One night, I received a radio call from the dispatcher to respond to an address and see the complainant who resided there in reference to a white llama that was in the man's yard.
After acknowleging the call, and heading in that direction, the dispatcher's words ran through my mind for a few seconds. White Llama? Oh, please!
Now, there is a quirk to my personality that has gotten me into trouble many times, and will probably get me into trouble again, because I don't ever learn; I have a bizarre sense of humor, I am an incurable smart-ass, and I am willing to go to almost any length for a laugh... especially a good one!
Bear: "610 to Headquarters..."
Dispatcher: "Go ahead, 610"
Bear: "Can you re-contact the complainant and determine whether the Llama on the complainant's lawn is a common Andean Llama, or a Peruvian Spitting Llama??"
Dispatcher: "610... stand by...."
A few seconds ticked by.... the entire precinct was holding it's collective breath, knowing that I was up to some shit, and wondering where this was going...
Dispatcher: "610.. what is it that you are trying to establish, please??"
Bear: "610 to headquarters.. If the animal in question happens to be a Peruvian Spitting Llama, I will have to take universal precautions to prevent contracting a communicable disease... Is the complainant able to identify what type of Llama this is... or is it simply a common Alpaca?"
A few more seconds of radio silence ensued... then,
Dispatcher: "610. Six-One-Zero."
Bear: "610."
Dispatcher: "I have the complainant on land-line. He states that he doesn't know the difference between Anrea... Ander...Ahh.. Um... THE FIRST TYPE... and the Other One from Peruvia..."
Bear: (Ever helpful...as always!) "610 to headquarters. The native habitat of the Pervian Spitting Llama is Peru. 10-4?"
Dispatcher: "[Annoyed Radio Carrier as the dispatcher clicked the mike without answering... A crack in the shell! I was getting somewhere at last!!]"
Dispatcher: "610?"
Bear: "Six-Ten"
Dispatcher: "The complainant now states that he no longer believes that the animal is a Llama of any type."
Bear: ( ?? ) "Six-Ten to Headquarters... Does the complainant have any idea what type of animal is on his property??" (Very large dog, perhaps??)
Dispatcher: "610, the complainant states that the animal is...... ..... a dwarf albino deer...."
Bear: (You have got to be fucking kidding me!!) "610 to headquarters. Can you ask the complainant whether this is a 'North American Two-Tined Dwarf Albino Deer', or whether it is a 'Dwarfed Eastern Fallowhide Pronghorn Mule Deer' in winter coat, perhaps?"
Dispatcher: "610, is there some significance to this question?"
Bear: "The Fallowhide deer is on the endangered species list, headquarters... its the only venomous mammal in North America..."
Dispatcher: ".... venomous?"
Bear: "10-4.."
Dispatcher: "Stand by 610..."
Bear: "610 to headquarters. Disregard, I'm almost '36 (* 10-36 means 'arrived at location'), I'll advise..."
Dispatcher: "Ten four six-ten. Advise."
As I pulled onto the gravel parking area in front of the address... my headlights fell upon a concrete deer, perhaps two and a half to three feet in height. It may have once been painted, but it had turned white with age. The concrete had broken off of the lower portion of one of the forelegs, leaving the metal armature showing, and algae had taken root here and there, leaving green splotches on the otherwise white colored concrete. I had found my dwarf albino deer...
Another vehicle pulled in next the my vehicle. As I exited the police vehicle, a woman got out of the driver's seat and walked around the front of her vehicle towards me...
Woman: "Officer! Did my father call about that damned deer again??"
Bear: "'Fraid so, man... and you are...?"
Woman: "I'm his daughter... he has a very serious drinking problem, officer... I'm very sorry. Please don't arrest him, my mother is ill, and my..."
Bear: "Ma'am... I'm not going to be arresting anyone.. is your father going to be alright??"
Woman: "Yes, officer... I'm taking him home to my house for the next few days. My mother has been in the hospital. He doesn't deal with stress very well... and he's been, ...well... he has basically been tying one on for the past few days... I'm really very sorry about all this."
Bear: "Don't worry about it. Goodnight."
Woman: "Thank you, officer. Goodnight!"
I pulled out into the street and decided that it was time for a nice cup of coffee... I headed towards a local Seven-11. I picked up the microphone to advise headquarters that I was back in service.
Bear: "Six-Ten, 27." (10-27 means 'in service' - in practice, we often cut parts of these codes for some reason)
Dispatcher: "10-04, Six-Ten. 10-27, returning to sector."
I drove for maybe ten seconds before the radio squawked to life...
Unidentified Authoritative Voice: "SIX TEN. SIX-ONE-ZERO."
(Who the fuck is that?!)
Bear: "610."
Voice: "This is the Deputy Chief of Patrol to Unit Six-Ten. You are hereby ordered to make a 10-12 (report to..) to Headquarters. Forthwith."
(Oh....... shit....)
Bear: "10-4. Responding...."
Oh, man....
Some people have no sense of humor about things.....
Epilogue: As it turns out, I got a good dressing down. (I was flamed hairless and had my asshole torn so wide open that you could kick an extra large beachball through it. But, I was a sort of folk-hero with the other street cops, which kind of made up for the ass-chewing.) I had to work some shitty details for a few weeks until some other stupid fuck-knuckle drew attention to himself and (thankfully) got it off of me. Sometimes you just have to go where the shits and grins are. You only live once!
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
The First Step Towards the Door..
Back when I was a steady sector car operator, working straight midnights, I received a call early one morning, at around 5:30AM, of an unresponsive elderly woman. The call came over as an 'inhalator' call, meaning that the subject of the call.. the victim, or the patient... was not breathing, or their breathing was either not detectable or was so shallow as to be difficult to notice to an untrained person.
These early morning calls are somewhat regular, and are basically depressing. What a cop reads into them from past experience is that someone passed from this place at some point in the night. When everyone else starts waking up, they make an unsettling discovery, and, partly due to denial, and partly because they don't know (and couldn't know) what the condition of the victim actually is, they call an ambulance.
Now, this may sound cynical, but I don't mean it to be.... but, (why does there always have to be a 'but'??), the vast majority of these calls aren't actually medical aid calls when the dust settles... they end up being calls where the police take custody of the person's remains until the medical examiner arrives and the body is removed.
Because this is so often the case, most cops have developed a tried and true, though somewhat unsettling method of protecting themselves emotionally from these situations... they keep everyone (everyone) at arm's distance at these calls.
This, of course makes us seem callous, cold, and heartless. I suppose that on some level, we are at that point in time... but, when you have to deal with this day in and day out, you have to do something to protect your own mental health, and this is one of those things. The irony is that it doesn't actually work. At all. It gives us the illusion of having protected ourselves, but, it is all a stinking pile of bullshit from start to finish. Its just a great big act to help us to dance away from the personal responsibility of having to face someone else's death and its effect on their loved ones and to actually feel what that feels like...
Don't get me wrong. We feel it. We just don't want to appear as though we feel it... to anyone else... or to ourselves...
Back to the story;
I arrived at the location of the call, popped the trunk, let the dispatcher know that I had arrived, grabbed the oxygen and aid kit out of the trunk and ran inside. An old man met me at the back door. His white hair was mussed, his glasses were askew, and one tail of his pajama shirt was hanging out while the other was tucked in. He carefully unlocked the series of locks on the back door and let me in.
The door opened into the kitchen. The place had the washed out, faded look and smell of countless other houses that I had been in where a couple had lived out their lives and grown old while living in the same house. I'm sure that it was home to them, but it was depressing to me on the best of days.
He introduced himself (I'll call him 'Mr. Sweeney' for the sake of this story.. it isn't his real name, as you have probably already guessed), and led me into the bedroom. A woman lay on the bed. She was very, very still. Mr. Sweeney did not enter the bedroom, but hovered worriedly by the bedroom door. He was dancing from foot to foot, and wringing his hands.
I approached the woman, who was laying on her right side. I checked for a pulse. Her skin was cold to the touch. I checked for capillary refill on the fingernails of her hands, but there was none. I could see that dependant lividity had set in on the underside of her face, neck, and, where I could see the skin, on her arms. I was fairly certain that she was dead, but that isn't a call that I can legally make unless there are certain obvious textbook signs of death. I continued with my examination, moving quickly, but not rapidly, not wanting to risk missing any obvious signs of importance... be they signs of life, or signs of a crime having taken place. I had no idea what had transpired, and the story that anyone tells me only fills in a few blanks. I always rely on my own observations, and check, double-check, and triple-check everything that I can.
I reached for my flashlight and gently lifted the woman's eyelid to check for pupillary reaction. Her eyes were dilated and the vitreous humor of her eyes had clouded over. There was no pupillary reaction in either eye, and as I moved her head, I could see that rigor mortis had begun to set in. She had apparently died some hours ago during the night. I looked over at Mr. Sweeney, he looked back at me. He looked terrified, and I knew that what I was going to have to tell him was the last thing in the world that he wanted to hear. I also knew from experience that people generally have a sense for these things and will subtly guide you and let you know when to tell them hard facts and when to let them work things out and get their brains around difficult situations that are being imposed upon them....
"Is she going to be alright, officer??" he asked, a pleading note creeping into his voice. He went perfectly still, waiting for my reply. I believe I was the only person in the room who was breathing at that moment.
"Mr. Sweeney... " I began. A single tear welled up and coarsed down his seamed old cheek. I could feel my chest tighten, and my throat begin to tighten. This was very hard. Nobody wants to bear the news that will crush a man's heart into the dust...
I cleared my throat and began again, "Mr. Sweeney, I'm very sorry... she's gone. I wish there was something more that I could do for her, but there isn't."
"She's.... I..... no......." He put his face in his gnarled old hands and sagged against the doorframe. He was trembling. Deep gut-wrenching sobs wracked his body. I walked over and stood beside him for a moment... waiting for the first wave of shock and grief to pass.... Eventually, he looked up at me, shaking his head, not wanting this to be happening, his eyes silently pleading with me to fix it... to bring his wife back, to give her another chance... another day... an hour... a minute... there is always so much that hasn't been said, so much that was never done... I took his arm, "Mr. Sweeney, would you like to come and sit with her for a moment?" He nodded, and I guided him over to the bed. He sat down beside his wife, and he took her cold hand in his. The same hand that he held every day for how many years of marriage?? Forty?? Fifty?? But on this morning, it didn't grasp back.. didn't caress him in turn... I started to move towards the door to give him a moment of privacy. "Officer?" he asked.
"Yes sir?"
"What is your name, young man??"
"My friends call me Bear, Mr. Sweeney."
"Bear?"
"Yes sir."
"..... Bear. Hm. Yes, I can see why they might... Um, Bear? May I ask you something?"
"Sure..."
Tears began to run in rivulets down his face...
"Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do now?"
"..... Sir?..... I...ah... Well, I'll help you with that, and we will put you in touch with some other folks, agencies and whatnot who can assist..."
"No... that isn't what I was asking... You see, Evelyn, that was my wife's name.. Evelyn..", he patted her shoulder, very delicately... and let his hand come to rest there... It occurred to me, and, I'm sure, to him, that it was one of the last times that he would ever be able to do that... my chest constricted, and my throat tightened... I swallowed hard, blinked my eyes a few times, and willed it away...
I took a seat in an arm chair near the window.
"Evelyn was my high school sweetheart. We met at a Christmas Dance in 1947, it was just after the war, you know. We married a few years later. I fell in love with her the first moment that I set eyes on her. She was always smiling and laughing. She always looked as though she knew something about you that was about to make her giggle. We were married for forty-six years. It would have been forty-seven years two months from now. I have been married to her longer than I haven't been married to her. I've quite forgotten what it was like not to be married to her."
He stopped talking then... and I noticed that he was gently rocking his wife, and patting her with his hand. I don't think he noticed that he was doing it... this was a time-honored ritual between them. He stared off into some other time... years past, perhaps... somewhere a clock was ticking off the seconds. We sat quietly like that for some minutes. Finally, he coughed, seemed to remember that I was sitting there with him, with them... "I'm all alone now. Both of our children died years ago. Its funny.. I had always imagined that I would be the first to go. I'm... I'm not sure what it is that I will do now....." His voice was very small. He looked up at me then. His rheumy old blue eyes, puffed and swollen from crying searched my face for an answer. "Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do?? This is my wife... I've stayed at her side for almost fifty years.. They're going to come and take her away from me, and I'll be here all alone."
I searched my brain for an answer, but couldn't come up with one... after a few breaths, my heart told me that in some cases, the only answer is the truth, even though it may not be comfortable or easy to face.
