A Broken Family

Posted by: Blue

Last week, our last call of the night had an officer on our shift deploy the new Taser for the first time. He hit the accused with both cartridges, after the first blast wasn't enough to convince him to get off of his ex-girlfriend, whom he was straddling and pummelling to a bloody pulp. 

We arrived on scene a few minutes later. I learned that the two shared children had been trying to pry daddy off of mommy. The four year old was seemingly OK. But the two year old had blood covering his face, from one of his father's back-strokes taken to his nose as he rained blows down on the child's mother while the toddler tried to wedge himself between the two. 

I asked the mother for a cloth. She was already more concerned about the whereabouts of her cell phone than the wellbeing of her bleeding baby. I cleaned the boy, changed his day-old diaper and then put clothes on him that I found in a pile on the couch. He had been shivering each time the door opened. 

By the time we were finishing the video statement with the victim, she was expressing regret that her baby daddy was going to be locked-up. She refused the hospital for her injuries, instead deciding to head home and not pick up her children from her sister-in-law's until the next morning, so she could get cosy with the guy she had been beaten for texting to that night. 

Dad won't be convicted, and will almost certainly be out on bail long before trial. She wasn't going to show-up to testify for his upcoming case from the last time he beat her senseless. This time won't be any different. 

Cold Nights

It had never occurred to me, when I was a young bride, that there might come a day when Blue and I would spend a large amount of evenings apart. When we would text each other our good nights and sweet nothings instead of whispering them, because of distance and commitments and work and overtime. I figured once-in-awhile we'd be out with friends or have to work late, but not once did I think it would be normal for me to go about my night alone. 

We had plans to be lazy this evening. We were both having shit days and we wanted to cuddle-up and forget about the rest of the world. We wanted to forget about the people bringing us down, the stress of parenting, the city and its problems, the icy cold right outside our door. We were going to sit and enjoy each others company, joking and laughing and most-likely drooling while watching Anthony Bourdain eat some crazy street food in some far off place we'll never visit. 

Instead the city needed more time from him. And what can he say? He's a hard worker. I love that about him. I also hate that about him. 

So I got the text and my night was altered. I'm used to it by now. I'm used to getting the kids fed and bathed and off to bed by myself. Sometimes it goes well. I put on music and let them dance around the house like crazy monkeys so that when they're older they hopefully remember those times and forget how tired mommy always was. 

When the house is finally quiet and resting I take a big deep breath. I grab my glass of wine and run myself a bubble bath and go to bed early. Cold winter nights are usually the hardest. It's so dark and our bedroom is freezing. I tend to feel more alone than in the summer. 

One thing is for sure, I'm thankful for wine and bathtubs and heavy duvets and flannel pj's. 

Fisher-Price Police

Posted by: Blue

Last week, JT and I kicked loose a male we were spot-checking to respond to a baby abandoned and locked in a car.

When we pulled up and peered through the tinted window, we saw a child's plastic baby doll, sitting right where the child had dropped it, beside the car seat.

"What exactly did you see?" I asked.

"Some lady parked and got her stroller out of the trunk. Then she rummaged around in the backseat and left, pushing the stroller." Replied the concerned, furrowed-browed complainant.  "Are you going to have to break the window?"

"I don't think that will be necessary today, fortunately." I replied, leaning my head to speak into my shoulder mic. "Delta two-oh-three, this is a doll that's been trapped in the car. Unconscious, not breathing. No ambulance required."

We got back into the cruiser. There was a message from the dispatcher asking if she should send a Fisher-Price ambulance just to be sure.

I told her if she could get the Little People fire dispatch to answer their phone, it wouldn't hurt.

The Burden

Posted by: Blue

Yesterday, there were two small children found dead in a bathtub.

My shift mate was doing a favour for a friend and working when she should have been off.

She was first on scene.

Tomorrow, she is going to see the service counsellor.

I don't know entirely how she is handling it, but she seemed in decent spirits while I was texting with her last night.

I started crying at dinner tonight while looking at my littlest boy and thinking of those two in that tub.

No one should ever need to experience that.

