one bedroom apartment to me what would come to mind. Specifically, contrast the size (or acreage) of your typical military base and 400 square foot apartment. With all this in mind, we begin.

A charming lady calls for assistance as there is an American Air Force base in her living room, and it is frightening her cat. Arriving at the location I was unable to find any base, airplanes, or personnel in her living room (which wasn't surprising) nor was I able to locate her cat (which was surprising). While I'm not one to mock or make light of mental illness, there truly isn't anything I can do except try to convince her that there is no such base and the only noises were coming from her television (which she assured me was turned up to drown out the noise of the base). Understandably, she takes offense to my remarks and lectures me about advances in stealth technology which allows the Air Force to undertake such tasks as installing bases in random people's apartments.

With no resolution in sight we suggest that perhaps we can escort our client to a hospital for mental evaluation. She replies by demanding a supervisor. Our supervisor arrives shortly, and having performed at this job for a great deal longer than myself, goes the opposite route and buys wholly into the madness, so to speak. He is able to, in short order, convince our client that he is a high ranking officer and has such power that he will have the entire base dismantled, equipment moved, and personnel reassigned forthwith. He laments, however, that despite his lofty connections and ranking the sheer logistics of moving hundred of people and thousands of tons of equipment and infrastructure will take several days. Three, specifically.

At this news our client, who has reliably called about this problem twice a day for the past week, jumps up and down and even hugs the supervisor. She has not called since. I have been told since this time that this was a dangerous or stupid thing to do, as mental illness isn't a game to the sufferer. I am reminded of one of Murphy's Laws of Combat. "If it's stupid but it works, it's not stupid."