"Mr. Sweeney, I honestly don't know what the answer is to that question. I have never found myself in your situation, and, quite honestly, it frightens me to think that one day I may very well be sitting where you are sitting and asking the very same questions. I don't know what to say to you. I don't think there is a simple answer. I think that for now, maybe it isn't such a good idea to look too far ahead. I would concentrate on taking things a day at a time for now... an hour, or a minute, or a second at a time if you have to. I think Mrs. Sweeney would want you to live on, and I don't think she would want to think that you were heartbroken. I know that she will be in your heart as long as you hold her there. I also know that you won't be all alone. You will have at least one friend who will stop by to see how you are doing, and to ask whether you need anything. I'll give you my phone number at home, and my pager number. You can call me at any time. I work nights, so I'm generally awake all night long. If you need anything, or if you just don't want to be alone, call me and I'll come and sit with you. No questions asked. I'm not sure if that is helpful to you, or if you even want anybody around, but the offer stands."
"He nodded, and laid his head down on his wife's shoulder."
I stood up, and quietly stepped out of the room to let him say his goodbyes and to make his peace with her.
I stopped by and visited Mr. Sweeney two to five times every week until his death two years later.. almost to the day.
I think this may have been my very first step away from the police job.. though I wasn't aware of it then....
These early morning calls are somewhat regular, and are basically depressing. What a cop reads into them from past experience is that someone passed from this place at some point in the night. When everyone else starts waking up, they make an unsettling discovery, and, partly due to denial, and partly because they don't know (and couldn't know) what the condition of the victim actually is, they call an ambulance.
Now, this may sound cynical, but I don't mean it to be.... but, (why does there always have to be a 'but'??), the vast majority of these calls aren't actually medical aid calls when the dust settles... they end up being calls where the police take custody of the person's remains until the medical examiner arrives and the body is removed.
Because this is so often the case, most cops have developed a tried and true, though somewhat unsettling method of protecting themselves emotionally from these situations... they keep everyone (everyone) at arm's distance at these calls.
This, of course makes us seem callous, cold, and heartless. I suppose that on some level, we are at that point in time... but, when you have to deal with this day in and day out, you have to do something to protect your own mental health, and this is one of those things. The irony is that it doesn't actually work. At all. It gives us the illusion of having protected ourselves, but, it is all a stinking pile of bullshit from start to finish. Its just a great big act to help us to dance away from the personal responsibility of having to face someone else's death and its effect on their loved ones and to actually feel what that feels like...
Don't get me wrong. We feel it. We just don't want to appear as though we feel it... to anyone else... or to ourselves...
Back to the story;
I arrived at the location of the call, popped the trunk, let the dispatcher know that I had arrived, grabbed the oxygen and aid kit out of the trunk and ran inside. An old man met me at the back door. His white hair was mussed, his glasses were askew, and one tail of his pajama shirt was hanging out while the other was tucked in. He carefully unlocked the series of locks on the back door and let me in.
The door opened into the kitchen. The place had the washed out, faded look and smell of countless other houses that I had been in where a couple had lived out their lives and grown old while living in the same house. I'm sure that it was home to them, but it was depressing to me on the best of days.
He introduced himself (I'll call him 'Mr. Sweeney' for the sake of this story.. it isn't his real name, as you have probably already guessed), and led me into the bedroom. A woman lay on the bed. She was very, very still. Mr. Sweeney did not enter the bedroom, but hovered worriedly by the bedroom door. He was dancing from foot to foot, and wringing his hands.
I approached the woman, who was laying on her right side. I checked for a pulse. Her skin was cold to the touch. I checked for capillary refill on the fingernails of her hands, but there was none. I could see that dependant lividity had set in on the underside of her face, neck, and, where I could see the skin, on her arms. I was fairly certain that she was dead, but that isn't a call that I can legally make unless there are certain obvious textbook signs of death. I continued with my examination, moving quickly, but not rapidly, not wanting to risk missing any obvious signs of importance... be they signs of life, or signs of a crime having taken place. I had no idea what had transpired, and the story that anyone tells me only fills in a few blanks. I always rely on my own observations, and check, double-check, and triple-check everything that I can.
I reached for my flashlight and gently lifted the woman's eyelid to check for pupillary reaction. Her eyes were dilated and the vitreous humor of her eyes had clouded over. There was no pupillary reaction in either eye, and as I moved her head, I could see that rigor mortis had begun to set in. She had apparently died some hours ago during the night. I looked over at Mr. Sweeney, he looked back at me. He looked terrified, and I knew that what I was going to have to tell him was the last thing in the world that he wanted to hear. I also knew from experience that people generally have a sense for these things and will subtly guide you and let you know when to tell them hard facts and when to let them work things out and get their brains around difficult situations that are being imposed upon them....
"Is she going to be alright, officer??" he asked, a pleading note creeping into his voice. He went perfectly still, waiting for my reply. I believe I was the only person in the room who was breathing at that moment.
"Mr. Sweeney... " I began. A single tear welled up and coarsed down his seamed old cheek. I could feel my chest tighten, and my throat begin to tighten. This was very hard. Nobody wants to bear the news that will crush a man's heart into the dust...
I cleared my throat and began again, "Mr. Sweeney, I'm very sorry... she's gone. I wish there was something more that I could do for her, but there isn't."
"She's.... I..... no......." He put his face in his gnarled old hands and sagged against the doorframe. He was trembling. Deep gut-wrenching sobs wracked his body. I walked over and stood beside him for a moment... waiting for the first wave of shock and grief to pass.... Eventually, he looked up at me, shaking his head, not wanting this to be happening, his eyes silently pleading with me to fix it... to bring his wife back, to give her another chance... another day... an hour... a minute... there is always so much that hasn't been said, so much that was never done... I took his arm, "Mr. Sweeney, would you like to come and sit with her for a moment?" He nodded, and I guided him over to the bed. He sat down beside his wife, and he took her cold hand in his. The same hand that he held every day for how many years of marriage?? Forty?? Fifty?? But on this morning, it didn't grasp back.. didn't caress him in turn... I started to move towards the door to give him a moment of privacy. "Officer?" he asked.
"Yes sir?"
"What is your name, young man??"
"My friends call me Bear, Mr. Sweeney."
"Bear?"
"Yes sir."
"..... Bear. Hm. Yes, I can see why they might... Um, Bear? May I ask you something?"
"Sure..."
Tears began to run in rivulets down his face...
"Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do now?"
"..... Sir?..... I...ah... Well, I'll help you with that, and we will put you in touch with some other folks, agencies and whatnot who can assist..."
"No... that isn't what I was asking... You see, Evelyn, that was my wife's name.. Evelyn..", he patted her shoulder, very delicately... and let his hand come to rest there... It occurred to me, and, I'm sure, to him, that it was one of the last times that he would ever be able to do that... my chest constricted, and my throat tightened... I swallowed hard, blinked my eyes a few times, and willed it away...
I took a seat in an arm chair near the window.
"Evelyn was my high school sweetheart. We met at a Christmas Dance in 1947, it was just after the war, you know. We married a few years later. I fell in love with her the first moment that I set eyes on her. She was always smiling and laughing. She always looked as though she knew something about you that was about to make her giggle. We were married for forty-six years. It would have been forty-seven years two months from now. I have been married to her longer than I haven't been married to her. I've quite forgotten what it was like not to be married to her."
He stopped talking then... and I noticed that he was gently rocking his wife, and patting her with his hand. I don't think he noticed that he was doing it... this was a time-honored ritual between them. He stared off into some other time... years past, perhaps... somewhere a clock was ticking off the seconds. We sat quietly like that for some minutes. Finally, he coughed, seemed to remember that I was sitting there with him, with them... "I'm all alone now. Both of our children died years ago. Its funny.. I had always imagined that I would be the first to go. I'm... I'm not sure what it is that I will do now....." His voice was very small. He looked up at me then. His rheumy old blue eyes, puffed and swollen from crying searched my face for an answer. "Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do?? This is my wife... I've stayed at her side for almost fifty years.. They're going to come and take her away from me, and I'll be here all alone."
I searched my brain for an answer, but couldn't come up with one... after a few breaths, my heart told me that in some cases, the only answer is the truth, even though it may not be comfortable or easy to face.
"Mr. Sweeney, I honestly don't know what the answer is to that question. I have never found myself in your situation, and, quite honestly, it frightens me to think that one day I may very well be sitting where you are sitting and asking the very same questions. I don't know what to say to you. I don't think there is a simple answer. I think that for now, maybe it isn't such a good idea to look too far ahead. I would concentrate on taking things a day at a time for now... an hour, or a minute, or a second at a time if you have to. I think Mrs. Sweeney would want you to live on, and I don't think she would want to think that you were heartbroken. I know that she will be in your heart as long as you hold her there. I also know that you won't be all alone. You will have at least one friend who will stop by to see how you are doing, and to ask whether you need anything. I'll give you my phone number at home, and my pager number. You can call me at any time. I work nights, so I'm generally awake all night long. If you need anything, or if you just don't want to be alone, call me and I'll come and sit with you. No questions asked. I'm not sure if that is helpful to you, or if you even want anybody around, but the offer stands."
"He nodded, and laid his head down on his wife's shoulder."
I stood up, and quietly stepped out of the room to let him say his goodbyes and to make his peace with her.
I stopped by and visited Mr. Sweeney two to five times every week until his death two years later.. almost to the day.
I think this may have been my very first step away from the police job.. though I wasn't aware of it then....
Sunday, October 02, 2005
I am very curious...
I have a reader, who stops by each day. Sometimes a few times a day. They are from the city of Corroios, in Setubal, Portugal. Whoever they are, male or female, they run Windows XP on their computer, and view my blog with Firefox 1.0.6 on a 1280x1024 monitor screen. I know the dates and times of the visits, thier ISP address, and their internet service provider. But that's it!
I'm very curious to know who you are, what it's like where you live (I have been to Lisbon, for a very short visit, many years ago.. but that's it), and whatever else you feel comfortable telling me.
If you decide that you would prefer not to come forward, that's fine also. I just want to say that I know you come by, I am happy that you do, I hope you enjoy my blog, and I want to say 'Welcome!'
I have readers from so may other countries, as well, and from all over the United States, too!
I wish I could get to know a little about all of you... I know that I can't, but, I still would like it...
It's really cool that so many of you are stopping by from time to time to read this drivel that I write. It makes me see my world differently, knowing that I may be putting it to 'paper', so to speak... I look at everything around me (and listen, and taste, and smell, and feel...) a little bit more closely than I otherwise would... so, in a way, you have all helped me to live my life a little more fuller, or with more depth than I otherwise would.
Perhaps I entertain you to some extent, make you think, give you a laugh or a chuckle from time to time, or even piss you off from time to time.. but You folks make Me see and experience my world with a little bit more color and flavor than before....
I think I am getting the better deal, somehow...
Thank You. Each and every one of you. It is a *Wonderful* gift, even if you weren't aware that you were giving it... I want you all to know that I still appreciate it.
Hey, Portugal!! Drop me a line, say hi!! India?? (Both Delhi and Calcutta), you guys too, okay?? Tanzania, who are you?? How about my Brits?? Dunbartonshire, Lambert, Leeds, Cambridgeshire, Shepshed - Leicester,... Hello! Singapore! Valencia, Spain! Igra, Udmurt in the Russian Federation! T'uk Pyol Si in Seoul Korea (AhnYoungHaShimNiKka?? Irreum-I Mwuh-Shim-Ni Kka?? Hanguk mal eu-rro jom eyagi hae do, igeul-sseu isseumnida! Chingu rreul hapshida!) (Hangul do halsu isseumnida!), Canada - Ontario, Montreal, Calgary, all of you guys... All of my fellow Americans... from practically every state in the union, the Kiwi from Auckland, New Zealand, and all the rest of you!! Hello! Welcome! Say hi! Who are you guys??!!
Where are ya from? What do you do? What are you like?? Do you like my blog?? What else do you do for fun?? Got any great recipes?? Can you teach me how to say Hi or thanks in your language??
I know you guys are out there, I wonder who you are... It's really nice that you pop in from time to time... thanks guys...
Take Care...
In Peace and Brotherhood,
Bear
I'm very curious to know who you are, what it's like where you live (I have been to Lisbon, for a very short visit, many years ago.. but that's it), and whatever else you feel comfortable telling me.
If you decide that you would prefer not to come forward, that's fine also. I just want to say that I know you come by, I am happy that you do, I hope you enjoy my blog, and I want to say 'Welcome!'
I have readers from so may other countries, as well, and from all over the United States, too!
I wish I could get to know a little about all of you... I know that I can't, but, I still would like it...
It's really cool that so many of you are stopping by from time to time to read this drivel that I write. It makes me see my world differently, knowing that I may be putting it to 'paper', so to speak... I look at everything around me (and listen, and taste, and smell, and feel...) a little bit more closely than I otherwise would... so, in a way, you have all helped me to live my life a little more fuller, or with more depth than I otherwise would.
Perhaps I entertain you to some extent, make you think, give you a laugh or a chuckle from time to time, or even piss you off from time to time.. but You folks make Me see and experience my world with a little bit more color and flavor than before....
I think I am getting the better deal, somehow...
Thank You. Each and every one of you. It is a *Wonderful* gift, even if you weren't aware that you were giving it... I want you all to know that I still appreciate it.