Growing Older

Blue turned 30 yesterday.

This morning I was sitting in bed, the was sun streaming in and the window was slightly cracked. I was listening to the birds while I sipped at my coffee. Little Blue was crawling around on the floor beside me chatting to his rubber ducky. The Boy and Waffle were downstairs watching cartoons about bugs. Blue had just fallen into bed straight off of night-shift. His breathing was already rhythmic and heavy.

I smiled to myself. Little Blue thought I was smiling at him so he gave me a big gummy grin and then went back to slobbering on the ducks head.

My days are busy and tiring, as are Blue's, but they're good. We're growing older but I don't mind so much when I look around and feel a peaceful contentment.

Foot Chase the Sequel

Posted by: Blue

Today we responded to a Domestic where the complainant's ex-boyfriend was running away with their shared child.

We were close by and volunteered, pre-empting off of our held call.  We spotted the suspect almost right away, running across the street carrying a small, scared-looking 3 year old boy.

We shouted at him to put the child down, which he did, but then he took off running right away again.  The mother swooped in and grabbed her child.

It was like a circus watching us chase the guy in circles around the block.

We lost sight of him after one corner.  A passer-by shouted "Pine tree! Pine tree!"

A single pine was in a lawn about a quarter of the way up the block.  I passed by once but didn't see anything.  I doubled back and then I spotted him; peering out from beneath the lowest boughs.

"Police! Stop! Show me your hands! If you run again I'm going to Taser you!"

He jumped up to run.  I hit him with a textbook spread of the probes in the centre of his lower back, dropping him in his tracks.  I didn't give him the full 5 second ride.  He was locked-up and shouting "OK! OK! OK!".  I switched it off after 2 or 3 seconds and he was ready to comply.

I found out later that it was the third time he had been Tasered.  He had only been out of jail for a couple of weeks and was on two Probation Orders for separate Assaults on the same woman.

I scraped up my right knee bailing on a corner with loose gravel again and ripped my pants.  The Sergeant granted me a no-charge slip.

Child Welfare

Posted by: Blue

Last night we picked up 2 "missing" persons A.K.A. runaways.

The first was a chronic child (10 y/o) runaway.  He leaves his foster shelter every few days and walks to his birth mom's house, often in bare feet and not dressed for the weather.

Due to the chronic nature of his running and the fact that his "caregivers" keep allowing this small boy to be put in danger by allowing him to walk right out the door (this past time, he reports that the worker said "go ahead! run off!"), he was brought back to the central after-hours shellter.  We told the worker that alternative locations would be required to be found.  Then he had this following conversation with the boy:

Worker: "So we're going to bring you back to that house OK?  There's no other place for you to be."

Boy: "OK."

Worker: "Are you going to stay there?"

Boy: "I'm going to go to sleep tonight and then run away again tomorrow."

Worker: "Well you shouldn't do that."

Boy: "I will!  I want to see my mom!"

Worker: "Well I think we should have a talk about that."

Boy: "I'm going to keep running away.  You can't put your hands on me to stop me."

Worker: "I'd like it if you just promised to stay so I don't have to."

Boy: "I'm going to run away whenever I want."

Me: "And this is why he needs a different placement where they are not afraid to take care of him properly and prevent him from running."

Worker: "I'll keep him here for a few hours until he's ready for bed and then bring him back there."

Me: "But he is just going to run again."

Worker: "I think he understands he can't be doing that."

Me: "Are you kidding me?  It's abundantly clear that he does NOT understand that nor does he care to try.  This boy needs to be somewhere safe and it is your job to put him there."

Worker: "There is nowhere for him to go other than that house."

Me: "Alright.  I have no authority to do any differently.  My report is going to reflect your neglect and the neglect of the staff at that house to care for this child."

Worker: "Fair enough."

Me: "Maybe for you.  Not for him."

Different Days

It's quite the challenge, I find, to make well put-together delicious meals with a child in Kindergarten and a baby in the house. For half the day I have one ear and one eye constantly on Waffle until she's shipped off to school and the for the whole day I have the other ear and other eye on Little Blue. If I can manage to stuff something in my face for breakfast and lunch other than coffee and more coffee then we've had a successful day.

