The Next Step

And the beat goes on.

After getting my POST scores back several weeks ago (which were quite good, by the way), I sent them along with the other required information to the last two agencies I had applied to.  Shortly thereafter I received the letter/email I’d been dreading, “Thank you for your participation, good luck with your law enforcement career, just not with us.”  And so once more I was prospectless.

During the time I was applying and testing for all these departmental jobs, only to be repeatedly let down, the prospect of self-sponsoring myself through the police academy began looking more and more attractive.  When it first occurred to me I shrugged it off as too impractical.  Since I would need to continue working I wouldn’t be able to do the standard 20 week program, but the alternative didn’t really seem like a good idea at the time.  My local academy runs a modular program that stretches over 11 months.  Classes are held on Tuesday and Thursday nights from 6 PM to 10 PM and Saturdays 8 AM to 5 PM.  That’s a lot of time away from home, the weeknights being especially tricky what with the baby and all.  But after all the rejections, it began to look not only more possible, but preferred.  As hard as it would be to carry a full time job, while spending 16 hours a week in school (not including homework), and maintaining some semblance of a family life, wouldn’t that still be easier than packing up and moving to a new town, which would require renting our current house, likely apartment living for an indefinite length of time, all while in the midst of strangers?  So we decided to seriously consider it.

I talked to several of my officer friends, some who went through that same academy–though the 20-week variety–to get their input.  Am I insane to even try this, I’d ask.  Am I going to want to kill myself after the first month?  No one told me it would be easy, but they didn’t think I was totally nuts.  So that was encouraging.  Or as encouraging as it could be.  I continued doing research and just last Thursday, my birthday, attended orientation.  Let me tell you, no two words go together better than orientation and birthday, no siree.  Actually, it went very well.  By the time I left I was pumped up and ready to start.  The director was enthusiastic and seemed ready to help us do what we needed to do to be successful.  There were about 30 of us in attendance, mostly guys between 23 and 35, a few older and a couple women.  There was one older guy who wore a bolo tie, looked like Steve Buscemi and had the voice of Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs.  Not who I’d want to see walking up to my car window on a lonely rural road.  Besides his upsetting look and sound, when one of the presentation slides entitled “Possible Disqualifiers” displayed “Not registering for the Selective Service” as one of its bullet points, he said he’d never registered (he had to be almost 50) and would it be advantageous to do so now.  Unfortunately that wasn’t his dumbest question.  My possible competition?  Booyah.

Classes start in January.  I had already begun to prepare mentally and physically for the year ahead, but now I’ll be kicking it into overdrive.  I’m excited and terrified.  While even if I pass with flying colors, there is still no guarantee of a job once I finish.  But at this point I feel like I’ve exhausted all the other options and this is my best shot.  I feel good about it.  We’ll see if that still holds true in a month or four.

Test Day

Saturday began early. The clock said 4:40 AM, which is why the clock and I are no longer on speaking terms. I gathered the things I would need—snacks, water, lunch, a change of clothes—and was on the road by 5:15, wheeling myself two hours away to the police academy that would be administering the day’s POST written exam and Work Sample Test Battery (WSTB) agility test and 1.5 mile run. All the way down I was treated to a pretty spectacular phenomenon known as dry lightning, lighting sans rain basically, which I had a hard time deciding whether to take as a good or bad omen of what was to come. That is, if I believed in omens.