Hey, Portugal!! Drop me a line, say hi!! India?? (Both Delhi and Calcutta), you guys too, okay?? Tanzania, who are you?? How about my Brits?? Dunbartonshire, Lambert, Leeds, Cambridgeshire, Shepshed - Leicester,... Hello! Singapore! Valencia, Spain! Igra, Udmurt in the Russian Federation! T'uk Pyol Si in Seoul Korea (AhnYoungHaShimNiKka?? Irreum-I Mwuh-Shim-Ni Kka?? Hanguk mal eu-rro jom eyagi hae do, igeul-sseu isseumnida! Chingu rreul hapshida!) (Hangul do halsu isseumnida!), Canada - Ontario, Montreal, Calgary, all of you guys... All of my fellow Americans... from practically every state in the union, the Kiwi from Auckland, New Zealand, and all the rest of you!! Hello! Welcome! Say hi! Who are you guys??!!
Where are ya from? What do you do? What are you like?? Do you like my blog?? What else do you do for fun?? Got any great recipes?? Can you teach me how to say Hi or thanks in your language??
I know you guys are out there, I wonder who you are... It's really nice that you pop in from time to time... thanks guys...
Take Care...
In Peace and Brotherhood,
Bear
"Pussies!"
“Six-Oh-Two. Six-Zero-Two?”
“Six-Oh-Two.”
Dispatcher: “602. Respond to [Address]. Check on the welfare of the occupant. The sister states that he suffers from mental illness, and has stopped taking his medications. He hung up the telephone and refuses to answer. Subject is suicidal and has a history of violence directed towards himself and others. Use caution. Unit to assist 602?”
601: “I’ll start heading over.”
Dispatcher: “10-4 601.”
614 (Female Police Officer): “614, headquarters, I’m going.”
Dispatcher: “10-4.”
608 (Bear): (At this time, I was a relatively new arrival in the precinct, and did not yet have my own steady sector. I was what is known as a ‘relief driver’, which meant that I bounced around to cover vacancies in various sectors. This is the way the precinct has new cops get acquainted with the entire precinct. Over the course of a few years, you will work in every single sector numerous times. By the time you get your own car, you are an old hand and know where everything is, and what’s going on!)
“608, (to) headquarters. I’m heading that way also.”
Dispatcher: “10-4. Advise when ’36.” (10-36 means ‘Arrived at location’ – the dispatcher is requesting that arriving units keep him appraised of the situation).
I began to head in the direction of the call, going through in my head all of the essential points that I would have to keep in mind. For one thing, calls involving EDPs (Emotionally Disturbed Persons) can go from non-threatening to fatal with little or no warning. For another, they are sometimes very difficult to reason with. As a general rule, these calls tend to be taxing and difficult for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the possibility of being called upon to use force against a person who, for all intents and purposes, isn’t quite hooked up right. Any person who doesn’t cringe from this is most likely not quite hooked up right themselves, I would think. Most cops don’t like these calls, and basically view them as a necessary evil, but wish that they didn’t crop up.
As I neared the location, I could hear a few of the other units announcing their arrival to the dispatcher:
602: “602/headquarters, 36. I’ll advise.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 602. Any other unit nearing 36 with 602?”
601: “601/headquarters. I’m a few seconds away.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 601. 602. Six-Zero-Two?”
602: “602.”
Dispatcher: “602, 601 states he is a few seconds out. Stand by for backup. Advise.”
602: “10-04.”
601: “601/headquarters. I’m 36 with 602. We’ll advise.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 Six-Zero-One.”
608 (Bear): “608/Headquarters, I’m also 36. 614 is pulling up also.”
614 (Female Cop): “614, 36.”
Dispatcher: “10-04”
We all headed over to the door of the building. Essentially, the subject resided in an apartment over a retail store on the main street of the village where the call was located. You entered the front door, which, apparently, was kept unlocked, and walked up a flight of stairs which ended sort of at the center point of a short hallway. There were, perhaps, three apartments in the building. We entered the building, turning the volumes down on our radios so that we wouldn’t be heard and identified by the sound. Quietly, we made our way upstairs, and located the door to the apartment that we were looking for. We stood quietly and listened for a few moments, but couldn’t hear anything at all, at first.
602 knocked lightly at the door, and we listened. No answer. We all looked at one another, then back at the door.
602 knocked again, a little louder this time. From inside the apartment, we heard a voice, somewhat distant, but intelligible;
“At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, …”
Now we really exchanged some looks… was this simply someone reciting from the bible?? Were we about to burst in on some unsuspecting citizen? Or was this somebody who was unhinged and setting us up to be ambushed, or were we possibly at the wrong location, or what??
602 called through the door, “Hello?! This is the Police, can you come to the door, please??”
Silence. Tick - tick - tick - tick….. then, “And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven!”
What. The. Fuck. ?. !. ?.
602 knocked on the door, louder this time, and in his most authoritative voice, called out, “Police! Open the door, please!”
Silence.
602 knocked again. Pounded actually. Nothing.
We moved away from the door and waited while 602 moved to the end of the hallway and contacted the dispatcher over the radio.
602: “602/headquarters. Can you raise a supervisor unit for a quick 33?” (10-33 – ‘car to car communications’ this means direct communications between two cops, or, in other words, a conversation not mediated through the dispatcher. In some cases, the dispatcher serves to control the flow of information and to make all communications less confusing and less time consuming. In some circumstances, it is quicker and easier, and much less confusing to simply communicate directly with another officer, be it another street cop, a supervisor, a detective, crime scene tech, canine cop, helicopter pilot, etc.)
Dispatcher: “Supervisor unit to go direct with 602? 634, Six-Three-Four?”
634 (Sergeant): “634 headquarters, what does he need?”
Dispatcher: “Six-Zero-Two, go direct with Unit 634.”
602: “Boss, we have a ‘check on the welfare’ of an EDP, possibly suicidal, called in by his sister. When we first knocked on the door and announced ourselves, he didn’t respond directly, but began reciting what sound like passages from the bible. When he didn’t answer the door, we knocked again, but have not received any response at all. Request permission to break and enter? The safety of the individual is a concern at this point…”
634 (Sergeant): “Is there a landlord or building owner 36 with a key? Or possibly a superintendent or neighbor? Headquarters, do we have any contact information for owners of the building?”
Dispatcher: “Negative. We have already been trying to contact an owner. The proprietor of the shop downstairs states that the owner is an absentee landlord who is out of state. Unknown whether there are maintenance personnel on-site.”
634 (Sergeant): “Ahhhh…. 10-4. 602? Any neighbors, anyone?”
602: “Not known, Sarge. The safety of the subject is at issue. He’s an EDP, not taking his meds, and possibly suicidal with a history of violence both to himself and to others. We would rather not involve neighbors at this point.”
634 (Sergeant): “Understood. I’ll be three-six in about 20 minutes. Go ahead and break the door. Advise. Headquarters, I’m authorizing 602 and assisting units to break the door. Start rescue heading in that direction, just in case. Notify Emergency Services, see if they have a unit in the vicinity. They may want to start heading over or getting a team together.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 634. Six-Zero-Two and assisting units. Use caution. Do Not endanger the lives of innocent civilians or fellow police officers. Please advise. Clear the air please. No further traffic until 602 notifies that he has a controlled situation. 602, the air is clear, you are a go!”
The radio went dead silent. You could sense the collective consciousness of the entire precinct directed at us as each cop turned his or her attention to the drama that was unfolding at our location. Each and every one of was aware that in the next few seconds, lives could change in very dramatic fashion…. Or be extinguished in a split second.
Silently, 602 looked at me, indicated the door, and gave me the nod. I stood to the side of the door, and the other cops ‘stacked up’ ready to make a dynamic entry into the apartment when I broke the door. I glanced down the line of three cops to my right, along the wall, 602, 614, and 601 taking up the rear. I raised my eyebrows, silently quizzing 602 for the okay to go ahead, (since it is his call, he makes the pertinent decisions… he has the authority, and he carries the responsibility for what goes on… we all do, to a great extent, but the cop who got the call is the first one in line to get squashed if things go badly….) he gave me the ‘go ahead’ and we all drew our weapons. One deep breath, and I took a step to the left, positioned myself in front of the lock, and kicked the door, just alongside the knob and deadbolt. The door held, but the jamb didn’t. With a loud splintering crash, the door burst open and I was already moving.
I moved quickly into the room, and to my right, moving low and moving quickly, so as to avoid silhouetting myself in the doorway. I scan the room, looking for movement, for anything out of place, for anything that presents a threat to me, or to my fellow officers. Behind me, I can feel the others moving into the room, quickly and with a practiced grace and fluidity, fanning out into the room, each covering a different section. In less than a second, we have taken the first room, a living room. To our right is a kitchen, obviously empty. I do a ‘quick-peek’ to make sure nobody is crouched down or hiding in a corner. Satisfied, I indicate to the others that the kitchen is clear. There are three doorways other than the short hallway leading to the kitchen, which open into the living room, which is the central room in the apartment. Two doors are closed, (one behind us, which turns out to be a closet… empty of people), the door to the right is open, and the door to the left is closed. 614 takes up an overwatch position near the closed door, gun drawn and aimed towards the door. The rest of us stack up on the open door and with a silent finger-count of three, we enter the room… it turns out to be a bedroom, with a small closet. Its clear. We return to the living room, and stack up on the closed door after listening quietly for a few seconds. Silence.
I try the door, very slowly, keeping my body well to one side. I am on the right side of the door, the knob side, and everyone else is on the left, the hinge side. I slowly turn the knob, releasing the latch, then let it stand slightly ajar like that for a minute or so, waiting to see if anyone shuts it or moves, or does anything else on the other side. Patience. It’s a waiting game. I am pressured by the fact that this individual may have attempted suicide by some means, and may be in dire need of medical assistance, but I am not prepared to force the situation into a fatal encounter because of undue haste on my part. The reality is that I have no idea what is on the other side of that door, and what I don’t know can most certainly kill me. I take my time. The others leave me to this, I am known for having a cool head and for maintaining a sharp mind under pressure. They trust my judgment, and they follow my lead. I let the seconds tick off. Silence.
I raise my eyebrows to them. “Ready?” I ask silently, with my eyes. “Yes!” Its unanimous. I slowly push the door slightly open, giving them the first ‘slice of the pie’ to check. I can’t see anything, but I watch their faces intently, attempting to read through their expressions what they are seeing in real time. I have worked with these people for a good while. I trust them. I follow their lead. The first ‘slice’ of the room that they can see is clear.
The door is out of my reach now, so the first cop stacked by the hinge side of the door takes over. I move slightly so that I can peer through the opening by the hinges, and satisfy myself that nobody is lurking back there. We eventually open the door all the way. It opens into a short hallway. The hallway ends about twelve feet away from us. The terminus is a door, most likely a linen closet. There is a door to the right and a door to the left. Both doors are open. From the left, a low light is flickering. Although it is daylight out, no sunlight reaches this portion of the apartment, and it’s dark. There are candles burning in the room on the left. Does this mean that our subject is in that room? Or are the candles a diversion to get us to look there first, and thus create enough lag time for someone to burst out of the other room, knife drawn or gun blazing?? 602 gives me the nod, and I start moving down the hallway. I hate this. There is nowhere to go if things go badly. There are three cops behind me, blocking the way, and I’m in a tube. If I’m threatened, I’m moving forward. Quickly, violently, and unstoppably. If this guy bursts into the hallway, I am going to ruin his day before he has a chance to do much of anything. I don’t like feeling mentally boxed in like this, but this is the situation I’m presented with, and I have to deal with it. I move forward.
I get close to the two open doorways. I stand silently and listen. I can hear someone breathing to my left. I hear a small splash of water. It’s a bathroom. Our man is alive, and in or near a tub, sink, toilet, or other water source, apparently. I raise my hand and indicate to the others that the room on the left is occupied, and to wait. I stand silently and listen.
This guy had to have heard his front door get kicked in, yet he hasn’t responded. Something isn’t right. I’m not prepared to step through that doorway without some more information. I don’t want to end up shooting this guy to find out that it could have been avoided with a little forethought. He may not be right in the head, but he is a human being, he is alive, and I don’t want to be the one to change that if I can help it.
“Hey, man… it’s the police. How’re ya doin’??
Silence. The water sounds have stopped. So he heard me, and he is listening. As long as he is still, everyone should be okay… (unless he happens to be aiming a shotgun at the approximate place where I am standing and plans to blow a piece of the wall through my spleen!)
“Your sister called. She is very concerned about you… are you okay?”
Silence.
“Say. Could you answer me so that I know everything’s okay with you?? I want to make sure that everybody goes home safely today, you know??
Nothing.
Fuck.
I’m going to have to go into this room.
I motion for one of the other cops to move forward and cover the doorway. I get down low. Very low. I quick peek into the room, but can’t see clearly because something is blocking my view. I move my head up a little higher, and expecting to have my face splattered all over the wall behind me next to my brains and teeth, I quick peek again.
