CRISIS IN PROGRESS PROGRESSING!
First They put computers in police cars. Now they’ve put them in fire trucks, for “routine status updates” without the need to talk on the radio. Before long, we (you know, We–as opposed to They) will only be needed to take phone calls. And then I’ll retire. Because, dear FanBase, doing nothing but answering phones would be too hard on my delicate nerves.
“Why’s that?” you ask, or I imagine you do. Because of….
NIGHT OF THE TATTLETALES
It is a time-honored maxim in this line of work that, when someone says they “don’t want drama,” that the One Who Smelt It Dealt It. Someone who doesn’t want drama doesn’t:
–Call the police because the grocery cashier “wouldn’t stop looking at me.”
–Call the police because your ex won’t let your young child talk to you on the phone–at 10:53 at night (or, better yet, during third shift hours).
–Call the police because your ex is staying at what used to be called a No-Tell Motel under a fake name. “But isn’t that against the law?” I’m guessing a substantial percentage of the people staying there are using fake names.
–And a call that begins “My niece’s baby daddy’s mom is here” is not going to end well.
–“There’s a weird smell in our apartment hallway. Smells like something dead. Maybe it’s meth.” Now I have never smelled either meth or death, having led a sheltered life, but I was under the impression that they smell nothing like each other. Perhaps our police officer friends, if we have any, might speak up here. (“You could learn about these smells on a ridealong,” Nick offers helpfully. But he will be leaving 2nd shift next year, and surely the mandatory ridealong program won’t be re-implemented before then, right?)
And speaking of No-Tell Motels, howzabout–
–“Female in gray sweatshirt, black pants, and pink socks, doing a striptease in the street.” All together now–“WHO’S THAT WEARIN’ THEM NASTY CLOTHES?”