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I was working a 3 month stint on day shift, as a Lincoln Unit (1 officer car) Day shift in the middle of the week is often uneventful. You drive around, write a few tickets, take a few reports and maybe catch a radio call or two. My day was about to change in a dramatic manor.
Dispatch advised me of a domestic dispute between two women, it was becoming heated. In the ghetto, that type of call should have a minimum of two officers handling it. For reasons never made clear to me, no one was sent to back me up. I walked in to the apartment that the call originated from. One of the "women" was well over 6 feet tall and weighed over 300 pounds. She looked like a black refrigerator with a water buffalo's head on top of it. The other combatant looked like a WNBA star. She was well over 6'5" and athletically built, hard as a rock. To top the scene off, there were 3 women sitting on a massive couch. Each of them weighed at least 250 and were wedged into the fake leather.
The argument between the two women had moved into the hallway. It was verbal only, at this point, so I stepped between them. The young ladies were discussing each other's faults, including romantic shortfalls and concerns about each other's family members. Suddenly, the WNBA star called the Buffalo Head a "Bitch." It was as though she had never in her life been called a bitch and took the insult to heart. Buffalo head shoved WNBA and WNBA shoved back.
Before I could step out of the middle of the impending SMACKDOWN, Buffalo head balled up a massive fist and put her full weight into an overhand right punch, that would have made Mike Tyson cry. She caught ME on the right side of my face, covering from my cheek to my jaw! Little black dots started to form in front of my eyes and they got bigger and bigger by the instant. I was being knocked out for the first time in my life!
A week or so before, we had been issued new Motorola Radios with an added red emergency button. the button was linked to our on board computers and sent an emergency call out on every radio on the whole Police Department. "L-4, you have activated your emergency device, do you need assistance?" By this time, I was in the middle of a full on fight. Buffalo Head was trying to get at WNBA and choke me at the same time. I was hammering on Buffalo's skull with my radio and yelling.
"YES, I need assistance, I am fighting....."
It got even better. WNBA saw me konking Buffalo Girl on the melon, to defend myself. She started punching me too, to defend her girlfriend from da po-lice. The three women on the couch all jumped up, I had no idea what there intentions were. Just as I started to think about drawing my weapon, the front door burst open and almost every cop working that day poured in to the apartment.
There was a lot of shouting and shoving. The two combatants were hooked up and were now playing the offended victims. The field Sargent grabbed me. "Are you alright?" I looked down at the front of my uniform. I was covered with stripper glitter(?) and hunks of weave. It felt like the whole side of my face was broken. A quick trip into the bathroom and a squint into the mirror showed minimal damage. Both of the combatants were in better shape than me. It would have taken a wack from a fire ax to penetrate Buffalo's scalp. Since no one got injured, no one got arrested. We split the girls up and I moved on to the next call.
DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM TELLING YOU?
After my police career was shortened by a stab wound to my knee. I went from part-time to full time Executive Protection. (A fancy term for bodyguard.) If there is any interest, I will include these stories with the gore and violence we thrive on.
On one such night, I was working an event along with 5 other off duty or retired cops. The event was a celebrity book signing and reading by the author. At each and every one of these sort of events, there is a gay guy with a clipboard.....always. This night was no exception. The gay guy was in charge of most of the event and was already in a "full blown" tizzie when our crew arrived an hour before the event.
Myself and another retired cop were assigned to work the choke point front gate to the event. There were two young and attractive girls working the guest list. My partner and I were there to back them up when people tried to crash the event (and they always try to crash these things.) The gay guy grabbed my partner by the arm and told both of us: "DO NOT LET ANYONE INTO THE EVENT UNLESS THE GIRLS SAY THEY ARE ON THE LIST!" "Do you understand what I am telling you?" "I want both of you to repeat it to me." "NO ONE GETS IN UNLESS THE GIRLS CLEAR THEM AND THEY ARE ON THE LIST." "Good, that is simple enough even for you two....." At that point, we both wanted to grab "Poofie by the throat and choke the shit out of him, but the money was too good.
Things started off smoothly, people were polite and the line to get in moved quickly. Out of the blue, the two girls working the guest book, closed the book and they both walked off with it. "We'll be back." We spoke to the people trying to get in and told them it would be just a few minutes. Most were understanding, but the event was going to start in 15 minutes and still no girls or book.
With five minutes before the event, we had a line of 40-5- people and they were getting pissed. Poofie showed up and went into full-on gay Jerry Springer meltdown. "I GAVE YOU TWO JACKASSES SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS AND YOU FUCKED IT UP." "Listen asshole, you said and we repeated,, no one gets in unless the girls say they are on the list." "The girls wandered off with YOUR FUCKING LIST about 15 minutes ago." Poofie lost his shit completely. He threw his clipboard down and started stomping his feet like a spoiled princess at a toy store. Guests started laughing at him and he went further apeshit. "YOU TWO BITCHES ARE FIRED......"
We kept our cool. There were too many witnesses to give Poofie a manners lesson. We found the guy running the security detail and told him what happened. "No problem, he already gave me the cash to pay you guys for the whole night." "Here's your cash and your parking validation, have a nice night...fuck him." Poofie went nuts a little later that evening and the remaining four team members left two hours early, cash in hand.