He is sitting in the bathtub. There are many, many candles set all about the bathroom, all lit. He has a sort of bathtub tray table set across the tub, with a bookstand on it. Presumably, this is the bible. I was able to see both of his hands, they’re empty. I am fairly certain that this guy can’t get out of that tub to reach anything faster than I can put him on his face if I have to.
The radio is still pregnantly, ominously silent. Everyone is wondering what the fuck is going on here. I am starting to feel the time pressure, but resist it just a little while longer.
Why the fuck isn’t 602 doing this part, anyway?? It occurs to me… ach!
“Hey, guy… I’m going to come on in to the bathroom, okay?? I just want to talk to you and make sure you’re okay. Is that alright with you?”
I’m not really asking his permission to come inside. At this point, I own this house until such time as I leave as far as I’m concerned. Not out of arrogance, but out of a desire for my, and everybody else’s, continued safety. I am asking him questions to try to draw him out and to gauge his state of mind, if possible. At this point, every tidbit of information is vitally important, because we don’t yet know what and what not is of any import. We are groping and grasping in the dark.
I hear him inhale. It’s a deep breath. He is about to speak, at last.
“And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.
But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”
Ah, fuck. We’re back on this again. I don’t like this. Not because it’s from the bible, but because it is appropo of nothing, and completely out of synch with the situation. The guy is obviously as crazy as a bedbug. We are most likely going to have a problem. This sucks!
He’s warming up to this now, and he continues, voice becoming louder, “Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!”
This doesn’t sound like it’s going anyplace happy… I want to take control of this guy right now, but I am also hesitant to provoke something that could otherwise be avoided….
Our Man: “Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire.”
Okay, fuck this. I give a final look back at the others to assure myself that they are with me and paying attention, and, holstering my weapon, I move into the room. I look down at our subject, and he is sitting in a bathtub filled with blood! His head is back, and his eyes are closed, he is smiling the ecstatic smile of the lunatic. He raises his arms in exaltation, bloody water running off of them in red rivulets, and splashing onto the white tiles near my feet. Wherever he is, it isn’t here with us, but I try anyway.
“Come on out of the tub, guy. Let’s go!”
No response.
I grab a wrist and hall him to his feet. Blood is gushing from his groin and splashing into the tub! This guy is going to bleed to death. I snap a handcuff onto his left wrist, and he begins to struggle. I crank the wrist, turn him away from my and stiff arm him against the wall. He’s slippery, and I DO NOT want to end up falling into that friggin’ tub! One of the other cops catches hold of his right wrist, quickly forces his hand behind his back, and close the handcuff on his right wrist. We rip him out of the tub, drag him into the hallway, where someone has mercifully turned a light on, and wad up a towel from the linen closet to hold over his crotch to try to stop the bleeding. As I check the site of the injury I am horrified to see that the man has no penis! He has apparently amputated his own willy! Trying to keep the upset from my voice, I ask him (I have no idea why…), “What the fuck did you do to yourself?!?!” (I am shocked to the core.. I wasn’t expecting this…. At all!!).
He is smiling hugely. He looks like he just found out that he is the sole winner of the lottery.
His reply, “And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire.
Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.
For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost!”
‘Holy fucking shit. What the hell kind of job is this?’, I’m thinking, as I put pressure on the injury to try to control the bleeding. I don’t want this guy to die. (Would I want to live if my penis was amputated?, I ask myself…) (I quickly banish the questions and the emotions… there’s a job at hand, and I need to have a clear head. Some very important decisions were going to have to be made, very quickly, and I couldn’t afford the distractions of my own thoughts…
602: “602 to headquarters. Controlled situation. We have the subject in custody. Subject is injured. Self-Inflicted. We need rescue forthwith!”
Dispatcher: “602, rescue is 36, waiting for your go-ahead. Stand-by.”
A few seconds tick off. The pain is starting to hit our man, as is the loss of blood. I wish it were a military situation, so that I could start an IV on this guy and increase his blood volume. In this state, however, EMT-D’s are not allowed to start IVs. We have to get this guy to a hospital, because he is already in compensated shock, and I can tell from his blood pressure, pulse, breathing, and color that he is minutes or seconds away from decompensating, and when that happens he is going to go south on us, and quickly.
Dispatcher: “602, rescue is advised, they are coming in the front door now.”
602: “10-04.”
The Rescue squad arrives, and I quickly appraise them of what observations I have made. We can’t ascertain with any certainty how much blood has been lost, but we know it is a lot. 602 requests a helicopter, but the closest safe landing spot is almost as far away as the nearest hospital, so rescue decides to transport him. They put him on a gurney, continue to try to control the bleeding, start oxygen therapy on the guy, and out they go.
We can hear units coordinating with one another as they move to shut down the intersections between our location and the hospital.
We hear somebody clumping up the stairs. We can hear the squelch of a police radio, so we know it’s a cop.
We are still in the apartment. I am waiting to wash my hands in the bathroom sink if 601 will ever finish washing his.. (he was apparently the cop that helped me to cuff our subject). We are both covered in this guy’s blood, and we don’t know whether he has any blood-born pathogens. We don’t particularly want to catch any, since they all basically suck ass, so we are scrubbing ourselves raw, with soap. 614 and I are blowing out all of the candles. We have turned the light on, instead.
The new arrival turns out to be the Zone Supervisor: 634. A Sergeant. He is talking on a cell phone, which he has in one hand, and the police radio, which is in the other. He doesn’t acknowledge us at all, being involved in his conversation. Finally, he hangs up the phone, holsters the radio and walks into the kitchen.
We exchange puzzled glances, but wait to see where this is going.
We hear the refrigerator door open and close, and the sound of Ice cube trays being cracked. Ice being dumped into something metallic.
He comes back carrying a large spaghetti pot full of ice. On top of the ice is a dish towel. On the dish towel is a zip-lock bag.
We all raise our eyebrows at him.
He slaps the toilet lid down with a bang, plops the spaghetti pot onto it, and announces, “The surgeons need the amputated body part transported to the hospital immediately. Don’t let it come into direct contact with the ice. I will stand by until we can get somebody down here to take control over the apartment. Let’s go! Get a move on! Time is critical!” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back towards the kitchen, presumably in search of a land-line (telephone).
602, 601 and myself stand there, staring bleakly into the bloody water. Now that the water had been still for awhile, it has cleared somewhat, and sure enough, laying there at the bottom of the tub, looking small, and shriveled, and very, very white… is a penis.
It looks to be from between four to six inches in length, judging its size from the utility knife that is lying not all that far from it. It isn’t moving, has no teeth or claws, no thorns, and no venom that any of us can ascertain. It appears completely docile and harmless. But not one of us moves to pick it up. Somebody clears there throat, and somebody else coughs. Finally, 614, the female cop. The smallest, presumably weakest member of our group, makes an exasperated sound, steps forward, roughly shouldering us aside, and reaches into the water, and picks up the penis with one accurate swoop. She pops it neatly into the zip-lock bag, zips the bag closed, quickly and efficiently wraps the package in the dishtowel and replaces the pot cover with a muffled clang. She quickly gives her hands a rinse with a little soap and water from the bathroom sink, dries them off, picks up the pot, and gives us all a disdainful glare.
“Pussies!” she snaps at us, accusingly, before she heads down the hall and out onto the street.
We stand there for a few seconds, mulling that over. Finally, 601 heads for the door, mumbling, “I like pussies better, anyway….”
We all head out to our vehicles.
Once back in the police car, I advise the dispatcher that I’m back in service. Unable to resist, I reach down to assure myself that everything is copasetic ‘down there’. Satisfied that everything is okay, I put the car in gear and drive off into the night.
Author's note: This story is true. Obviously, names and exact location have been ommitted for obvious reasons. This incident took place some time around 1991 or '92. I understand that the subject of the call had his lost sticky-out bit reattached, and went back on his medications. I remain traumatized. Yikes!
“Six-Oh-Two.”
Dispatcher: “602. Respond to [Address]. Check on the welfare of the occupant. The sister states that he suffers from mental illness, and has stopped taking his medications. He hung up the telephone and refuses to answer. Subject is suicidal and has a history of violence directed towards himself and others. Use caution. Unit to assist 602?”
601: “I’ll start heading over.”
Dispatcher: “10-4 601.”
614 (Female Police Officer): “614, headquarters, I’m going.”
Dispatcher: “10-4.”
608 (Bear): (At this time, I was a relatively new arrival in the precinct, and did not yet have my own steady sector. I was what is known as a ‘relief driver’, which meant that I bounced around to cover vacancies in various sectors. This is the way the precinct has new cops get acquainted with the entire precinct. Over the course of a few years, you will work in every single sector numerous times. By the time you get your own car, you are an old hand and know where everything is, and what’s going on!)
“608, (to) headquarters. I’m heading that way also.”
Dispatcher: “10-4. Advise when ’36.” (10-36 means ‘Arrived at location’ – the dispatcher is requesting that arriving units keep him appraised of the situation).
I began to head in the direction of the call, going through in my head all of the essential points that I would have to keep in mind. For one thing, calls involving EDPs (Emotionally Disturbed Persons) can go from non-threatening to fatal with little or no warning. For another, they are sometimes very difficult to reason with. As a general rule, these calls tend to be taxing and difficult for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the possibility of being called upon to use force against a person who, for all intents and purposes, isn’t quite hooked up right. Any person who doesn’t cringe from this is most likely not quite hooked up right themselves, I would think. Most cops don’t like these calls, and basically view them as a necessary evil, but wish that they didn’t crop up.
As I neared the location, I could hear a few of the other units announcing their arrival to the dispatcher:
602: “602/headquarters, 36. I’ll advise.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 602. Any other unit nearing 36 with 602?”
601: “601/headquarters. I’m a few seconds away.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 601. 602. Six-Zero-Two?”
602: “602.”
Dispatcher: “602, 601 states he is a few seconds out. Stand by for backup. Advise.”
602: “10-04.”
601: “601/headquarters. I’m 36 with 602. We’ll advise.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 Six-Zero-One.”
608 (Bear): “608/Headquarters, I’m also 36. 614 is pulling up also.”
614 (Female Cop): “614, 36.”
Dispatcher: “10-04”
We all headed over to the door of the building. Essentially, the subject resided in an apartment over a retail store on the main street of the village where the call was located. You entered the front door, which, apparently, was kept unlocked, and walked up a flight of stairs which ended sort of at the center point of a short hallway. There were, perhaps, three apartments in the building. We entered the building, turning the volumes down on our radios so that we wouldn’t be heard and identified by the sound. Quietly, we made our way upstairs, and located the door to the apartment that we were looking for. We stood quietly and listened for a few moments, but couldn’t hear anything at all, at first.
602 knocked lightly at the door, and we listened. No answer. We all looked at one another, then back at the door.
602 knocked again, a little louder this time. From inside the apartment, we heard a voice, somewhat distant, but intelligible;
“At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven? And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, …”
Now we really exchanged some looks… was this simply someone reciting from the bible?? Were we about to burst in on some unsuspecting citizen? Or was this somebody who was unhinged and setting us up to be ambushed, or were we possibly at the wrong location, or what??
602 called through the door, “Hello?! This is the Police, can you come to the door, please??”
Silence. Tick - tick - tick - tick….. then, “And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven!”
What. The. Fuck. ?. !. ?.
602 knocked on the door, louder this time, and in his most authoritative voice, called out, “Police! Open the door, please!”
Silence.
602 knocked again. Pounded actually. Nothing.
We moved away from the door and waited while 602 moved to the end of the hallway and contacted the dispatcher over the radio.
602: “602/headquarters. Can you raise a supervisor unit for a quick 33?” (10-33 – ‘car to car communications’ this means direct communications between two cops, or, in other words, a conversation not mediated through the dispatcher. In some cases, the dispatcher serves to control the flow of information and to make all communications less confusing and less time consuming. In some circumstances, it is quicker and easier, and much less confusing to simply communicate directly with another officer, be it another street cop, a supervisor, a detective, crime scene tech, canine cop, helicopter pilot, etc.)
Dispatcher: “Supervisor unit to go direct with 602? 634, Six-Three-Four?”
634 (Sergeant): “634 headquarters, what does he need?”
Dispatcher: “Six-Zero-Two, go direct with Unit 634.”
602: “Boss, we have a ‘check on the welfare’ of an EDP, possibly suicidal, called in by his sister. When we first knocked on the door and announced ourselves, he didn’t respond directly, but began reciting what sound like passages from the bible. When he didn’t answer the door, we knocked again, but have not received any response at all. Request permission to break and enter? The safety of the individual is a concern at this point…”
634 (Sergeant): “Is there a landlord or building owner 36 with a key? Or possibly a superintendent or neighbor? Headquarters, do we have any contact information for owners of the building?”
Dispatcher: “Negative. We have already been trying to contact an owner. The proprietor of the shop downstairs states that the owner is an absentee landlord who is out of state. Unknown whether there are maintenance personnel on-site.”
