Close But No Cigar (Probably)

As I mentioned in my previous post, I had an interview exactly one week ago today for a deputy trainee position for my County.  This was my fourth law enforcement interview.  I’ve had two for dispatch positions, and this was my second for an officer/deputy position.  Even after having a few under the belt, you can’t help but to have butterflies going into these things.  Being locked in a tiny room across the table from (usually) three stone faced individuals whose sole purpose for being there is to judge you and pick apart all your weaknesses and flaws during a 20 minute conversation is scary enough.  Add to that your own excitement about even getting an interview (which is hard to come by these days) and the fact that if this doesn’t work out there’s no telling when you’ll get another, and it makes a for a sweaty palmed experience.  So yeah, I was a little nervous.

I arrived early, which is always a good thing to do.  I wore my one suit, navy blue with an oxford blue shirt and blue patterned tie.  I never had the suit properly tailored and the arms are a bit long, so I always feel a little like a kid wearing his older brother’s jacket.  Before going inside the Sheriff’s office, I spent at least five minutes de-linting myself and picking dog hairs off my pants.

I checked in at the front desk and was sent upstairs to the personnel department.  The upstairs receptionist offered a friendly hello and her newspaper if I cared to read it.  I declined, saying I’d just go over my interview answers.   After a couple minutes in the waiting area, a stout, bald-headed man in civilian clothes and a pistol on his right hip came out of the door.  He introduced himself, and while I won’t give you his name, it was the perfect name for an Italian peace officer.  I mean, if I was going to write a police drama for TV I would definitely use his name for one of the characters.  He seemed like a friendly guy and he led me back to the aforementioned tiny room.

The second member of the panel was waiting for us there.   A blond, middle-aged woman, also in plain clothes and introduced to me as a detective.  We shook hands and my follicly challenged escort offered me a seat as we waited for the third panel member to arrive.  I must have appeared nervous as I took my seat.  The detective asked me if I was OK.  I said that I was.  In hindsight, I wish I’d answered differently.  Not that I wasn’t OK, but something more then just the quick response I gave.  Perhaps something a little witty just to show that I wasn’t so paralyzed I couldn’t form a coherent thought.  Oh well.

The third panel member arrived shortly; a sergeant and FTO, in uniform, with salt and peppery hair and exuding energy.  I stood and shook his hand as we introduced ourselves, and then he kicked off the questions.

None of the questions were too surprising.  The way these things work is that you’ll get a set of pretty standard questions, that are similar wherever you go:  tell us about yourself, why do you want to be a deputy/officer, why our department, what do you know about our department/area, what have you done to prepare, what are you best/worst qualities, etc.  Then there are usually a couple of ethical or scenario questions.  These can be tricky.  Not that they’re trying to trick you, but they are designed to see your thought process.  They don’t expect you to know all the details of the law, but they want to see that you can come to a reasonable decision and then stick with it.

Here’s the one I got:   You get hired and pass FTO.  You’re on patrol out in the west part of the county, near Town A.  Your beat partner was last heard to be out in sticks near Town B, but no one has been able to raise him on the radio for quite a while.  You decide to go try to find him.  You do, and see him on the ground, surrounded by four huge guys that are kicking the crap out of him.  What do you do?

My first response was to pull my firearm and order the bad guys to stop.  Then the sergeant throws me a curveball.

“They can’t hear you.”

“Ok, well I’d get closer to where they can hear me.”

“ You can’t get closer, there’s a cyclone fence in the way.”

“ Can I get around the fence?”

“ No, it’s seven miles long.”

At this point the shiny domed deputy chuckles and says, “And seven miles high.”

So I did the only thing left to do.  I shot the bad guys.  I’m not going to sit there and lose my voice screaming at them while my partner gets kicked to death.  The sergeant asked if I would give them a warning.  I said I would.  He asked how many.  One or two, tops.  Then we moved on.  I felt good about the answer.

They finished asking their questions and I had an opportunity to give a closing statement.  I talked about how I looked forward to the career long challenge of being a deputy, about how I wanted to work at that agency because this is my home and its where I want to serve, about why I would be a good fit for the agency.  I finished by saying that I hoped I gave them good answers.  The sergeant said I did and then stood up, signaling the end of the interview.

I shook hands with the panel members and was escorted out by the man in plain clothes.  He told me good job and added, “You had to shoot those guys.”  I agreed.  He said others had come in and said things like they would throw something to get their attention or would yell louder.  That sounds ridiculous to me now, but maybe if I wasn’t in the academy and didn’t know any better I would’ve said something similar…but probably not.

I felt good as I left.  There were a couple things I wished I’d mentioned, but nothing too detrimental I didn’t think.

The next day I emailed two of my academy classmates who had interviewed the same day.  We exchanged stories, mostly about the scenario question, which we all answered pretty much the same way; do what we can to give commands, but if that ain’t working, use deadly force.  One of them felt that they didn’t make the cut.

Later that afternoon I got an email from one of those classmates.  It was an email forwarded from a background investigator asking my classmate to give her a call.  “Did you get a call???  What does this mean?” she asked.  I told her it sounded like good news to me.  And no, I didn’t get a call.

It’s been a week now, and still no call.  No yes, no no.  My classmate met with a BI later that day she got the email and was told they were going to rush her through so she could graduate in uniform.  I would expect that if I was going to be offered the job they would’ve done the same with me.  She told me the other day that another friend of hers that interviewed got the same call she did.  Needless to say, I’m not holding my breath at this point.

Am I disappointed?  Sure I am.  But I’m not devastated.  All this means is that there’s somewhere else I’m supposed to be.  It would’ve been really cool to wear something other than an academy uniform as I walk across the stage at graduation, but more important is that I end up where I’m supposed to end up.  And I am confident that I will.  God will put me where he wants me.

For the record, I think my classmate is going to be a great deputy.  She’s been more than encouraging to me, long before any of this stuff.  I tease her and call her Deputy So-and-So, and she gets all coy.  I think she’s very excited/nervous/delirious at the news, but she’s playing it pretty low key for my sake I think, which is cool of her.  I told her yesterday that once I get (hopefully) that dispatch job I’ll be the one sending her to calls and would make sure she gets the good ones.

So another “rejection.”  But all is not lost.  I do have that mystery date on November 1^st, with that neighboring county, so we’ll see what the near future holds.

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