My one major concern was the 1.5 mile run. I’ve done well on every written exam I’ve taken so far and the description of the WSTB didn’t sound like anything I wouldn’t be able to handle, but the run was another matter. During the summer my wife and I had gotten into a pretty good routine of running a couple days a week, though I never ran for more than a mile in one stretch. Distance has never been my forte, and to my mind anything longer than a basketball court is distance. However, once the school year started, my wife being a teacher and all, the regular runs dropped off. I did what I could to maintain some semblance of fitness—basketball and stationary bike riding mostly, along with some push-ups—but the run still had me nervous. I had every intention of getting a few practice runs in, but life reared its head and prevented me from doing so until the night before. Even then I didn’t have the benefit of a proper track, since it was dark by the time our dinner with friends was over. So I mapped out a route on Google maps that equaled the distance. I should probably mention that this was a pass/fail event, the maximum time allowed being 14 minutes. On completion of my practice run I was unnerved to find that my time was 14 minutes and 39 seconds. I thought I had been running at a pretty decent pace. My summer mile time was about 7.5 minutes and while it’s natural to lose some seconds after not running diligently for a few weeks, it’s not like I’d been sitting in my Lay-Z-Boy, eating Ho-hos while watching Divorce Court reruns for the past month. I don’t even have a Lay-Z-Boy. But there it was. I could only hope Google maps was not an accurate gauge of mileage.

The Run was the first thing we did. There were about 150 participants and the coordinators had us run in groups of 30. I was in the first group. At the start it seemed we were all running way too fast. I knew I could never keep up that pace, so early on I tried to place myself in the middle of the pack. I gained confidence when I passed a few folks, though most of them looked like the type I should be passing. A little soft in the middle. About a third of the way into the run I encountered something I was not expecting: a hill! It wasn’t a steep hill but after my botched practice run the night before on flat ground any potential hindrance scared the living pooh out of me. Even gentle inclines. There were proctors along the way to give us direction (we were running around the campus, not on a track) and time updates, though I either couldn’t ever hear what they were saying or they didn’t say anything as I ran past so I had no idea how I was doing as I came down the home stretch. On the last straight away I pushed it…and wanted to die. My back was aching, my bruised heel was barking, the cool morning air was burning my esophagus, and I’m pretty sure a bug had flown into my mouth. But I went as hard as my tired legs would let me. When I heard, “11:42” as I crossed the finish line, I was so relieved I almost forgot that I wanted to throw up. Almost. I walked over to a bush just in case, but fortunately my banana and granola bar breakfast remained in place. A mile and a half is not a lot, I admit, but it was a stretch for me and I’m glad its over with…for now.

By comparison, the rest of the WSTB was pretty easy. It consisted of a simple obstacle course, scaling a six foot solid wall and six foot chain link fence, dragging a 165 lb. dummy, holding a 165 lb. heavy bag for 30 seconds, and a 500 yard run, which I’m sure was a good deal less than 500 yards as I ran it in record (for me) time. I finished in at least the top 1/3 in all the events and the only difficult part about it was that since there were so many people to run through your muscles would get cold and start to tighten up before the next event. I felt a pulled hamstring looming on the horizon, but fortunately that’s where it stayed. All in all it was a pretty fun morning. Everyone cheered each other on and there was a real team atmosphere even though most of us had never met before and might not see each other again. Both the other test takers and the instructors really wanted everyone to do well.

Whenever I take one of these police tests, written or physical, I always like to scope out the competition. Usually most of the others are pretty fit looking guys between 25 and 35. There’s always a few that look way too young or way too old. There was a fair amount of women also. There was a guy that was a dead ringer for Stanley Tucci who oozed confidence. There was a guy that looked just like Super Mario. He was about five foot four, with a healthy boiler and a police issue mustache. He had to be at least 50, much older than most everyone else. But dog gone it if he didn’t give it his all. Watching him trying to get over that six foot wall his face looked like it was going to burst into flames he was straining so hard. He made it over, and then tried again and got a much better time. I talked with him a little bit and though he said that long run almost killed him—I don’t think he finished any where near 14 minutes—he wasn’t going to quit. He was actually pretty inspirational.