So you can imagine how disappointed I get when I go to the effort to make a nice roast or chicken only to have Blue working OT.

Last Monday I was busy preparing dinner when I got a text from Blue saying he wouldn't be home for awhile. Sigh. While I was chopping potatoes and carrots and listening to some relaxing music, Blue was across the city waiting for the Medical Examiner. An elderly gentleman had passed away in the shower while cleaning-up after bowel movement.

I was struck by how polar opposite our days have become.

Although, to be fair, I do deal with my fair share of baby poop.

The Gambler

Posted by: Blue

Three nights ago, we took a drunk out of a bar.  She had lost her whole welfare cheque on the VLT's and was asking other patrons for change.

On the way to her house, we asked her how much she had lost.

"$700."

"I'm on all week on evenings and next week I'm on nights.  I don't want to see you in any of the bars.  Your kids deserve better."

She broke down crying.  "Everything I do is for my kids."

I looked at her in the rear-view mirror.  She looked back at me then looked away.  She knew I didn't believe that.  Neither did she.

Complaints

Posted by: Blue

Today, my Sergeant sent me a message in the car;  "There's an envelope for you in the shift bunk".

It is a formal complaint which has been lodged with the police "watchdog" agency over the conduct of myself and a couple other officers on my shift.

The complainant was arrested for driving impaired and had to be handcuffed and shackled and at times held down to keep her from smashing her head on the cement floor of the cell.

Her children were put into temporary foster care while she was in jail awaiting bail approval.

I try not to take it personally, but every time I think of her, I think of the state that I found those children in; sleeping in a room full of dog shit all over the floor, nothing but rotten food in the fridge and empty cereal boxes on the shelves, dirty, un-bathed and no proper winter clothing to be found.

Her 7 year old girl was in the vehicle with her as she sped drunk and high through residential areas.  The poor sweetheart wasn't buckled in and kept rattling around in the trunk area of the van along with all of the empty liquor containers.  My Sergeant and I gave her chips and soda while she played games on my iPhone and her mother screamed away in the cell on the floor above us.

I hope she goes to jail for a long time.

At the same time, I hope she doesn't, so her kids never have to enter the foster system permanently.  It's worse than all of that because they will likely never have each other again and each other is their only salvation from their mother.

Some people must be stopped from having children.  But personal "rights" take priority, even if they infringe on other good and innocent people's rights and freedoms.

Holidays

Posted by: Blue

I have extended my holidays for another week and a half.  I have been enjoying my time with the family and our new boy.  My days have been spent washing dishes, washing clothes, and washing my daughter's vomit off of the floor... but I am loving it.  

When I'm not doing any of the above, I have been geeking out on the couch, perusing knives, flash-lights and all things paracord (a new find for me).  To sample my latest hobby, take a look here, or click on the link for Stormdrane's Blog on the right hand side of the page.

Tomorrow my relaxation is cut down and I will be double-dipping by working on 4 kitchens during my time off.  Gotta pay for Christmas.

A Happy Thanksgiving to all of you American readers, by the way.  I hope you all had a good time with friends and family (even if you aren't celebrating the real Thanksgiving which actually comes in October).

The Waiting Game

Posted by: Blue

I'm off until December 2 in anticipation of our new baby.

The little bugger has held on perfectly until I was off duty.  Now for the waiting game.

The Halloween Special

Posted by: Blue

It was a dark and stormy night.  The rain hadn't come yet, but the clouds had blackened out the stars and moonlight.  Lightning streaked sporadically around the sky, creating eerie strobes of illumination over the darkened stables.

We were there on a distress alarm.  The huge grounds of the horse racing track on the West end of the city were shadowy and lonely at 2:00 a.m.  The race track ran a small daycare centre out of one of their outbuildings, and the alarm company had reported multiple alarms coming from various zones.