634 (Sergeant): “Ahhhh…. 10-4. 602? Any neighbors, anyone?”
602: “Not known, Sarge. The safety of the subject is at issue. He’s an EDP, not taking his meds, and possibly suicidal with a history of violence both to himself and to others. We would rather not involve neighbors at this point.”
634 (Sergeant): “Understood. I’ll be three-six in about 20 minutes. Go ahead and break the door. Advise. Headquarters, I’m authorizing 602 and assisting units to break the door. Start rescue heading in that direction, just in case. Notify Emergency Services, see if they have a unit in the vicinity. They may want to start heading over or getting a team together.”
Dispatcher: “10-04 634. Six-Zero-Two and assisting units. Use caution. Do Not endanger the lives of innocent civilians or fellow police officers. Please advise. Clear the air please. No further traffic until 602 notifies that he has a controlled situation. 602, the air is clear, you are a go!”
The radio went dead silent. You could sense the collective consciousness of the entire precinct directed at us as each cop turned his or her attention to the drama that was unfolding at our location. Each and every one of was aware that in the next few seconds, lives could change in very dramatic fashion…. Or be extinguished in a split second.
Silently, 602 looked at me, indicated the door, and gave me the nod. I stood to the side of the door, and the other cops ‘stacked up’ ready to make a dynamic entry into the apartment when I broke the door. I glanced down the line of three cops to my right, along the wall, 602, 614, and 601 taking up the rear. I raised my eyebrows, silently quizzing 602 for the okay to go ahead, (since it is his call, he makes the pertinent decisions… he has the authority, and he carries the responsibility for what goes on… we all do, to a great extent, but the cop who got the call is the first one in line to get squashed if things go badly….) he gave me the ‘go ahead’ and we all drew our weapons. One deep breath, and I took a step to the left, positioned myself in front of the lock, and kicked the door, just alongside the knob and deadbolt. The door held, but the jamb didn’t. With a loud splintering crash, the door burst open and I was already moving.
I moved quickly into the room, and to my right, moving low and moving quickly, so as to avoid silhouetting myself in the doorway. I scan the room, looking for movement, for anything out of place, for anything that presents a threat to me, or to my fellow officers. Behind me, I can feel the others moving into the room, quickly and with a practiced grace and fluidity, fanning out into the room, each covering a different section. In less than a second, we have taken the first room, a living room. To our right is a kitchen, obviously empty. I do a ‘quick-peek’ to make sure nobody is crouched down or hiding in a corner. Satisfied, I indicate to the others that the kitchen is clear. There are three doorways other than the short hallway leading to the kitchen, which open into the living room, which is the central room in the apartment. Two doors are closed, (one behind us, which turns out to be a closet… empty of people), the door to the right is open, and the door to the left is closed. 614 takes up an overwatch position near the closed door, gun drawn and aimed towards the door. The rest of us stack up on the open door and with a silent finger-count of three, we enter the room… it turns out to be a bedroom, with a small closet. Its clear. We return to the living room, and stack up on the closed door after listening quietly for a few seconds. Silence.
I try the door, very slowly, keeping my body well to one side. I am on the right side of the door, the knob side, and everyone else is on the left, the hinge side. I slowly turn the knob, releasing the latch, then let it stand slightly ajar like that for a minute or so, waiting to see if anyone shuts it or moves, or does anything else on the other side. Patience. It’s a waiting game. I am pressured by the fact that this individual may have attempted suicide by some means, and may be in dire need of medical assistance, but I am not prepared to force the situation into a fatal encounter because of undue haste on my part. The reality is that I have no idea what is on the other side of that door, and what I don’t know can most certainly kill me. I take my time. The others leave me to this, I am known for having a cool head and for maintaining a sharp mind under pressure. They trust my judgment, and they follow my lead. I let the seconds tick off. Silence.
I raise my eyebrows to them. “Ready?” I ask silently, with my eyes. “Yes!” Its unanimous. I slowly push the door slightly open, giving them the first ‘slice of the pie’ to check. I can’t see anything, but I watch their faces intently, attempting to read through their expressions what they are seeing in real time. I have worked with these people for a good while. I trust them. I follow their lead. The first ‘slice’ of the room that they can see is clear.
The door is out of my reach now, so the first cop stacked by the hinge side of the door takes over. I move slightly so that I can peer through the opening by the hinges, and satisfy myself that nobody is lurking back there. We eventually open the door all the way. It opens into a short hallway. The hallway ends about twelve feet away from us. The terminus is a door, most likely a linen closet. There is a door to the right and a door to the left. Both doors are open. From the left, a low light is flickering. Although it is daylight out, no sunlight reaches this portion of the apartment, and it’s dark. There are candles burning in the room on the left. Does this mean that our subject is in that room? Or are the candles a diversion to get us to look there first, and thus create enough lag time for someone to burst out of the other room, knife drawn or gun blazing?? 602 gives me the nod, and I start moving down the hallway. I hate this. There is nowhere to go if things go badly. There are three cops behind me, blocking the way, and I’m in a tube. If I’m threatened, I’m moving forward. Quickly, violently, and unstoppably. If this guy bursts into the hallway, I am going to ruin his day before he has a chance to do much of anything. I don’t like feeling mentally boxed in like this, but this is the situation I’m presented with, and I have to deal with it. I move forward.
I get close to the two open doorways. I stand silently and listen. I can hear someone breathing to my left. I hear a small splash of water. It’s a bathroom. Our man is alive, and in or near a tub, sink, toilet, or other water source, apparently. I raise my hand and indicate to the others that the room on the left is occupied, and to wait. I stand silently and listen.
This guy had to have heard his front door get kicked in, yet he hasn’t responded. Something isn’t right. I’m not prepared to step through that doorway without some more information. I don’t want to end up shooting this guy to find out that it could have been avoided with a little forethought. He may not be right in the head, but he is a human being, he is alive, and I don’t want to be the one to change that if I can help it.
“Hey, man… it’s the police. How’re ya doin’??
Silence. The water sounds have stopped. So he heard me, and he is listening. As long as he is still, everyone should be okay… (unless he happens to be aiming a shotgun at the approximate place where I am standing and plans to blow a piece of the wall through my spleen!)
“Your sister called. She is very concerned about you… are you okay?”
Silence.
“Say. Could you answer me so that I know everything’s okay with you?? I want to make sure that everybody goes home safely today, you know??
Nothing.
Fuck.
I’m going to have to go into this room.
I motion for one of the other cops to move forward and cover the doorway. I get down low. Very low. I quick peek into the room, but can’t see clearly because something is blocking my view. I move my head up a little higher, and expecting to have my face splattered all over the wall behind me next to my brains and teeth, I quick peek again.
He is sitting in the bathtub. There are many, many candles set all about the bathroom, all lit. He has a sort of bathtub tray table set across the tub, with a bookstand on it. Presumably, this is the bible. I was able to see both of his hands, they’re empty. I am fairly certain that this guy can’t get out of that tub to reach anything faster than I can put him on his face if I have to.
The radio is still pregnantly, ominously silent. Everyone is wondering what the fuck is going on here. I am starting to feel the time pressure, but resist it just a little while longer.
Why the fuck isn’t 602 doing this part, anyway?? It occurs to me… ach!
“Hey, guy… I’m going to come on in to the bathroom, okay?? I just want to talk to you and make sure you’re okay. Is that alright with you?”
I’m not really asking his permission to come inside. At this point, I own this house until such time as I leave as far as I’m concerned. Not out of arrogance, but out of a desire for my, and everybody else’s, continued safety. I am asking him questions to try to draw him out and to gauge his state of mind, if possible. At this point, every tidbit of information is vitally important, because we don’t yet know what and what not is of any import. We are groping and grasping in the dark.
I hear him inhale. It’s a deep breath. He is about to speak, at last.
“And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.
But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.”
Ah, fuck. We’re back on this again. I don’t like this. Not because it’s from the bible, but because it is appropo of nothing, and completely out of synch with the situation. The guy is obviously as crazy as a bedbug. We are most likely going to have a problem. This sucks!
He’s warming up to this now, and he continues, voice becoming louder, “Woe unto the world because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh!”
This doesn’t sound like it’s going anyplace happy… I want to take control of this guy right now, but I am also hesitant to provoke something that could otherwise be avoided….
Our Man: “Wherefore if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life halt or maimed, rather than having two hands or two feet to be cast into everlasting fire.”
Okay, fuck this. I give a final look back at the others to assure myself that they are with me and paying attention, and, holstering my weapon, I move into the room. I look down at our subject, and he is sitting in a bathtub filled with blood! His head is back, and his eyes are closed, he is smiling the ecstatic smile of the lunatic. He raises his arms in exaltation, bloody water running off of them in red rivulets, and splashing onto the white tiles near my feet. Wherever he is, it isn’t here with us, but I try anyway.
“Come on out of the tub, guy. Let’s go!”
No response.
I grab a wrist and hall him to his feet. Blood is gushing from his groin and splashing into the tub! This guy is going to bleed to death. I snap a handcuff onto his left wrist, and he begins to struggle. I crank the wrist, turn him away from my and stiff arm him against the wall. He’s slippery, and I DO NOT want to end up falling into that friggin’ tub! One of the other cops catches hold of his right wrist, quickly forces his hand behind his back, and close the handcuff on his right wrist. We rip him out of the tub, drag him into the hallway, where someone has mercifully turned a light on, and wad up a towel from the linen closet to hold over his crotch to try to stop the bleeding. As I check the site of the injury I am horrified to see that the man has no penis! He has apparently amputated his own willy! Trying to keep the upset from my voice, I ask him (I have no idea why…), “What the fuck did you do to yourself?!?!” (I am shocked to the core.. I wasn’t expecting this…. At all!!).
He is smiling hugely. He looks like he just found out that he is the sole winner of the lottery.
His reply, “And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire.
Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones; for I say unto you, That in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my Father which is in heaven.
For the Son of man is come to save that which was lost!”
‘Holy fucking shit. What the hell kind of job is this?’, I’m thinking, as I put pressure on the injury to try to control the bleeding. I don’t want this guy to die. (Would I want to live if my penis was amputated?, I ask myself…) (I quickly banish the questions and the emotions… there’s a job at hand, and I need to have a clear head. Some very important decisions were going to have to be made, very quickly, and I couldn’t afford the distractions of my own thoughts…
602: “602 to headquarters. Controlled situation. We have the subject in custody. Subject is injured. Self-Inflicted. We need rescue forthwith!”
Dispatcher: “602, rescue is 36, waiting for your go-ahead. Stand-by.”
A few seconds tick off. The pain is starting to hit our man, as is the loss of blood. I wish it were a military situation, so that I could start an IV on this guy and increase his blood volume. In this state, however, EMT-D’s are not allowed to start IVs. We have to get this guy to a hospital, because he is already in compensated shock, and I can tell from his blood pressure, pulse, breathing, and color that he is minutes or seconds away from decompensating, and when that happens he is going to go south on us, and quickly.
Dispatcher: “602, rescue is advised, they are coming in the front door now.”
602: “10-04.”
The Rescue squad arrives, and I quickly appraise them of what observations I have made. We can’t ascertain with any certainty how much blood has been lost, but we know it is a lot. 602 requests a helicopter, but the closest safe landing spot is almost as far away as the nearest hospital, so rescue decides to transport him. They put him on a gurney, continue to try to control the bleeding, start oxygen therapy on the guy, and out they go.
We can hear units coordinating with one another as they move to shut down the intersections between our location and the hospital.
We hear somebody clumping up the stairs. We can hear the squelch of a police radio, so we know it’s a cop.
We are still in the apartment. I am waiting to wash my hands in the bathroom sink if 601 will ever finish washing his.. (he was apparently the cop that helped me to cuff our subject). We are both covered in this guy’s blood, and we don’t know whether he has any blood-born pathogens. We don’t particularly want to catch any, since they all basically suck ass, so we are scrubbing ourselves raw, with soap. 614 and I are blowing out all of the candles. We have turned the light on, instead.
The new arrival turns out to be the Zone Supervisor: 634. A Sergeant. He is talking on a cell phone, which he has in one hand, and the police radio, which is in the other. He doesn’t acknowledge us at all, being involved in his conversation. Finally, he hangs up the phone, holsters the radio and walks into the kitchen.
We exchange puzzled glances, but wait to see where this is going.
We hear the refrigerator door open and close, and the sound of Ice cube trays being cracked. Ice being dumped into something metallic.
He comes back carrying a large spaghetti pot full of ice. On top of the ice is a dish towel. On the dish towel is a zip-lock bag.
We all raise our eyebrows at him.
He slaps the toilet lid down with a bang, plops the spaghetti pot onto it, and announces, “The surgeons need the amputated body part transported to the hospital immediately. Don’t let it come into direct contact with the ice. I will stand by until we can get somebody down here to take control over the apartment. Let’s go! Get a move on! Time is critical!” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back towards the kitchen, presumably in search of a land-line (telephone).