After the WSTB we broke for lunch and those that were taking the written exam were to report back at 1:00. We were herded into one of three class rooms, each filled to capacity of about 50. After an early morning two hour drive and a long morning of physical exertion in warm weather, sitting in a stuffy classroom with no air conditioning and 49 other people does not make for ideal testing conditions. On top of that, they had put cardboard cubbies on the tables to discourage cheating, so now I felt like I was inside an even smaller and stuffier room as my own hot breath was redirected into my face off the cardboard. I honestly thought I was going to pass out on at least three occasions. Through this police hiring process I’ve come to see everything as a test, besides the actual tests. Chances are at some point I will be required to write up a report sitting in a cramped, stuffy police car after having just chased down a knucklehead on foot in 90 degree heat. So, in a way, I suppose sitting in a stuffy classroom with no air conditioning and 49 other people is actually the perfect testing environment.

Despite my light headedness, I breezed through the exam pretty quickly. I was actually surprised at how short it was and that I didn’t have more difficulty. I’ve taken several written exams along the way, but this was my first experience with the California POST written exam. I guess I was just expecting something different. Its all reading and writing stuff. No scenarios or anything one might initially think of as “police like.” I finished an hour before the deadline, went over my answers, and then handed it in. It had been a long, but I think productive, day. I should be getting my scores in a week or so. Hopefully they will match my confidence in how I did.

Anchor Chains, Plane Motors, and Train Whistles

Let me set the scene (or you can just watch the whole clip):  George Bailey is at the train station to pick up his younger brother Harry who is returning from college.  He’s excited to see his brother, but even more excited to have Harry take his place at the Bailey Building and Loan so George can finally shake the dust of crummy Bedford Falls off his shoes and see the world, the thing his longed for since he was a kid.  But to his consternation, he discovers that Harry has returned with a wife, and worse yet, his new father-in-law has offered him a job.  George does what he always does and puts on a brave face for Harry’s welcome back party.  But as the party winds down and he sends drunken Uncle Billy home, we see how he truly feels.  He walks outside for a smoke, and hears something in the distance that tears at his soul (3:03 in the following clip).

I can understand that look on George’s face when he hears that far off train whistle.  A mixture of joy and sadness.  I know it because that’s how I’ve been feeling every time I hear a far off siren.  I think, “That could be me at the wheel of that cruiser.”  Instead, most days I’m stuck at a desk or a push cart at a job which my feeling for could not be described as hate, but edges a little bit further in that direction every week.

In times like these, in THIS ECONOMY (one of my least favorite phrases), I’m very grateful for the job I have.  A lot of people are a lot worse off.  But when you’re reaching for a goal and it never really seems to get any closer, I don’t care how blessed you are, it can be frustrating.  I’m doing my best to be patient.  I have good days and bad.  I’m devout in my faith and know that God’s plan is not my plan.  It’s perfect.  It’s hard for me to see sometimes–ok, most of the time–but I know its there and it takes me being diligent in reminding myself of this.

Listening to those distant sirens probably isn’t going to get any easier any time soon, but instead of wondering “why not now”, I’m going to do my best to think “it’ll be great when…”

Looking For That Badge

Its been over a month now since my phone interview with Destination City and it you’re as regular a reader as one can be for a blog that posts monthly at best, you may have guessed from the silence that the results were not to my liking.  Its not that the interview was a total meltdown, it wasn’t at all.  I was pleased with most of my answers, but I didn’t feel as confident coming out of the second interview as I had the first.  I don’t know if doing the interview over the phone threw me for a loop or what, but I didn’t feel I answered the questions as cleanly as I would’ve liked.  There were three DCPD folks on the other end of the line, two men and one woman, all sergeants.  The woman in particular was kind of hammering me.  She was grilling me pretty good on why, specifically, I wanted to work in Destination City.  Why not an agency closer to home or somewhere with an equally high standard of living?  I was warned by the two officers I’d spoken with in Destination City before the first interview that I would be asked this question, and I felt I answered it well the first time around.  It’s a tricky question for me because when you get down to it they were, at the time, one of the few agencies in the entire state that were actually hiring noobies.  Of course, that’s not the answer they want to hear.  They want to know you want to be there, not just passing through on your way to some place else.  Can’t say I blame them.  It costs a lot of money to hire someone and put them through the academy; you don’t want them jumping ship the first chance they get.  So I had come up with a legitimate sounding, and honest, reason other than “you’re the only one hiring.”  The first go-round I think it came off well.  The second time, apparently not.  I let slip that I had applied to other agencies prior, which I don’t think should really count against me since they were all local to where I am living and I think its natural to look at home first.  Whether it did in fact count against me, I don’t know, but the way it felt makes me think it might have.