We approached the security gates and were given a laminated hand-drawn map of the grounds.  They covered the space of approximately 4 football fields and were full of stables which housed the Thoroughbred horses.  The long, narrow, squat buildings stretched out in a grid pattern.  We had to navigate through them on pot-holed dirt roads.  The only light came from our headlights and take-downs, but those didn't pierce far into the night and seemed to bounce off of all of the right-angles of the structures and served to diminish visibility rather than improve it.

As we navigated the minefield of watering troughs and hay bales, exercise loops and horse-shit, we crept closer and closer to the target building.  It was a converted stable.  The roof was low-slung and it was entirely sheathed in sheet metal.  The windows had been cut-out as an afterthought and looked out-of-place and ramshackle.

The yard was fenced and the scattered plastic toys seemed oddly foreign in the huge acreage dedicated to horses.  They cast long shadows in the beam of our headlights.  The wind slowly moved the chain swings and the rusty bolts squeaked with each sway.

There was a faint glow of light exuding from one of the windows.  The rest of the building was dark.  We searched the perimeter, first observing whether windows were open or broken, tripping a few times in the process over Tonka trucks or discarded dolls.  Then we began checking the doors methodically for security.

As we worked in tandem around the building, we found a single vehicle: a minivan.  The hood was cold.  It had been there a while.  But then again, the call was about 45 minutes old.  JT turned to me and said "I've got the heebie jeebies about this place dude.  All the friggin kids toys and creaky swing sets are freaking me out a little.  Wouldn't it freak you out if shit went down out here?  It looks like some kinda evil child labour camp or something."

I laughed a little, but really it was to hide the fact that the whole scenario had me right scared.  Something was off.  I couldn't put a finger on it though.  I definitely couldn't picture children enjoying themselves in the yard on a bright summer's day at that point.

We had found a window which had been cracked open, but it appeared that it was only for ventilation purposes.  As we rounded the building the second time and checked the last three doors, I began to relax a little, realizing that the alarm had probably been a false, set off by the weather.

Last door, then we would clear and head back to the station.

I grabbed the knob and rattled it.  It turned.  It popped open.  It creaked as it swung, revealing a blood red glow coming from the exit sign above it.

My glance snapped over to JT.  He was surprised and wide eyed.  His hands went for the Taser holster.  I went for my Glock.

"POLICE!  SHOW YOURSELF! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"

I stepped in first, slowly cutting corners.  The door was in the centre of the building and the hallway it entered ran in both directions.  I slowly went left, JT went right.  We began the building search, flashlights in hand, methodically clearing each room as we went, calling out our presence to whoever might be inside.  I had my light in my left hand, supporting my right hand with the back of my left hand, pistol at high-ready.

As I got closer and closer to the end of the building, I had gone through two long rooms with a couple of offices in-between.  Neither JT nor I had found the lights yet.  I opened the last door with my flashlight hand. Just then, my light cut-out.  The room went black.  I shook it.  It flickered on momentarily and then extinguished again.

The audible alarm started up with a shrill, piercing siren.

Suddenly, a shout and a crash came from JT's end of the building.  I called out to him without turning around, in case it was an ambush and I had someone waiting for me on my end too.

"JT, YOU OK!?"

Silence first.  Then I hollered the same thing again.  This time a muffled yell.

"JT you sonofabitch, if you're just screwing with me I'm gonna shoot you.  Are you alright?"

I smacked my light a few more times and searched by feel for a light switch nearby.  It seriously crossed my mind for a split second to fire a few rounds to light the room with the muzzle-flash.  I thought better of it immediately though.

"Ya.  I'm fine.  Just tripped on a doll carriage.  Stupid toys!"

"Geez man.  Don't do that to me!"

I found a switch.  The room lit up.  My nerves were frayed and I was on high adrenaline.  I breathed deep and focused.  I crept around the corners and cleared the last room.  As I holstered my firearm and turned, I found myself face-to-face with the single ugliest face I have ever seen.  My heart skipped a beat and I froze in terror.

JT had snuck-up behind me and was pulling on his ears and puffing-out his cheeks like a monkey.  "BOO" he yelled.

I almost asped his ass.

"C'mon.  It's clear.  Someone just forgot to lock-up."

We waited for the key-holder and then cleared once they had re-set the alarm.