602, 601 and myself stand there, staring bleakly into the bloody water. Now that the water had been still for awhile, it has cleared somewhat, and sure enough, laying there at the bottom of the tub, looking small, and shriveled, and very, very white… is a penis.
It looks to be from between four to six inches in length, judging its size from the utility knife that is lying not all that far from it. It isn’t moving, has no teeth or claws, no thorns, and no venom that any of us can ascertain. It appears completely docile and harmless. But not one of us moves to pick it up. Somebody clears there throat, and somebody else coughs. Finally, 614, the female cop. The smallest, presumably weakest member of our group, makes an exasperated sound, steps forward, roughly shouldering us aside, and reaches into the water, and picks up the penis with one accurate swoop. She pops it neatly into the zip-lock bag, zips the bag closed, quickly and efficiently wraps the package in the dishtowel and replaces the pot cover with a muffled clang. She quickly gives her hands a rinse with a little soap and water from the bathroom sink, dries them off, picks up the pot, and gives us all a disdainful glare.
“Pussies!” she snaps at us, accusingly, before she heads down the hall and out onto the street.
We stand there for a few seconds, mulling that over. Finally, 601 heads for the door, mumbling, “I like pussies better, anyway….”
We all head out to our vehicles.
Once back in the police car, I advise the dispatcher that I’m back in service. Unable to resist, I reach down to assure myself that everything is copasetic ‘down there’. Satisfied that everything is okay, I put the car in gear and drive off into the night.
Author's note: This story is true. Obviously, names and exact location have been ommitted for obvious reasons. This incident took place some time around 1991 or '92. I understand that the subject of the call had his lost sticky-out bit reattached, and went back on his medications. I remain traumatized. Yikes!
Dé Sathairn
Today kicked ass!! Coffee in the garden, then we breeped up to a local tattoo parlor that we had scoped out a few months ago, where we gave a design for Elysia's new tattoo (Om Mahni Padme Hum in Tibetan Sanskrit -- is there a Tibetan version?? This is very similar in style to the Om Mahni Padme Hum that is carved into the rocks at sacred sites there, anyway... and it is then mirrored. It's a very cool design!)
Once we dropped off the design and agreed upon a time, we snarked up to a Korean restaurant that we go to now and again for some lunch (Salad with ginger/sesame dressing, toenjang-guk (aka miso soup), California roll to share, and Bibimbap which is rice with mixed vegetables, ground beef, and an egg served with kochujjang (fermented hot pepper sauce). It is delicious and today was no exception!
After lunch, we headed home (no breeping or snarking.. though we very well may have been spotted swangling a time or two..)and Elysia baked up some friggin' great banana bread! (this is made from scratch.. no mixes, cans, or any of that jazz!)
I tweaked a tattoo design that had been sitting in the wings for a while, and when it was time, we headed back to the tattoo shop and the tattoo girls went to work on our designs, getting them 'tattoo-ready'. Elysia started first, and I sat down about a half an hour to 45 minutes later.
When we were both done, we headed to the pizzeria near home, picked up a large pepperoni and sausage pizza, popped in to pick out some movies at the video store (
'Robots' and 'Trauma' starring Colin Firth and some chick from 'Six Feet Under' -- we watched Robots and both of us got a kick out of it!). We watched our movie, ate our pizza, and headed up for some late-night bloggin'.
So. That's what I did today. I had a good day!
Tommorrow is a new day... and it's all mine!
I'm off to bed, folks....
OÃche Mhaith! (Good night!) (Well.. good evening, actually...)
Once we dropped off the design and agreed upon a time, we snarked up to a Korean restaurant that we go to now and again for some lunch (Salad with ginger/sesame dressing, toenjang-guk (aka miso soup), California roll to share, and Bibimbap which is rice with mixed vegetables, ground beef, and an egg served with kochujjang (fermented hot pepper sauce). It is delicious and today was no exception!
After lunch, we headed home (no breeping or snarking.. though we very well may have been spotted swangling a time or two..)and Elysia baked up some friggin' great banana bread! (this is made from scratch.. no mixes, cans, or any of that jazz!)
I tweaked a tattoo design that had been sitting in the wings for a while, and when it was time, we headed back to the tattoo shop and the tattoo girls went to work on our designs, getting them 'tattoo-ready'. Elysia started first, and I sat down about a half an hour to 45 minutes later.
When we were both done, we headed to the pizzeria near home, picked up a large pepperoni and sausage pizza, popped in to pick out some movies at the video store (
'Robots' and 'Trauma' starring Colin Firth and some chick from 'Six Feet Under' -- we watched Robots and both of us got a kick out of it!). We watched our movie, ate our pizza, and headed up for some late-night bloggin'.
So. That's what I did today. I had a good day!
Tommorrow is a new day... and it's all mine!
I'm off to bed, folks....
OÃche Mhaith! (Good night!) (Well.. good evening, actually...)
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Breathing Space
Finally! I have a weekend off! A glorious space of days in which I am obligated to do absolutely nothing!!
Yesterday, I had an appointment which excused me from work, and once that had been taken care of, I had a few hours in which to relax and decompress. This, my friends, was marvellous!
I went out and got some fresh air and sunshine, read, listened to music, ate some food, cuddled with my wife, and just generally relaxed.
I have been working a great deal, and just knowing that I have a couple of days off is doing wonders for my kibun (Korean word: (No english equivelant) - mood, spirit, karma, well-being, peace of mind, attitude ... I could go on and on here... but this conveys what I'm essentially trying to say).
The weather is unbelievably gorgeous! I woke up to sunshine streaming through the east facing windows... a cool early-autumn breeze was stirring the leaves and tickling the wind chimes into light strains of morning music. The birds, not wanting to be left out, naturally, added their considerable talent to the mix, and beside me was a warm, soft, snuggly female body, one cat on my legs, and the other one wrapped around the top of my head, purring his ass off!
I woke up early, around 7AM, and got up so that I could enjoy the morning, and do something that I generally am unable to do due to work constraints; Listen to the Gaelic language programming on WFUV on Saturday mornings here... of course, I ended up forgetting to ever turn the radio on, because I'm a clod, but, you can't have everything your way all the time, now, can you??
I spent the morning dicking around with my Blogger template, having fun learning what makes it tick, and changing, deleting, and adding things... (I felt like Eyore in the Winnie the Pooh story where Pooh and Piglet bring birthday gifts to Eyore at his gloomy place... Pooh brings a pot of 'Hunny', which he completely consumes during the journey, and Piglet brings a balloon, which he trips and falls on, popping it in the process. When they finally arrive at Eyore's gloomy place, they present him with an empty Hunny-pot, and a broken balloon.. but he absolutely loves them, and spends the day putting the balloon into the pot, and taking it back out again!! Eyeore, gloomy and negative as he is portrayed, apparently has a zen-sense of enjoying the small pleasures that life presents him with... He and I have this in common, I think... I missed out on my radio show, but I had a blast playing with my wee computer bits, have yet the entire day, and all day tommorrow to enjoy... I'm in heaven!!
I think I may have been blessed by a serendipitous discovery, by the way; Apparently (apparently.. and I SO hope that this is so...) the antibiotics that I am currently taking to treat the epididymitis have also done something magickal to help cure the plantar fasciitis that has been plaguing me for these past months... it is unbelievably wonderful to be able to stand in the morning without being in agony. If in fact the foot pain is gone for good, I am a very, very thankful Bear!
Is é an Lá go breá é!! (It's a great day!)
I just came back with a huge steaming cup of coffee, and my mind is starting to turn over the possibilities for the day... what do do?? What to do??
We've been designing tattoos, the two of us, and whereas mine is not yet complete.. Elysia seems to have a final design set to go... perhaps we'll nip over to the tattoo parlor and see about having it done for her.. who knows?? The day is still full of possibilities!! Is there anything better than the first hours of a completely free weekend??
Thanks to Waiter over at 'http://www.waiterrant.net', who was gracious enough to put a link to this blog on his page. This has resulted a host of new readers popping by to read my nonsense. This makes Bear very happy! So, I want to say "Thanx, Waiter!" That was a very cool thing to do. Welcome to all of you who are new here. I hope you enjoy my writing and stick around! Some of you are from nearby, and some from very far away indeed! The beauty of the internet, however, is that we can all be community, regardless of where we physically are. For those of you who stop by from time to time, I would love to hear from you, either in comments, or, if you have an aversion to this, drop me an email. I am very curious to know who reads this blog, where you are from, what you do (for a living), what you do (for fun), what you think of what you are reading here, whether or not you like marmosets... you know, important stuff! So, if you can spare a moment, please, drop me a line and tell me a litte about yourselves.. It's mildly spooky to think that there are so many people reading my blog who I have no sense of whatsoever... I want to get to know you... at least to some degree. (I promise I won't try to sell you anything!)
Okay... some of you may be wondering just what the hell I'm on about with the Marmoset thing. Blandwagon left me a comment that had me literally crying with laughter. (I also have a very warped and dry sense of humor, you see...) and I have been wringing every giggle that I can out of it... Here is the comment:
Just remember to take your FULL COURSE OF ANTIBIOTICS. Half of the world's problems are caused by people deciding that they're better and stopping their medication before they're fully healed.
The other half are caused by marmosets. They're sneaky buggers.
The other half are caused by marmosets. They're sneaky buggers.
For whatever reason, this tickled the shit out of me, and I've been traipsing around announcing that Marmosets are 'sneaky little buggers' to anyone who will listen, (or to whomsoever I can manage to run down, tackle, and pin long enough to rattle off my silly comment to...), and laughing insanely to myself!
Now you know the sordid truth about Marmosets, Blandwagon, and myself. (How DARE you judge me!! :-) )
I'm going to have to come up with a T-Shirt design with the Marmosets. So, on second thought, perhaps I may try to sell you something after all... naturally, I would only do such a thing with Blandwagon's blessings.
The day is still young, but time's a wastin'!! So, I'm off in search of adventure, mischief, and Jubblies.
I really mean it about all the lurkers (or at least a healthy portion of the lurkers.. this includes any of you who happen to be marmosets, by the way..) dropping me a line. No pressure (much!), but, I honestly would like to know who you are (don't get all freaked out here... you can actually make up a screen name... I don't actually know who any of you are.. well, except for my wife, though she could be a marmoset in disguise...
Enough of this dribble... I'm off like a prom dress!
Slán go Fóill!!
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Strange Music
Tonight we celebrated our third wedding anniversary. Three happily married years! We have been together as a couple twice as long as that, and we have been friends for over sixteen years!!
Although our night out to see 'Phantom of the Opera' was more or less our anniversary celebration, we couldn't go through the actual Day without doing something!! (Now.. I know what you're thinking... but, I'm out of commission right now, Doc's orders... Rats!!)
So.. we decided to go out to dinner to a nice romantic little place.... Elysia got a recommendation from a co-worker, so we chose this place:
Which, is a few towns away (which translates to a ten to fifteen minute drive..)
It is cozy, romantic, and beautiful! The staff is great, and the food was out of this world!
As we were setting to at our appetizer, one of the adjacent tables was just preparing to leave. The last person at the table to stand up, a woman, apparently decided to leave an appetizer for us of her very own making; As she was scooting around the table to make her way out into the aisle, she let go with a loud, thunderous fart!! In public, unapologetically, and no more than four feet away from us!!
I was so shocked by this, for some reason, that I quite inadvertently snapped my head around and gaped at her!!
Elysia had the poise to pretend that she didn't notice at all.. which I found to be scandalous, and would have none of whatsoever! Being the helpful fellow that I am, I gleefully brought her up to date on the news by whispering (I call it a whisper.. she maintains that I am incapable of whispering) to her that the lady in question had just 'baked a huge fart!'. I didn't want her to miss out on any of the fun, you see...
There is some degree of incongruity in a lady farting in a posh bistro that I find incredibly amusing. I wanted to show my solidarity with her by standing up and letting one go.. but It was my sense that the other patrons would not have shared the spirit of the moment with me. (Well, they would have absolutely shared in the spirit of the moment, but that's not precisely what I meant...)
This brings to mind other instances where ill-timed farts brought either great embarassment or a gale of laughter...
I was out at the mall one day, years ago, and for some reason I suddenly had an urge to let loose with what I just knew was going to be loud, obnoxious, and room-silencing fart. But. I was in about the most public place that one can be in!! What's worse, no matter what seculded spot I tried to slink away into, some friggin' imbecile would manage to follow me and hang around.. it was hopeless!! The bathrooms were all occupado.. single person bathrooms, no less, where one couldn't just wander in, let one fly, and flee. I was starting to get panicky, (one hiccup, one sneeze, one trip on a crack in the floor, and it was all over.. but hopefully (hopefully, not all over me!! Yeek!) I could manage to find someplace where I could sneak off to and just bloody well have done with it before I died!!