After we were all gone, there was a pretty good brawl in the bar at the event. The guy running the whole event was screaming for security. When he found out Poofie canned us all for no reason, Poofie
got fired and got black balled from working that sort of event. It worked out to about $200 an hour for the time my partner and I spent at the front gate. WE UNDERSTOOD WHAT HE WAS TELLING US.
I hope sending the last story private didn't screw things up..... my bad.
I was suffering through my third year working in "sleepy hollow" as a patrol officer. I had just been assigned to "show the town" to an officer that just transferred from another PD because we had better pay and benefits. He fit right in with most of the other officers, because he didn't want to do shit. He planned on working in the field as little as possible and finding a cushy desk job and coast for the next 15 years. That day didn't work out well for him.
He was driving our black and white, early in a swing shift, when we received a 211 silent call (armed robbery with a silent alarm) That was a very rare call in sleepy hollow and usually turned out to be a false alarm, triggered by an ignorant employee. "Where is the address?" he inquired. "IT'S RIGHT HERE, STOP THE FUCKING CAR!" On a fluke, we were right in front of the jewelry store reporting the alarm call.
I grabbed the shotgun, intent on scaring the shit out of the stupid clerk that triggered the alarm. My partner was carefully parking the car at the curb. He was moving like he was neck deep in wet concrete. I was standing at the corner of the building and carefully peeked through the window of the store. Much to my shock and horror, this was a good crime, two young Negros were proneing out customers and store clerks. I radioed that it was a good crime and requested back up. I glanced at my partner, he had stopped in his tracks and looked like he was going to get back in the car. SHIT!
About that time, two units rolled up and just as I took a breath, the two Afro-Americans walked out the front door of the jewelry store. They started to walk away from me, with their guns down by their sides. "WELCOME TO (Name of City) MOTHER-FUCKERS, GET ON YOUR FACES." They were looking at the other cops and couldn't figure out who was yelling at them. For effect, I racked another round in the shotgun. That unmistakable sound got their attention and they quickly complied. The other cops quickly got the guns away from them and hooked them up. My partner was still standing by our unit and didn't even have his gun out of his holster.
The crooks were tried and convicted of armed robbery and several other felonies. The field Sargent gave me a verbal reprimand, for using profanity (a devout Mormon) The patrol Captain gave me a written commendation for doing a good job. My partner lasted another two months before trying to retire with carpal tunnel syndrome. The city bounced him like a super ball. Right then and there, I decided I wanted to be a cop where the work motherfucker was in common usage with cops and civilians alike.
I am so pissed! I have to wade through page after page of ads and porn to get
to the cite after I log on. Then I have to log on again every time I try to comment.
Then, half of my comments don't post. What the hell happened?
I KNOW MY RIGHTS!
Right out of Mortuary College, I went to work for a chain of Mortuaries owned by a family, there were 14 at the time. I was embalming a sixteen year old black kid that had been autopsied. LaVon and three of his friends went to BOB'S BIG BOY DRIVE IN in Reseda, California on a busy Saturday night.
LaVon and his associates began doing Niggardly things, as they often to and were kicked out of the restaurant and parking lot, by the three off-duty cops working there.
About 45 minutes later, LaVon and his buddies came back to BOB'S. They stopped in the middle of the driveway, LaVon got out of the car and pointed, what was later to be determined as a starter's pistol at the nearest cop and pulled the trigger. Unfortunately for LaVon, the cop didn't wait to determine if the gun was real or if LaVon was just a bad shot. The cop put one round right into LaVon's frontal lobe, sending his soul to Jesus. This occurred long before Black Lies Matter or any other form of protest, when thugs got shot doing thug shit. Three days later, I met LaVon on an embalming table.
I had just begun my preparation work including; removing all of the sutures that had been used to put LaVon back together at the coroner's office. I removed all of the viscera (guts) from his abdominal cavity and was just getting ready to start injection the embalming solution. I heard voices out in the hall, but couldn't hear what they were saying due o the noise the embalming machine was making during it's mixing phase.
In walks the mortuary manager accompanied by a young black woman. "This is Mr. ____, he is our lead staff embalmer." "Mr. _____, this is LaVon's sister, she insisted on seeing her brother now." Sis
gave me a nod and a grunt and walked up to the table. "What they did dis fo?" with that, she stuck her finger into the empty skull of her brother. I explained that the brain was removed during the autopsy. Her attention was redirected to the "gut bucket." She started pointing and poking dissected pieces of LaVon's internal organs. I did my best to describe and identify the various bits and pieces and received more grunts and nods. My gross anatomy lecture continued for about 15 minutes. After examining the 38 caliber entry wound in LaVon's forehead with her finger, she and the manager went back to his office.
After sis's departure, the manager came back to the embalming room. "Hey, I am sorry about that." "She starting yowling about how she knew her rights and wanted to see her brother now." "I tried to put her off until after he was in a casket, but she is a real hard head...."
The next day the manager and I got LaVon dressed and waited for a special order casket to arrive. Sis decided that since LaVon was only sixteen, he should fit in a child's casket. The only problem was, LaVon was almost 6 feet tall. The interior of his casket was 5'10". We had to remove all of the casket interior, then twist and contort poor old LaVon, to fit him in his youth casket. He looked like someone put a bow in a shoe box. At the end of the funeral, there was a 15 minute delay, while we tried to wedge the casket lid into proper position. BUT SIS KNEW HER RIGHTS!
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When are they gonna learn that the government doesn't give a rats ass about us, whether we're on fire or not!02/18/2018 15:25