| 1. Back in 1992/93, I worked as a car detailer for Enterprise Rent-A-Car. I had worked at a few different branches, but this story takes place at the Westlake branch in downtown Seattle. As a detailer, the person who cleans out the cars in between renters, I was used to finding some pretty strange things. Umbrellas were a surefire find, along with seashells, rocks, gloves and even the occasional homosexual porn magazine. However, one time, I thought my jaw would never return to its rightful position after dropping on one stunning find. There, sitting ominously in front of me was a gun. Revolver, .38 I believe. It was in a light brown leather belt holster. The type commonly worn by plain-clothes detectives. The kicker to this gun, however, was that it was loaded with hollow-point bullets. The armor piercing kind. I carefully turned it into my manager who looked up the contract to the previous renter. Turns out, he was one of Seattle's Finest. Makes me feel a lot safer knowing our crime-fighters keep track of their weapons. Let's just hope he didn't arm himself with wits in the same manner. 2. As a 9-1-1 operator, I had answered many bizarre calls in my short run (There's a roach in my ear!). When I started the job, I had to attend a mandatory class on domestic violence. There are a bunch of laws in place now that work toward the prevention and cessation of this all-to-common threat. The class must have really stuck with me. One of the calls I received on a later shift was a woman reporting her car being stolen. I entered her information, and put a call out for the officers to keep their eyes out for the car. Then I transfered her to the department that handles those cases. I didn't think any more of it. Minutes later, one of the officers calls in saying they have found a car wrapped around a tree. It matches the description of the car the woman reported stolen. But there is no one around. Fled on foot, they suppose. Before we can contact the woman to let her know the car was found, she calls, completely irate. Her husband is home, begging her forgiveness, but, she says, she's got a baseball bat and she's going to kill him. Seems he borrowed the brand new car, went drinking with his buddies, and could find a parking space as good as the tree. The dispatcher took my information and informed the officers where the thief was, and that he was about to be bludgeoned. They hot-footed it over to the house, three doors down. By this time, she had him out in the street, ducking for cover. Even though her husband had been a badboy, she was the one being arrested, because of trying to bash hubby's skull in. This goes back to the DV training. She calls back (phone in one hand, bat in the other?) asking to speak to the watch commander, because she doesn't understand why SHE'S in trouble. I explain her threats with the bat. She never made any such threat, she says. Oh, but my trusty little tape-recorded phone call log says otherwise. Part of the domestic violence laws state that she needs to be separated from her man for a cooling down. Overnight at least. As far as I remember, she was arrested and hubby got the bed to himself to sleep off the drunk. 3. Another from the 9-1-1 files. In police code, 5150 is code for an insane person. We call them them 50's ('cause, baby, they're only half there). A call came in for a looney ranting and raving and running around a local grocery store's parking lot. One of the old timers (cop near retirement) said he'd take the call. Now he was one of the types that mumbled every last thing he said and expected the dispatcher to understand it. I asked him to repeat himself and he mumbled, like a mouthful of tobacco, that HE WOULD TAKE IT. Next thing I hear, he comes up scream-mumbling. Repeat, I say. HE TOOK MY CAR!! Now, most of the ol' timers are guys who choose the day shift, because 1. they can and 2. not a lot happens on the day shift, thereby allowing them to become a little hefty. This makes it hard for them to engage in a foot pursuit. Which Officer Mumbly found himself having to do. The story goes as thus: as Mumbly pulled into the parking lot, he spotted Crazy Joe. He put the car in park, but didn't shut it off. Crazy Joe rapidly approached the car from the passenger side. Officer Mumbly got out to talk to CJ. As he circled around the back of the car, CJ slipped into the car through the passenger side window, head first. He popped the car into drive, and mashed the gas pedal with his hand. He soon righted himself and zoomed off at a whopping 10 miles per hour. Mumbly was stuck, huffing and puffing and jogging after the car, screaming directions into the mike. He had two or three cronies come up saying they were in the area and would assist. Of course they said this while trying desperately not to laugh their asses off. Eventually the wrangle CJ in and gave Mumbly his car back. I had hoped that he would have learned from that to be more clear in his transmissions, but he was an ol' timer, and they hardly ever learn. -Unky |
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