Finally, I managed to find an empty corner where the men's suit department was located. I didn't see a soul around. I backed almost all the way into the farthest corner of the store and boy did I honk out a huge one!! Just then, immediately on the other side of the rack I was standing next to an older woman... an older, prudish, proper, severe, puritannical old biddy who had been stooped over doing some sort of work back there stood straight up with the most abject look of horror and disgust on her face that I have ever had the privilege (privilege??) to set my eyes upon. What's even more endearing, is that it was directed at me!! And that was before the Huba-stank whomped her in the old snot-locker, at which time she simply looked about ready to pass out. I was absolutely mortified. I could have just died!! I felt like the most ill-bred, uncouth, crass, dotish buffoon on the face of the earth. So I ran. Like hell!! And I never, ever, ever went back there. They have since gone out of business, but I don't think that much of that can be attributed to the fart... though I can't honestly rule it out.
I was working as a store detective in a retail clothing store for awhile. This particular location had been getting hit regularly by groups of shoplifters, and the store was very serious about apprehending and making examples of the culprits. Due to my years of law enforcement experience, they felt that I would be a good choice insofar as I was very well acquainted with the laws of the state, and was able to build a strong case against anyone that I observed stealing merchandise from the store. So far, so good.
My main method for catching these folks was to remain perfectly still and quietly watch, usually from a remote section of the sales floor from where I could see a great deal of what was going on. My usual way of going about this was to stand on one end of an 'H-track', which is basically a clothing rack with two long parallel bars upon which the clothing hangs, and lean over it with my elbows on the cross-bar. This brought my head down to the level of the cross bars and made me much less obvious to anyone who casually looked in my direction. I never knew exactly how well this worked until one day, as I was at my 'perch' and watching the shoppers, a woman slowly made her way around the department, browsing the racks, and ever so slowyly making her way to where I was standing. She actually began to browse the very rack that I was leaning on, and I just assumed that she had seen me. She didn't acknowledge me in any way, and I remained stock-still, on the watch for thieves.. which is what I was supposed to be doing... as she was browsing the rack, she suddenly let out a little squeak. This caused my eyebrows to raise a bit, and in my head I said, "Wow! That lady just completely cut a fart, not two feet away from me!", but outwardly, I made no sign at all. I was a little taken aback by it, but, let's face it, people fart, and sometimes they sneak out with little or no warning... so, no sense making a big deal out of it and embarassing folks. So I ignored it. Not ten seconds later, she blasted one out that burned the hair off my arms and made my eyes water.. I was completely and utterly shocked! I could not believe that this woman had just blatantly knocked one off basically in my face!! But, chivalry not being dead, I made no mention, nor did I make any sign that I had noticed. She was not yet finished however... she began humming to herself, and pushing out the little fart-bubbles at the end in time with the tune that she was singing to herself... now this was a bit much!! Just about that time, she held up a shirt that she apparently considered to be a particularly lucky find. I, on the other hand, had lost the battle with my self-discipline, and had just begun to turn my head to get a good look at this cretin of a woman who had just irradiated me against my will. As I moved my head, this caught her eye, I now realize, for the very first time!! Our eyes met, she did the math (rather quickly, I'll add!), and she did three things simultaneously; she gasped, (eyes wide, hand to mouth), she dropped the shirt, and lastly, she ran. Like hell. And she never, ever, came back! There was some sort of cosmic balance in that whole thing, I rather feel...
Another time, while stationed in Korea, it was the custom of all of the local martial arts dojangs (gyms) to get together to train and then have dinner together on the third Tuesday of the month. One or the other of the groups would lead a communal work-out, we would do our best to kill one another, and then we would get showered up and head out to a restaurant for dinner and laughs.
On this particular night, we had reserved a room at the NCO Club on base. We headed over after the workout, and at some point the manager came over to us, looking harried and worried, and asked if we would mind if he put a couple at one of the tables in our room. Apparently he had overbooked his reservations, and had run out of space. "No problem! Bring 'em on in!" we said, and he brought in a married service couple and sat them at a small table in the corner. We continued on with our dinner, and during the course of the meal, we told stories or recounted situations that caused us all to lapse into hysterical laughter.
At one point, the husband, who was a bit of a wet blanket, apparently, decided that we were making entirely too much noise in the room that we had reserved for just this occassion so that we could do just what we were doing, by the way... and stood up, approached the table that I was sitting at, and demanded (not asked, demanded! that we keep the noise down)(you have got to be fucking kidding us, right??) We didn't want to make an issue out of it, and basically told him that 'sure, we'll keep it down.. sorry for the bother...etc., etc., and went on with dinner. Knucklehead wasn't happy with the way we sort of blew him off, and began to give us the hairy-eyeball, which started to become a source of amusement to some of the guys there. At one point, somebody, I'm not sure who... (honestly... I really have no idea...) blasted a loud, splapping fart, followed by group hysterics. This was obviously directed at hubby, and it thouroughly pissed him off. Bad timing, and bad situation on his part, unfortunately... to make matters worse, his wife had to stifle a giggle, which went right up his ass! He stood up, walked back over to our table, and stood at my elbow. (Why does it always have to be me??!).
"Excuse me!", he snapped. I ignored him completely and went on with my conversation.
"Excuse me, I said!" he repeated. And, I continued to blow him off. I didn't want to be involved. This wasn't going anywhere that I liked, and I wanted him to go away, and enjoy his dinner with his wife. I knew this guy wanted to pick a fight to impress his wife, and I was fairly certain that this plan would backfire in his face if it went where he was trying to take it, and I didn't think that that was cool, but I didn't have the presence of mind to be able to smooth it out, and I knew it.
He poked me. Actually put his hands on me and poked me, the fuck!
"I'm talking to YOU!! ... Okay.. this was too much. I had enough.
"What's up, Boss?? Is there a problem??"
"Yes. YOU farted in front of my wife!" - this he punctuated by poking me in the chest with his bony little finger. This guy was not only a turd. He was friggin' stupid!!
"Did I??" I enquired.
"Yes. You did!"
"Well... I'm very, very sorry! I apologize. I didn't realize that it was her turn to fart!" I quipped. Deliberately putting him in a position to either hit me and have done with it, or to go sit down and quit acting like a dick.
His wife busted out laughing. Everyone else busted out laughing. Forty six to fifty black belts stood up with business faces on, just in case he was thinking of acting foolish, and he finally realized that he was not really acting in his own best interests and went and sat down.
To let them know that there were no hard feelings, we bought them a round of cocktails, chipped in for their dinner, and one of the guys ran out and picked up a pair of tickets for them at the base movie theatre.
Eventually, he softened up and we got a good laugh out of him, so it all worked out well in the end.
To this day I don't know who cut that fart! Nobody would ever admit to it.....
Thanx, Flatman!
Although our night out to see 'Phantom of the Opera' was more or less our anniversary celebration, we couldn't go through the actual Day without doing something!! (Now.. I know what you're thinking... but, I'm out of commission right now, Doc's orders... Rats!!)
So.. we decided to go out to dinner to a nice romantic little place.... Elysia got a recommendation from a co-worker, so we chose this place:
Which, is a few towns away (which translates to a ten to fifteen minute drive..)
It is cozy, romantic, and beautiful! The staff is great, and the food was out of this world!
As we were setting to at our appetizer, one of the adjacent tables was just preparing to leave. The last person at the table to stand up, a woman, apparently decided to leave an appetizer for us of her very own making; As she was scooting around the table to make her way out into the aisle, she let go with a loud, thunderous fart!! In public, unapologetically, and no more than four feet away from us!!
I was so shocked by this, for some reason, that I quite inadvertently snapped my head around and gaped at her!!
Elysia had the poise to pretend that she didn't notice at all.. which I found to be scandalous, and would have none of whatsoever! Being the helpful fellow that I am, I gleefully brought her up to date on the news by whispering (I call it a whisper.. she maintains that I am incapable of whispering) to her that the lady in question had just 'baked a huge fart!'. I didn't want her to miss out on any of the fun, you see...
There is some degree of incongruity in a lady farting in a posh bistro that I find incredibly amusing. I wanted to show my solidarity with her by standing up and letting one go.. but It was my sense that the other patrons would not have shared the spirit of the moment with me. (Well, they would have absolutely shared in the spirit of the moment, but that's not precisely what I meant...)
This brings to mind other instances where ill-timed farts brought either great embarassment or a gale of laughter...
I was out at the mall one day, years ago, and for some reason I suddenly had an urge to let loose with what I just knew was going to be loud, obnoxious, and room-silencing fart. But. I was in about the most public place that one can be in!! What's worse, no matter what seculded spot I tried to slink away into, some friggin' imbecile would manage to follow me and hang around.. it was hopeless!! The bathrooms were all occupado.. single person bathrooms, no less, where one couldn't just wander in, let one fly, and flee. I was starting to get panicky, (one hiccup, one sneeze, one trip on a crack in the floor, and it was all over.. but hopefully (hopefully, not all over me!! Yeek!) I could manage to find someplace where I could sneak off to and just bloody well have done with it before I died!!
Finally, I managed to find an empty corner where the men's suit department was located. I didn't see a soul around. I backed almost all the way into the farthest corner of the store and boy did I honk out a huge one!! Just then, immediately on the other side of the rack I was standing next to an older woman... an older, prudish, proper, severe, puritannical old biddy who had been stooped over doing some sort of work back there stood straight up with the most abject look of horror and disgust on her face that I have ever had the privilege (privilege??) to set my eyes upon. What's even more endearing, is that it was directed at me!! And that was before the Huba-stank whomped her in the old snot-locker, at which time she simply looked about ready to pass out. I was absolutely mortified. I could have just died!! I felt like the most ill-bred, uncouth, crass, dotish buffoon on the face of the earth. So I ran. Like hell!! And I never, ever, ever went back there. They have since gone out of business, but I don't think that much of that can be attributed to the fart... though I can't honestly rule it out.
I was working as a store detective in a retail clothing store for awhile. This particular location had been getting hit regularly by groups of shoplifters, and the store was very serious about apprehending and making examples of the culprits. Due to my years of law enforcement experience, they felt that I would be a good choice insofar as I was very well acquainted with the laws of the state, and was able to build a strong case against anyone that I observed stealing merchandise from the store. So far, so good.
My main method for catching these folks was to remain perfectly still and quietly watch, usually from a remote section of the sales floor from where I could see a great deal of what was going on. My usual way of going about this was to stand on one end of an 'H-track', which is basically a clothing rack with two long parallel bars upon which the clothing hangs, and lean over it with my elbows on the cross-bar. This brought my head down to the level of the cross bars and made me much less obvious to anyone who casually looked in my direction. I never knew exactly how well this worked until one day, as I was at my 'perch' and watching the shoppers, a woman slowly made her way around the department, browsing the racks, and ever so slowyly making her way to where I was standing. She actually began to browse the very rack that I was leaning on, and I just assumed that she had seen me. She didn't acknowledge me in any way, and I remained stock-still, on the watch for thieves.. which is what I was supposed to be doing... as she was browsing the rack, she suddenly let out a little squeak. This caused my eyebrows to raise a bit, and in my head I said, "Wow! That lady just completely cut a fart, not two feet away from me!", but outwardly, I made no sign at all. I was a little taken aback by it, but, let's face it, people fart, and sometimes they sneak out with little or no warning... so, no sense making a big deal out of it and embarassing folks. So I ignored it. Not ten seconds later, she blasted one out that burned the hair off my arms and made my eyes water.. I was completely and utterly shocked! I could not believe that this woman had just blatantly knocked one off basically in my face!! But, chivalry not being dead, I made no mention, nor did I make any sign that I had noticed. She was not yet finished however... she began humming to herself, and pushing out the little fart-bubbles at the end in time with the tune that she was singing to herself... now this was a bit much!! Just about that time, she held up a shirt that she apparently considered to be a particularly lucky find. I, on the other hand, had lost the battle with my self-discipline, and had just begun to turn my head to get a good look at this cretin of a woman who had just irradiated me against my will. As I moved my head, this caught her eye, I now realize, for the very first time!! Our eyes met, she did the math (rather quickly, I'll add!), and she did three things simultaneously; she gasped, (eyes wide, hand to mouth), she dropped the shirt, and lastly, she ran. Like hell. And she never, ever, came back! There was some sort of cosmic balance in that whole thing, I rather feel...
Another time, while stationed in Korea, it was the custom of all of the local martial arts dojangs (gyms) to get together to train and then have dinner together on the third Tuesday of the month. One or the other of the groups would lead a communal work-out, we would do our best to kill one another, and then we would get showered up and head out to a restaurant for dinner and laughs.
On this particular night, we had reserved a room at the NCO Club on base. We headed over after the workout, and at some point the manager came over to us, looking harried and worried, and asked if we would mind if he put a couple at one of the tables in our room. Apparently he had overbooked his reservations, and had run out of space. "No problem! Bring 'em on in!" we said, and he brought in a married service couple and sat them at a small table in the corner. We continued on with our dinner, and during the course of the meal, we told stories or recounted situations that caused us all to lapse into hysterical laughter.