At any rate, I heard back a couple days later via email that I would not be continuing on in the process at this time, but I am on the eligible for employment list for six months and should someone fall out of background or they do another hire during that time they may call me.

It was obviously disappointing, but not as devastating as it may have been a few months earlier.  Whereas with the first few jobs I applied for I was probably overly optimistic, mostly out of ignorance for how tough this process can really be, and therefore more downtrodden when they didn’t go my way, I’m a little older now.  A little wiser.  Considering this was my first interview for an actual sworn officer position (the others were correctional deputy, community service officer, and dispatcher) and I got was far as I did, I think that’s something to be proud of.  On top of that I learned a ton about the kinds of things to be prepared for in an officer interview and am just more familiar with the process now, both of which should be helpful in future attempts.

And speaking of future attempts…

Thanks to the federal COPS Hiring Recovery Program grants that were announced recently, a few award winning agencies in my state have begun hiring again.  I’ve already applied to one, and will soon be applying to two more.  Two are moderately sized cities within a greater urban area and one is a very small town, population about 5000.  All are at the edge of commuting distance, as opposed to Destination City which was six hours away from Home Town, which means if the timing would otherwise cause problems for moving now that the wife it back to work, I could conceivably put in some very long days on the road until our situation is more conducive to relocating.  It’ll be interesting to see what happens.  In a little less than a month I’ll be taking the POST written exam and another agility test–a more difficult sounding one–the scores for both of which would cover me for most tests required by most agencies for six months.

Whenever one door seems to close, another one has popped open.  I’ll keep stepping through them until I find what I’m looking for on the other side:  a badge.

“It Could Be 98% Scared”

Two weeks ago today I was sitting in a tiny room in a strange city, across the table from three complete strangers whose job it was to look past the surface of what I was going to tell them and see into the core of me to see if I have what it takes to be a police officer.  Or, perhaps more accurately, to at least see if I have what it takes to get to the next interview, where they will really peer into my soul to see if I’ve got the Stuff.  How did I get there?   Let’s recap.

Immediately after work on Thursday, June 25th I departed Home Town on a six and half hour journey in solitude to Destination City; just me, clothes for a four day stay, enough snacks to choke a  fat kid, and my iPod.  I had been invited to participate in two exams leading up to–hopefully–an interview for a position as a police officer-entry.  I wouldn’t arrive in Destination City, a place I’ve driven through exactly once, until about midnight and the people I’d be staying with were the parents of an acquaintance that I had never met.  That they were willing to open up their home to me was quite literally a God send and saved me a wad of cash and a boatload of inconvenience.  I found the house without incident, dispelling my fears of beginning a prospective police career in Destination City by being arrested as a prowler.

The first exam was a written one, scheduled for Friday afternoon.  I’m guessing there were about 149 other test takers.  The exam was not unlike others I’d taken on this police quest of mine and I felt I did well, a fact that was confirmed four hours later when the scores were posted.  On to exam number two, an agility test to be held Saturday morning.  I had been marginally training for this test since I learned what it would include a few weeks before.  My biggest concern was the timed half-mile run, as I am not accostomed to running further than is necessary to chase down a batted softball, which is rarely a half-mile.  I timed myself the week before at a local high school track and found my time well within the required parameters.  There were about 100 hopefuls at this test and I find it hard to believe that more than one or two could’ve failed.  The instructors made it abundantly clear that passing the run, the dummy drag, and the “obstacle course” (three knee high hurdles, a four foot wall, zig-zag through three pylons, repeat, in under a minute) did not mean you were in sufficient shape for the academy, a fact I found most disappointing.  As an out of towner, I was given preference and was one of the first to finish and chose my interview time for the following Monday.

