Serenity Now!

There's not enough duct tape in the world . . .

Some people say that blogging is therapeutic. They are probably right, but I am suffering through a dilemma. Post about the worst night I have ever had in eleven years as a police officer, or hold my tongue and not write anything I may later regret.

Ahh, who am I kidding, we all know what I'm gonna do.

To paraphrase Kevin Costner in Bull Durham, "F**k this f**king game!" As predicted, I was on the wagon last night, and it actually started out fairly well: my partner and I arrested some toad for beating up his pregnant girlfriend. Whoo hoo! Court time! After that, it pretty much went downhill. When you arrest someone in Philadelphia, the process is so wrought with wasted effort that it is a wonder cops can get anything done. The prisoner is transported to the pertinent detective division, searched, and placed in a cell. The arresting officers then proceed to the detectives to complete the mounds of paperwork. Again, this takes time. By the time we were finished, we had spent almost two hours on this job, all told from start to finish.

Usually, an arrest makes the supervisors happy. Welcome to my district, the mythical Land of Oz. The only thing that concerned our sergeant was our time at the division. Naturally, he thought we were goofing off, wasting time inside instead of patrolling. Nothing could be further from the truth, but since he hates my partner, I get some of the bile run-off. Hooray. When we get back to HQ, he signs our patrol log, and asks us when we will become available for assignments. We said as soon as we finished the paperwork. Unfortunately, we were due to pick up prisoners in a half hour, so we figured we better take a lunch, lest we miss our chance.

As we were sitting down and ordering some grub, our sergeant asks our "status." Remember, we just gave this guy an arrest, making him look great for the captain. God forbid we ask for (our entitled, by contract) lunch. My partner tells radio that we are available, and give us lunch. Soon after, we go to the prison to pick up our daily toad. The corrections officers tell us that they aren't going to let us inside until at least 7am! (We finish up at 7:30.) This is no good. I call our inside supervisor, and ask her advice on what to do. I tell her I don't mind staying, but I better see some O.T. out of it if it is deserved. She calls our sergeant, and he tells us to forget the prisoner, and day work will handle it. Keen!

Notice the time for this paragraph: At 5am, radio dispatches an alarm at the bottom of the district. We answer up, and go to the house. The resident meets us outside, and we walk through the home, checking for signs of an intruder. There are none, and after getting the resident's information, we leave. It is now about 5:20am. My partner's lunch didn't agree with him, so we stopped at a restaurant so he could, um, poo. I never told radio, because we finished the alarm job so quickly. What would five more minutes hurt, since there are no pending assignments? At 5:25am, the sergeant gets on the air and asks our "status." Un-be-friggin-lievable! We have been on the assignment for 25 minutes, and he's badgering us already??? WTF???!!! My partner, who has now had it, says:

"Radio, don't you have us out on this alarm?"

"That's correct, sir."

"Well, that's our status, ma'am."

Okay, he was a little wise, but he gave everyone the proper information. A second later, the lieutenant from the adjoining district rants on the air, "Radio, tell the wagon that that was an insufficient response!" He's kidding, right? My partner again tells radio, "Make it false, radio, we are back." Nothing like being embarrassed by a supervisor who doesn't even work in your district!!! Immediately after this exchange, our sergeant orders us to meet him on the street. Here's how we were greeted:

"What the f**k is the problem with you two?!!!"

Thanks, sarge, real professional. He then proceeds to berate and insult us, while screaming at the top of his lungs for everyone to see. Here's some samples of what this lunatic told us:

"You two are the biggest bums in the district!" (Yet we just gave him an arrest, and answered every call we were given - which is a rarity in my squad, believe me.)

"Wyatt, you are such a crybaby! Sometimes you have to work a little overtime on this job." (I wholeheartedly agree. I just wanted to get paid for it, and that doesn't always happen. When I told him that I had to make sure my four-year old gets to school on time, he again called me a "baby." Nice. And to think I invited this man and his wife in my home for my son's christening!)

"Everyone is staying until daywork comes out of roll call, and if anyone complains, I'm telling them it's your fault!" (Pretty petty, boss. Like street cops can hold people over. Yeah, the guys will buy that one.)

As terrible as this experience was, the kicker occurred as my partner was leaving for the day. After saying goodbye to the sergeant (with tongue planted firmly in cheek) the sergeant called after him: "Hey, no hard feelings, huh?"

Not at all, sergeant. Not at all. God, I hate this job.

P.S. - Sorry for the powerfully unfunny rant. I promise to post something better when my blood pressure goes down . . . assuming it does.