At one point, the husband, who was a bit of a wet blanket, apparently, decided that we were making entirely too much noise in the room that we had reserved for just this occassion so that we could do just what we were doing, by the way... and stood up, approached the table that I was sitting at, and demanded (not asked, demanded! that we keep the noise down)(you have got to be fucking kidding us, right??) We didn't want to make an issue out of it, and basically told him that 'sure, we'll keep it down.. sorry for the bother...etc., etc., and went on with dinner. Knucklehead wasn't happy with the way we sort of blew him off, and began to give us the hairy-eyeball, which started to become a source of amusement to some of the guys there. At one point, somebody, I'm not sure who... (honestly... I really have no idea...) blasted a loud, splapping fart, followed by group hysterics. This was obviously directed at hubby, and it thouroughly pissed him off. Bad timing, and bad situation on his part, unfortunately... to make matters worse, his wife had to stifle a giggle, which went right up his ass! He stood up, walked back over to our table, and stood at my elbow. (Why does it always have to be me??!).
"Excuse me!", he snapped. I ignored him completely and went on with my conversation.
"Excuse me, I said!" he repeated. And, I continued to blow him off. I didn't want to be involved. This wasn't going anywhere that I liked, and I wanted him to go away, and enjoy his dinner with his wife. I knew this guy wanted to pick a fight to impress his wife, and I was fairly certain that this plan would backfire in his face if it went where he was trying to take it, and I didn't think that that was cool, but I didn't have the presence of mind to be able to smooth it out, and I knew it.
He poked me. Actually put his hands on me and poked me, the fuck!
"I'm talking to YOU!! ... Okay.. this was too much. I had enough.
"What's up, Boss?? Is there a problem??"
"Yes. YOU farted in front of my wife!" - this he punctuated by poking me in the chest with his bony little finger. This guy was not only a turd. He was friggin' stupid!!
"Did I??" I enquired.
"Yes. You did!"
"Well... I'm very, very sorry! I apologize. I didn't realize that it was her turn to fart!" I quipped. Deliberately putting him in a position to either hit me and have done with it, or to go sit down and quit acting like a dick.
His wife busted out laughing. Everyone else busted out laughing. Forty six to fifty black belts stood up with business faces on, just in case he was thinking of acting foolish, and he finally realized that he was not really acting in his own best interests and went and sat down.
To let them know that there were no hard feelings, we bought them a round of cocktails, chipped in for their dinner, and one of the guys ran out and picked up a pair of tickets for them at the base movie theatre.
Eventually, he softened up and we got a good laugh out of him, so it all worked out well in the end.
To this day I don't know who cut that fart! Nobody would ever admit to it.....
Thanx, Flatman!
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
And Don' Try No Fargin' Tricks! Uddawise You Gonna Wind Up Widda You Bells Inna Sling!!
Here's one all you guys will particularly like.. (Not!!)
Saturday night, while tending bar, I started to experience very sharp severe pains in my lower abdomen. In all honesty, I thought I was having some really bad gas pains... They were killing me! I had to use all of my self-control not to double over at times.
This was one of the few times that I was actually wishing that I could bake a huge fart in a public place.... if only the pain would stop.
Well. It didn't. It just got worse, and worse, and worse throughout the night... which makes for a very long night, by the way.
I was in pain all night night long, and still hurting when I headed in to work on Sunday. There were a few times when I literally couldn't stand up, and had to bend over and rest my elbows on the table alongside my bar. At one point, I went into the men's room, just to be able to sit for a few minutes. I was in excrutiating pain, and it only seemed to be getting worse!!
At the end of the night, it was all I could do to carry all the shit back to where it was supposed to go as I cleaned up. (We have some pretty heavy stuff to carry... I was barely making it...)
When I got home, I started having repetetive spasms that were doubling me over, and causing me to make some of the oddest sounds that have ever come out of me... (well... maybe not the oddest... but I was making some freaky animal noises...)
Elysia began to get worried, and suggested that she take me to the emergency room, which I immediately refused. She stayed on it, and I dug my heels in. (She is German/Irish/Scottish and I am Scottish/Irish/Welsh/Rroma (Gypsy) - So, we are two of the most tenacious ((read 'stubborn fucks')) individuals that you will ever come across at times....) She wouldn't let go, because she thought I was likely dying, and I wouldn't give in...well.... because I'm a stubborn Scottish bastard at times...
I finally stumbled into the bathroom, closed the door, and stayed in there for a bit. She headed in to the bedroom, and waited.
Eventually, it became clear to me that there was nothing I could accomplish in the bathroom that was going to relieve the pain even one iota... in honesty, there was nothing going on at all, and I was starting to wonder what the hell was wrong with me...
When the pain would hit, it not only hurt in my abdomen, but also down a little lower... i.e., 'the boys'. This was not cool at all!!
I headed into the bedroom to lay down and die, and Elysia lay there, fully dressed, in 'Emergency Reaction' mode... meaning that she was prepared to rush me to the hospital when whatever hideous thing that she was sure was going to happen happened. (I don't know what this was, but I'm sure it was along the lines of me convulsing, losing consciousness, hemmhoraging, or what-have-you... you know, fun stuff!)
All through the night, I was in agony... until I learned that there was a positional element at play; If I found just the right position, the pain subsided to a dull throb... if I deviated from that position, however, I was immediately gripped by a spasm of pain that made me think I was going to die, and then made me terrified that I was not going to die!!
It was at this point that the medic in me began to wonder just what was causing this, and I started to cross likely candidates off of my mental list... I knew that it wasn't likely to be something that was going to go away on its own... but I don't have medical insurance, I don't make that much money, and I was fearful of horrific medical costs, as stupid as that sounds.
Elysia woke me (well.. I wasn't actually sleeping.. I should say that she roused me..) and announced that she needed to talk to me. I asked her what was on her mind, and she basically said that either I would go to the doctor with her, or, she was going to stay home from work (she said she wasn't going to work in any case), and that she would sit out in front of my job until I either came to my senses, or until I passed out from the pain, at which time she would take me to the doctor anyway... I agreed to go (there wasn't much of an option, and I realized that I had really been putting her through some changes over this...)
We went to a doctor that was a friend of Elysia's mom. He announced that I had a bona-fide medical emergency on my hands, and that it may take surgury to correct... (we both just about shit at hearing that!), he gave me a pain killer (which did absolutely nothing, by the way!), and told me that I had to see a urologist immediately. He called and arranged an appointment an hour from then, and I hobbled out to the vehicle with Elysia, and off we went.
When we saw the urologist, he announced that he knew exactly what was wrong with me, and how to cure it!
He did a quick sonogram, which confirmed what he had suspected, and then he made public his diagnosis: 'Epididymitis', which is an infection of the epididymis, which is the cord that surrounds and attaches the testicle to my body. (In this case, specifically the lad on the left. The feller over on the right was doing swimmingly well, thanks!). He told me that I had to use heat therapy (I suppose to create sort of an artificial fever in the local area), wear tight undies (Ouch!), take Advil or Motrin, and take an antibiotic, which he gave to me on the spot! (Thanx Doc! The boys and I salute you!)
So. Today I am home from work, hobbling around when I move at all, taking care to take all of my meds and do anything and everything that the doctor ordered.
My gorgeous Elysia went well above and beyond the call of duty in looking out for me, seeing to any and all needs that I had, feeding me, comforting me, and basically being the angel that she is.
Yesterday, I felt as though my nuts were in a vise, today I'm just kinda sore. So I guess it's getting better, which is a good thing!!
Any of you who have ever had this will likely sympathize with me... any of you who have not, I do not wish it on you. It pretty much sucks little baby monkey dicks!
I hope you will all wish me and the lads a speedy recovery since the doc forbade any sexual activity at all until all the meds are gone, and everything is healed and better. Yikes, who would've thought that modern medicine could be so barbaric!?!?
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Wodin's Day
"Let's ask Bear, he'll know if anybody does..."
This statement intrudes on my thoughts, ripping me out of whatever daydream or reverie I had been immersed in back to the present...
It was the voice of the yard foreman... I looked towards the sound of the commotion, and about ten of the yard guys and drivers were clustered around the daily delivery driver's sign out log, where the drivers routinely logged their deliveries prior to departure.
"Bear, c'mere a second!"
I walked over, mildy (very mildly) curious about what was transpiring.
One of the drivers asked, "How do you spell Wednesday??"
Bear: "W-"..
Driver 1: "Its W-E-N-S-D-A-Y, right!?!"
Foreman: "No, Jackass!! Its W-E-N-D-S-D-A-Y !!"
A huge argument ensued, I stood there, watching as the cacophony of screaming voices, epithets, threats and catcalls growing louder and louder, punctuated by the odd shove or slap up the backside of somebody's head, I decided that it was pointless for me to remain there, and decided to go back to whatever it was that I was doing. As I turned to head back to my work station, everybody went silent.
Driver 2: "How do you spell it, Bear??"
Bear: "Well, its spelled W-E-D-N-E-S-D-A-Y."
Group: "What!","What the fuck is that!?!", "There ain't no D in Wenzday!!", "Moron!", "Jackass!", "Bear, you stupid motherfucker!! I thought you could SPELL!!!", "That spells WED-NESS-DAY, dipshit!"
[Deep breath...]
Bear: "Would you like to know why its spelled that way?? I can explain it, if you'd like."
Foreman: "Yeah, tell us, snapperhead... we wanna know!"
Bear: "The days were named after the old gods, celestial bodies, and other stuff. Sunday is, obviously SUN-day, Monday is MOON-day, Tuesday is named after Mars, the god of war, and Wednesday is WODIN's-Day, or WEDENS-DAY, which has become WEDNES-Day... Wodin's Day!! - W-E-D-N-E-S-D-A-Y!"
They were all silent and thoughtful about this as they mulled it over, then;
"That's a crock of shit! Fuckin' Wodin's Day! GET the fuck outta here with that bullshit!!", "Where'd ya pick that up, a fuckin' book??", "Wodin my ass!", "Dickhead!", "Whattya think we're fuckin' stupid??", "Jackass!".
Bear: "Well... if you look at any calendar, you will see that that's how they spell it. Don't take my word for it, look it up yourselves..."
I went back to my work, and seconds became minutes, minutes became hours, and the day wore on....
The old man wandered over to where I was and said, "Wodin's Day, huh??" (Obviously, he had heard the scuttlebut about the whole Wednesday thing...).
Bear: "Yeah..."
Old Man: "Ya know, I thought you were smart enough to know better than to go around spelling something wrong just because they got it wrong on a calendar... So I guess you ain't so smart after all, eh jackass!! You're just like that freak in "Alice in Wonderland; the Tin Man..... 'If I only had a brain'!! Moron!! I got more brains in my little finger than you got in that thick head of yours!"
Bear: "..... I guess you're right, Old Man."
Tin Man? Alice in Wonderland? Holy shit....
I guess it all depends on what piece of ground you happen to be standing on, or what crowd you happen to be a part of that determines just how smart or stupid you are at any given moment....
...At least it was actually Wednesday.... or was it Wendzday??
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Flying Solo....
This weekend, Elysia has been gone, and I've been missing her... We had originally planned to go to North Carolina to visit her Mom, since they were having a multiple-family-member birthday party this weekend.
I had arranged to have the weekend off at my main job, and also at the bartending job, but on Tuesday I got a page; "Bear, please call me... I want to give you a schedule."
(What the F***?! - I told them I couldn't work this coming weekend!)
I called, and the manager told me that he needed me to work. I explained that I had already arranged to have the weekend off with one of the owners.
His reply was, "Shit! I am totally fucked! What am I going to do?! everyone is going to be out of state this weekend. I suppose I will have to teach myself quickly to tend the bar..." (He's hungarian... with a very cool accent, by the way...)
Me: "Let me make a phone call. I'll call back as soon as I can."
Him: "Okay."
I called Elysia, explained the situation. Effectively cancelled my trip to North Carolina, and called them back.
One of the owners got on the phone, and thanked me repeatedly for agreeing to work. What the heck... every relationship has to be a two-way street. They work with me when I need something, so its only fair...
Elysia left early, early Friday morning. I didn't see her on Thursday night, because I was at Gaelic Class... (I was elected into the Coiste Stiúrtha ((Pron: KWISH-tuh STYOOR-hah)), or, Board of Directors ((I think the literal translation would be 'steering committee, or something like that...)) so I now have voting power as to the direction the school takes, and so on... its pretty cool). In any case, the point being that I feel as though I haven't seen her in a great while.
Yesterday I worked a wedding. Same sex, female female. It was a good crowd, but they didn't really tip all that much. I think its a wedding today, but I'm not sure. Hopefully, it will be a group of compulsive tippers or something...
The best part is that when I get home, my beautiful Elysia will be here... though she may be sound asleep (long day for her...), in which case I will snuggle up close, and go to sleep happy!!
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