Saturday night I had a ride along, my first with an agency other than Home Town PD.  I couldn’t have been assigned a better officer.  He was new, so new in fact that this was his first day off of probation.  The hiring process was fresh in his mind and he had a wealth of useful information for me about how to prepare for the interview.  He asked questions I was likely to hear and then critiqued my answers.  On top of that, he turned out to be a fellow Christian.  The nine hours I spent riding with him (my longest ride along to date) was pretty quiet crime wise, so we were able to chat quite a bit.  We did shut down a few parties, made a few traffic stops, and responded to a minor traffic accident.

Sunday was a free day, without exams or interviews, and I spent it visiting with my sister and brother-in-law who live another hour or so down the road, and I did a lot of interview studying.  I had written down the questions my ride along officer and another officer (a seven year vet) I had been put in touch with gave me, and I wrote out my answers to each and then read and re-read them until I had a pretty good idea of how I would answer.

Monday at 2 PM was the time.  I found a parking space downtown and walked to the interview location at the human resources building.  I tried to walk confidently in my dark blue suit and cleanly shaven chin, two things that make me very uncomfortable.  I found where I was supposed to be and sat down in a chair to wait.  Before too long a uniformed officer, his lapel sporting a pin bearing sergeants stripes, came out to greet me.  He introduced himself, gave me a few instructions on how the interview would go, and gave me a sheet with the questions they would ask me on it.  I had two or three minutes to look it over and collect my thoughts and then it was off to the little room.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said.  “Or at least try not be nervous,” he corrected with a smile.  I thought the latter was the better statement.

We came into the little room where I was greeted by a woman from the local rape crisis center and a sergeant from a different agency.  We shook hands and then began.  Only one of the questions really came as a surprise to me, only because I hadn’t finished looking over the sheet I had been given at the beginning and now it was gone.  Note to self:  the harder questions are at the bottom, start there next time.  Despite this, I thought I answered it well enough.  The other questions I was well prepared for and gave thought out, well reasoned answers.  As in my dispatch interview, the panel was mostly stone faced, but I got them to crack a smile at least twice.  On purpose, I should probably add.  Hopefully that was a good thing.  The whole thing lasted less than 20 minutes and before I knew it I was back on the street walking to my car.  Post mortem, I felt better about this interview than I had coming out of the dispatch interview.  I don’t know if that was just experience or if I actually gave better answers.

I left for home immediately following the interview and didn’t really think about it on the long drive.  To be honest I didn’t think about it much at all for over a week.  I wasn’t told when I might hear from them, but I knew they were doing interviews for the next two weeks, so I assumed it would be at least that long before I heard back.  This past Thursday afternoon I received a call on my cell phone while at work from the recruiting  sergeant informing me that I had passed the first interview and have been invited to continue the process, the next step of which is a second interview.  So, this Thursday at 1PM I will receive a call from Destination City PD, and will be interviewed over the phone by a panel consisting of three members of the department.

And there it is.  This post has been pretty sterile, all facts and not much emotion, but as we all know, in police work its all about the facts, ma’am…or sir.  I will follow this up with how I actually feel about all this at a later date.  But I will say, as a brief snapshot of my feelings on the matter, that they can best be summed up in the words of Oscar Choi from that masterpiece of cinema, Armageddon:  “I got that ‘excited/scared’ feeling. Like 98% excited, 2% scared. Or maybe it’s more – It could be two – it could be 98% scared, 2% excited but that’s what makes it so intense, it’s so – confused. I can’t really figure it out.”