It remains the only time so far in this job that I have been elevated past adrenaline-flowing to fear-pumping.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

...thanks?

I took the kids to a birthday party yesterday afternoon.

I always get a bit nervous meeting new people as I can be quite shy at first, but it's a lot easier when you're chatting with someone who's kids are in the same class at school as there is at least some common ground; teachers, activities, friends, kids are the same age and probably into the same things. While Waffle and The Boy were glow bowling I struck-up a conversation with some of the other mom's. It went well, but I find that pregnancy always brings out the most bizarre comments from people. They say things to your face that, normally, wouldn't be the least bit appropriate to mutter even under your breath as you walk away. Comments like "You're huge!" or "How many are in there?" or "Wow, you're really waddling now!" or "You're still here!?" Granted, there are the good comments from people as well, but it's always the slightly off-colour ones that stick.

Other Mom: So when are you due?

CB: Oh, in a few weeks.

Other Mom: Ya, you look it.

Awkward pause

(What do I say to that!? Thanks? "Gee, thanks for pointing out that I'm waddling like a preggo-potamus and my clothes are having a hard time stretching enough to cover my very pregnant belly! So kind of you.")

CB: Haha, well, I'm definitely feeling it alright!

Aaaaaand, change subject.

Waffle's Information

Waffle started Kindergarten this year. She catches the bus at noon and has to be accompanied by a parent. She's picked-up, by a parent, at the corner when school is finished and gets off the bus with 7 or 8 other kids.  It's safe because either Blue or I are always there for her and when she leaves us she is with the bus driver and other children.

On the first day of school all of the Kindergarten kids were given big buttons to wear on their backpacks. The button is bright yellow and very noticeable. On the button is all of Waffle's important information; her name, where she catches the bus, her bus # and the name of her school.

Blue has been thinking about speaking to the principle about this. He sees this as a serious risk, freely giving out our daughters name and information to anyone who walks past her. We teach her not to talk to strangers, but the truth is, Waffle would run up to a creepy looking man in a dark van and ask him to push her on the swings before thinking twice. She's just that kind of kid. It makes it harder when that individual might know her name and street and school from the button on her backpack. The button has fallen off a number of times so I've just stopped putting it back on and will continue to leave it off until told otherwise.

I can see why the school asks the kids to wear the buttons and since she's always with a parent I do think that everything will be fine. I don't live in fear of my kid being snatched. But every year there are 30+ little kids being given these buttons with their information on it.

What are your thoughts on this? As a police officer, or the wife of one, where do you stand on having a child's information on display for the world to see?

Parentless Children

Posted by: Blue

In our province, there is one service which takes care of children.  It governs all of the smaller off-shoots and the variety of levels of care which are needed for the variety of concerns.  CFS (Child and Family Services) is the organization, and it is mandated to care for children whether in temporary care, emergency care, foster care, or as long-term wards of the state.

In a city of just under three quarters of a million people, there is one locked facility of an emergency nature where problem girls can go if they have not broken the law or are not intoxicated, but have become a danger to themselves due to behavioural issues (running away from care etc.)  It is frequently full.  Police are not given power to determine to place the run-aways in this home.  I don't know exactly how many beds are available for girls there, but they number in the low double digits, possibly even single digits.

Runaway girls are at exceptionally high risk for exploitation.  They are also far, far more frequent to run away than boys.  Girls as young as 10 frequently leave their CFS mandated homes to prostitute themselves for money, crack, meth, booze or other drugs.  It is not surprising that suicide risks often accompany young girls in these situations.

The CFS workers do nothing to stop the girls from leaving.  Indeed, it is in their policies and procedures that they may not physically stop a child from leaving a house, whether they are threatening suicide with a razor blade in their hand or just going down the street for an ice cream at the corner store (though this policy is contrary to both the Criminal Code of Canada, which grants the use of reasonable force by a legal caregiver or guardian to enforce rules and discipline and to ensure the child's safety).  Ironically, the policy could also result in criminal charges, as Failing to Provide the Necessities of Life to a Minor.

Their procedure instead: call the police.  That way, the responsibility is entirely off their shoulders.