Failures and Second (Third, Fourth…) Chances

Its been over a month now, so I guess I’m finally composed enough to talk about it.  Loyal reader that you are, you will recall my having an interview with my local PD for a position as a dispatcher.  I woke up with a rabble of butterflies in my stomach the morning of the interview, which I suppose is natural.  I brought my navy blue suit out of mothballs, put on the tie my dad had tied for me that morning (no, I can’t tie a tie, what of it?), and made my way down to the station.

The interview almost ended before it began.  Right before I reached the station parking lot, I took my eyes off the road to look at something I had just passed–I don’t even remember what–and when I turned back the car in front of me was stopped and I had to slam on my brakes and came within two inches of rearranging my truck’s grill.  As you can imagine, this did nothing to calm my jangled nerves.  I managed to park without further incident and went into the station lobby.  Outside the door I was instructed to wait near, I found some information about the interview and read it approximately 489 times, trying to keep my mind occupied to keep from freaking out.

Once they finally called me in and we got going I felt more relaxed.  There were three people on the panel, plus a proctor.  I was given a sheet with the questions they would be asking me that I could refer to.  The whole process took less than a half an hour.  I felt pretty good about most of my answers and didn’t feel like I said anything that really hurt me, but afterward I thought of a lot of things I wish I would’ve said.  That’s probably normal.  I fretted about it for about a day, but after that I just kind of let it go.  It was over and done with, there was nothing more I could do about it, and it was in God’s hands now.  If its meant to be it’ll work out, if not it won’t.  As I waited for my results over the next couple weeks I really didn’t think about it at all.

When the day finally came, my friend Pops, who had interviewed the same day, called me he had received his letter that day and that he did not score high enough to continue the process.  Now, after not thinking about it for two weeks, I couldn’t get home fast enough to check the mail.  When I did, it was not what I had hoped.  I also did not score high enough to continue the process.  I was disappointed, but actually less than I’d thought I’d be, especially since I had no other irons in the fire and it appearing that there wouldn’t be anything on the horizon in the near future.  Maybe because dispatch is not my ultimate goal, or maybe because I finally realized that God has plans that I don’t have a clue about.

Which leads me to….

Several months ago I applied for a job in another city, on a whim more than anything else.  My wife and I hadn’t really considered relocation, but the aforementioned city has a reputation of being a pretty nice place to live and it isn’t too far away from family and friends.  Well within driving distance, but not commuting distance.  I contacted the recruiter there and they said they may be doing an academy in the fall, but it was still up in the air due to (what else) budget reasons.  He told me to go ahead and apply and if they were going ahead with the academy the testing would begin sometime in May.  A few months passed and I didn’t hear anything.  May was more than half over when I received an email asking me to confirm that I was still interested in the position.  A few weeks after that I received another email inviting me to take the written exam later this month.  If I pass that, I’ll do a physical/agility test the day after the exam, and if I pass that I’ll have an interview two days later.  Can you say, road trip!

Sounds like it’ll be sort of a whirlwind weekend, which, hopefully, won’t end until that next Monday.  The prospect of moving to another city hasn’t really even sunk in yet, one because this has all come up so fast, and two, because there are still a lot of hurdles to clear before we get there, but when I do think about it I’m about 50-50 on the excited-terrified scale.  Can’t wait to see how this story plays out.

Ride Along #6

My ride along total is now up to seven.  I did one a month or so ago, and another one just this past Friday.  Neither was overly eventful, but there were a couple things worth mentioning during Number Six.  I was riding with Officer Tom again, my second trip with him.  We did a few minor traffic stops and talked with a woman who was acting suspiciously in a darkened parking lot.  We cruised through a Motel 6 parking lot, matching license plate numbers of the parked cars against a hot sheet of recently stolen vehicles, but came up empty.  We also cruised by a vacant house that a squatter was known to frequent.  He’s a tweeker and often brings his tweeker friends with him, so the neighbors would like him dealt with, but every time the police come by he isn’t there.  He probably has a scanner and when he hears the call go out to check the house, he takes off.  That was the case this night, at least the first time we came by.  More on that later.  For the most part, a quiet shift.

However, around 11PM we got a call about an attempted suicide.  When we got to the house there was already a unit on scene and the fire department arrived the same time we did.  Officer Tom told me I could come in, just to make sure I was off to the side and out of the way.  The front door opened to the living room and just beyond that and to the right was a dining area, the whole space open as if one big room.  On either side of the rear wall of the dining area there was an arched door way, one leading to the kitchen and one down the hall to the bedrooms.  It was a typical middle income type house, both in construction and furnishings.  It was clean, just your normal, everyday odds and ends lying around; the mail on the coffee table, some folded clothes in a stack on the sofa, a used plate and glass on an end table, stuff like that.  There were three broken dinette chairs lying in the dining area and living room, looking like they had been kicked or thrown around the room.  There were some marks and small divots in the wall in a few places where it looke like a chair leg may have struck.  Lying on the tiled floor in the dining area was a woman, completely naked, her right arm showing where blood had run from her wrist down to her elbow.  Her husband was crouched over her with a towel pressed to her wrist, the first responding officer next to him, telling him he was doing a good job of keeping pressure on the wound.  The woman, was conscientious and writhing and moaning in pain.  There was some blood on the tile floor, but not very much.

When we had come in, the first officer pointed out the knife she had used to cut herself, your standard large kitchen knife, and Officer Tom stood by it to make sure it wasn’t disturbed.  Meanwhile, the paramedics came in and began treating the woman.  They asked if she’d been drinking, she had, or if she was on any medication.  As I was standing there, I wanted to watch what was going on, but for obvious reasons felt a little awkward doing so.  The whole point of these ride alongs is to expose myself to the sort of things I’m likely to see working as a police officer, but since I’m not in uniform or anything sometimes I feel weird about the things I’ve seen.  It’s one thing when you’re dealing with something traumatic and the authorities arrive and see you at your worst.  It’s another thing to get up off the floor after almost killing yourself while in the nude and seeing some dude not in uniform just standing there watching.  I just felt weird, but not because of the actual incident itself, but it weirded me out that the woman–and her husband for that matter–might be weirded out that some random guy was seeing all this.  It’s never bothered me before that someone might be embarrassed seeing me watch them get arrested, but I think that’s because they broke the law and did something stupid to get in that situation and a little shame is probably good for them.  Trying to kill yourself is against the law and stupid too, but that extra emotional element I guess made it a little different for me.  I suppose the moral of the story is, to avoid unnecessary embarrassment, don’t try to kill yourself, but if you do at least put some clothes on.

After a few minutes a fire fighter found a towel and covered the woman up and a police sergeant arrived.  She and the other officer took the husband into another room to find out what had happened while the paramedics got the woman calmed down, up on her feet, and out to the ambulance.  As I stood there looking around the room, I noticed a lot of pictures of the couple, who appeared to be about my age, at the beach or in the woods, arms around each other, smiling.   I wondered what it was that caused this seemingly happy couple, if the pictures were any indication, to end up like this.  I never did find out.  Another thing to add to the weirdness factor; as I continued to scan the house, it began to feel strangely familiar for some reason.  Suddenly it dawned on me.  I hadn’t noticed it at first, but it was the exact same model of home I lived in from the time I was 12 until 21.  Very odd.