Now a child threatening suicide is a reasonably simple procedure for the police (when they are in immediate danger of following through).  We form the opinion that they are a danger to themselves and have them undergo mandatory psychological examination.  The doctor has a brief meeting with them (around 5-10 minutes in the emergency room) and then almost always releases her.  Very, very, very few are admitted to hospital psych wards.  I have repeatedly had teenage girls in the hospital waiting rooms with cuts to their wrists or rope burns on their throats who have been stitched or bandaged up and released without being admitted.

The wait before seeing the doctor is frequently between 4 and 10 hours.  All while in the custody of the police.

When a child is not an immediate danger to themselves or to others, they are not able to be forced to undergo this typically meaningless examination.  Ergo, a child thinking of suicide rather than planning it is not able to be taken into custody as it is not a police matter.  This is where everything gets very fuzzy.

A child who is not able to be taken into custody because they are not a danger to themselves, because they haven't committed a crime and because they are not intoxicated, but who has shown that they will run away from their caregivers as soon as the police leave, with no restraint from the caregivers is a major problem.  And it happens far more often than you think or would like to believe.

There is only one organization who can lock a child such as this up.  And they are always busy.  And there are often no more beds.

In short, if a child of any age less than 18 wishes to leave their mandated housing and prostitute themselves for money, drugs or alcohol, there is almost nothing that police can do.  We just search for them, hopefully find them (alive), and bring them home, praying that this time, they will keep their promise to stay.

The most interesting thing to me is that if that child turns up dead or raped or beaten, it is always the police who are blamed first, not the legal guardians who allowed the child to leave the safety of the home in the first place.

So what the hell should a cop who cares about kids do?  Maybe the police should start adopting children and showing these "caregivers" how to parent.  We are the only ones they ever hear "no" from in many cases.  I guess there's a reason they learn to hate us and run from us and fight with us.

It makes me sad.

On Country Music

Posted by: Blue

My partner JT and I both love Dwight Yoakam.

Two days ago I was working with a temporary partner and I turned on the song "Please Daddy" by Dwight Yoakam.  It's a song about a woman who leaves her husband and little daughter.  The daughter tells her father not to cry and that she'll be with him through the hard time.  It's a sad old country song.

Just as the song was ending, we were dispatched to a Sudden Death.

A 41 year old woman had died of undetermined causes, leaving behind a common-law spouse and four children.  As we entered the home, the youngest daughter, 7, was consoling her father as he cried.

Sometimes this job sucks.  No matter how much you love it.

Dad, Meet Your Daughter's Boyfriend...

Posted by: Blue

Last night we raced to a Residential Break and Enter in progress called in by a neighbour.

We got to the house and there was a pair of shoes, a sweater, and an mp3 player sitting in the snow beneath one of the bungalow's windows.

It didn't look like a B&E.  There was no sign of forced entry, and the window was closed again.  It looked like a teenager sneaking home after being out past curfew.

We knocked.  A groggy male in his mid-forties came to the door.  We explained.  He had a puzzled look on his face.

"That's my daughter's room..."

The shoes were men's skaters.

"I see..."

A fifteen year old girl peeked around the corner of the hallway at us.

A long, awkward pause...

"Ok. Bring him out here.  We need to talk to him."

She shook her head and hid her face with her hands.

"Not asking.  Telling."

She didn't move.  We walked into the room.  There was no one there.  Then I noticed a sock poking out from under the bed... and it appeared to have a foot in it.

"Come out before I come in after you."

The bed started shaking and moving as the lanky teenager tried to clamber out from under the bed.  I had to lift the frame because he was stuck.

We marched him out the door.

"Have you met dad?"

"No."

"Meet dad."

"Hey."

"Hey."

We took him home to his mom.  He had been drinking but wasn't drunk.

"Here's the deal.  I won't give you the $700 tag for drinking under age if you man up and introduce yourself to dad properly."

"Ok."

"I'm gonna phone him and make sure."

"Really?"

"Yup."

"That's gonna be awkward."

Yes it is.