Once our services were no longer required we were back to the streets.  At about 2AM Officer Tom decided to check the squatter house one more time.  The neighbors had told him that when the offending resident is there he parks his old gray Mercedes up the street away from the house and walks to it.  As we cruised down the street, we spotted the Mercedes.  Officer Tom called for another officer and they would try to make contact.  When the second officer arrived Tom told me I could get out of the car.  There was no reason to believe this guy was violent, and in any case he may not even answer the door.  I waited on the sidewalk while Tom and the other officer discussed how best to approach the situation.  They were a little ways away from me so I didn’t hear much of the conversation, but then all of the sudden, clear as day, I hear Tom say, “I’ll take him around to the back with me,” the end of his flashlight pointed in my direction.  Uh, excuse me?  I’m all for adventure and all and look forward to nothing more than someday donning the uniform and wrestling a fleeing junkie to the ground in the middle of the night, but, ya know, after I get my taser.  But what am I going to say, “Thanks but no thanks”?  Yeah right.  So there I am, armed with only a flashlight (not even a Mag lite!) traipsing through a trashed and overgrown side yard of a tweeker’s hide away.  The plan was for the other officer to knock on the front door and Tom to catch our squatter if he tried to sneak out the back.  Presumably, I was there to give the appearance of additional back up and hopefully discourage any attempt to run.  I guess.  This was never really made clear to me.  My plan was to shine my flashlight directly in the eyes of whoever came out and if approached run away screaming like a girl.  If nothing else, that would serve to stun them, giving Tom time to deploy his taser.  We heard the knock on the front door and waited.  I’d be lying if I said my heart rate remained at a normal pace.  It had quickened, significantly.  Tom and I stood there waiting, but nothing happened.  Another knock…still nothing.  After a minute or two, Tom approached the back door and knocked, “James, we know you’re in there.  This is the police.  Come out.”  No response.  Tom tried a couple more times, before we headed back to the front.  He had heard some movement inside, but there wasn’t really anything that could be done.  At this stage kicking in the door didn’t seem like a good option, so the officers decided to let the sleeping dog lie, as it were.  This marked my biggest “hands on” policing experience to date, standing in the dark waiting for something to happen that never did.  Probably for the best.

Plan B

If this whole cop thing doesn’t work out for me, I’m thinking of going this route.

I do look good in Lycra.

Interview!

So at last report I was still waiting for my test scores from the SO dispatcher POST test and had just taken the same test for the City.  About two weeks ago I got the scores back from the SO:  passed!  They told us at the test that probably only those in the top standing–a ranking they give based on test scores, previous experience, etc–would actually get an interview.  I got a standing of five so I won’t be surprised if I don’t hear from them.  Even if I do, it likely won’t be for at least another month.

However, there is good news.  Just yesterday I got my scores back from the City, and not only did I do better the second time around, I’ve got an interview on the 27th.  I’m pretty excited about that.  I’ve applied and tested for four jobs in pursuit of a law enforcement career and this is the first one I’ve actually gotten (is that an actual word?) to intrview for.  I ran into Sgt. Ron at church today and told him and he gave a few pointers on the kinds of things they may ask me.  Always helpful, that Sgt. Ron.  I’ll be sure to keep you all posted on the goings on.  Now I just have to decide what to wear.  I’m thinking something light and airy.  Linen perhaps?  I’m kidding of course.  No seriously, I am.

News Flash!

Just a quick update to bring all nine of you up to date on my job search.  I took the written exam for the County dispatcher job about three weeks ago and have yet to hear back from them even though they said it would be about two weeks.  Not too surprising since this is basically what they did the last time I tested for an SO (Sheriff’s Office) job.  They kept us all in limbo for a month or so and then finally sent an, “Oh yeah, we’re not hiring anymore” email.  Hopefully, that scenario doesn’t repeat itself, but don’t color me too optimistic.

Just this morning I took another (actually the very same) written exam for a dispatch job with my city.  I thougt it went pretty well, which it should since I had just taken it a few weeks ago.  The City appears to have their act a little more together than the County and supposedly I should hear in about two weeks how I did and they already have the dates for appraisel interviews posted.  The odds are better on this job than the County one.  For the County there were 702 applicants all vying for one position.  For the City there are 296 applicants in the running for two positions.  Slightly better odds, but I’ll take anything.

So that’s the latest for those of you that care (mom and dad).  I do have a couple of good stories to post about my last ride along and my Citizen’s Police Academy so check back for those in the next week or so.