Holiday Gift Giving and Racism

Posted by: Blue

Shoplifting calls have skyrocketed in the past few weeks.  Everyone wants to give something to their family for Christmas.  Some people just steal the presents instead of paying for them with their hard-earned money.

This weekend was cheque weekend.  The drunk tank had a steady line of cruisers waiting to deposit their detainees who were full of Holiday Cheer.  I personally tanked 3 people. 

Two of them were celebrating their birthdays (separate events). 

The other one was having a family reunion and had come from up on one of the Northern Aboriginal reserves with the rest of the family to bring her daughter in for medical appointments.  She was screaming the entire way to the tank that we couldn't take her away from her daughter.  I calmly told her that we could, and we had, and that her daughter would be fine with Child and Family Services for the night.  She called me and my partner racist.  My partner, who is half Native, told her so, also explaining that his wife was full-blooded Native and was the daughter of a Chief and that we were not in fact racist, but that we could not leave a five-year-old child in the care of adults who were so intoxicated that they could not stand.

I went on to tell her that I believed that she was the racist one for jumping to the conclusion that because I happen to be white and also happened to be doing my job and caring for her child because she couldn't be bothered to stay sober enough to guarantee that her daughter made it to the hospital the next day, that I was the racist one.  I told her she should be ashamed of herself and that maybe she should rethink the events that brought her to the tank that night while she was sobering up in the concrete cell. 

She was quiet for the rest of the trip.

I love people and I try to have a lot of patience, but even the most loving parent can turn into a horrible person with too much alcohol.  Alcohol and drugs change people.  Everyone who I deal with who is intoxicated is an entirely different person if I run into them and they are sober.  Most of them apologize for how they were when I was dealing with them last.  I am always willing to forgive and to treat them how they are treating me at the time.

Day Shift: Tour # 2

Posted by: Blue

Today was traffic court.  For my partner.  He told me to find something better to do with my time than sit around waiting for him.

I took the car a few blocks over and met for breakfast with another half of a cruiser car, a school resource officer, and a guy out of a specialty unit in one of the districts to the South of us.

I like breakfast.  It's my favourite meal to eat at a restaurant.  But our household is on a tight budget with the new career and the new cut in pay that comes with it.  I just had a water.

Now, just so you know I didn't do nothing all day, the rest of my day was filled with:

• Info on a Warrant: Probation Officer called it in.  While enroute, the suspect left the dispatch location.  Another unit picked him up.  We showed up, with another unit and the supervisor.  The unit who had found him had court in twenty minutes.  I played "paper/rock/scissors" with the third unit to see who would process him on the warrant.  They lost.
• Suicide Threat: Other end of the city.  Mom called concerned about her daughter.  Daughter was fine, just mad at mom because mom was threatening to stop paying her bills.  We told her not to text her mom things like "maybe I'll just kill myself" just to get her mad.  Then we called Child and Family Services from the car to notify them that this mother might just need a little bit of care as she seemed to be overwhelmed with her children as a single parent.  When we returned to give her some resources and phone numbers, she slammed the door in our faces, telling us "not to bother her with that stuff".
• Wellbeing Check: Assigned as we were cruising by right after clearing the Suicide Threat.  Suddenly cleared before arrival by dispatch, sent back across the city for a high priority Domestic Dispute.  Cleared again by dispatch five minutes later and half-way there, put back on our Wellbeing Check.  Arrived shortly thereafter, female complainant gone.  Security guard on scene advised she had been "tripping out", running around naked.  They kicked her out.  She left on the bus.  We checked all of her known hang-outs, no luck.
•  Traffic Stop: On the way back to the station to type all of our paper.  The driver passed a bus in the oncoming lane while it was picking up passengers, narrowly missing an SUV directly in front of our cruiser.  I was going to tag her fiercely, but my partner convinced me to give her a warning because of her sterling driving record.  I conceded, and just wagged my finger for a while before telling her to thank my partner for the break.  She did.  Sincerely.
• Report Writing: By the end of the day we both had a few reports to write, including a couple from yesterday.  I finished 12 minutes after quitting time.

It was a bit slow today.

Tomorrow we will see how the weekend is going to start.