Almonds anyone?


The other night, I was snacking on almonds when I was sent to a medical aid call involving a 96 year-old woman, who was not breathing. I finished chewing and acknowledged the call as I headed toward the address, which was right around the corner.

This 96 years old, not breathing and I was going to be the first one on scene. She had no idea about my record of CPR attempts with no wins. If she did, I’m sure she would’ve said, “No thank you,” and asked for another cop to respond.

Last year when the life saving awards were presented at our banquet, my son said with sarcasm, “Maybe you’ll get that one day.”

Someone else once told me I could win the UN-life saving award if they had that category. I’ve also heard, “Don’t go. Give them a chance.”

I turned the corner and was in front of the woman’s house in about 30 seconds. I went up to the door, which was closed and opened it as I said, “Police!”

Someone from the back of the house said, “In here!”

I went inside and saw an elderly woman face up on the couch with her eyes open. I got closer and saw her eyes move. I looked over at a man, who was her son, and asked, “What’s her name?”

He was out of breath and understandably upset as he replied, “Gabby.”

I leaned over and touched her left shoulder and said her name (a pseudonym) loudly. The woman was motionless, but she was breathing and she looked at me, which was great. At least she had a chance.

I was still bent over when I touched her shoulder again and said, “You’re going to be okay Gabby.” That’s when a small piece of almond flew out of my mouth.

I watched in horror as it went through the air in slow motion and land on her chin.  Holy shit. Did that really just happen?

Well, sometimes you just have to roll with the punches and move on. Without hesitation, I reached up and plucked the almond from her face as I continued to tell Gabby she was going to be okay. At least it didn’t land in her mouth.

You just never know what’s going to happen next in police work.

Up in smoke


On Saturday night, I was dispatched to a traffic collision in an alley where a truck supposedly backed into a wall. The calling party was watching from his surveillance camera and even saw the driver get out of the truck and urinate.

When I arrived, I saw an older white truck hugging a garage at the dead end. It was facing westbound and there were two people inside. I turned on my spot light and bathed the truck’s interior with thousands of lumens.

There was a cloud of marijuana smoke inside the truck that would’ve made Cheech and Chong jealous. The light reflected like I used my high beams on a foggy night.

I explained to them why I was there and asked, “Did you hit the wall?”


“Do you live here?”

“No, we’re just smoking here.”

“You’re smoking marijuana in your truck and eventually you’re going to drive away? That doens’t sound very smart.”

The driver replied, “I’ll be okay to drive.”

I had the driver step out so I could investigate further. During the pat-down I found two knives. One on his belt and the other in a pocket. I felt something else in his right front pants pocket and asked, “What is this?”

“It’s a glass vial.”

“What’s in it?”


“Can I get it?”


I reached into his pocket, but there was only a lighter. “There isn’t a vial in there,” I said.

“Oh, I must’ve forgot it at home,” he said matter of factly.

Some other cops arrived and stood by as I looked for damage. There was a wall at the dead end, but there was a metal guard rail protecting it. There was no damage to the guard rail and certainly none to the block wall. The truck had some old damage to the left rear quarter panel, but nothing else.

I contacted the witness who told me he heard a noise that sounded like a crash. That’s when he looked at his surveillance cameras and called the police because there was an unfamiliar truck in the alley.

In the end, the driver picked the wrong place to park and smoke. He had a warrant and was arrested. It seemed very normal to him and he took it in stride. He was definitely an expert in this process.

I bet he could even MDT book himself on the computer.

Keep your hands to yourself


It was the late afternoon when I pulled up to a two-car crash at a busy intersection where a  fire truck was blocking the street and causing a huge traffic jam.

One of the drivers was being treated by fire personnel while he sat in his car. Both of his hands were bloody and I cringed at the thought of him handing his driver’s license to me.

After about ten minutes, the driver declined medical treatment and I interviewed him, along with the other driver about the crash. While I did that, another officer helped by writing the driver’s information on the collision report form.

A little while later, the motor cop held up the report form and said, “I have to redo it.”

I looked over at him as I wondered what he meant. That’s when I saw him holding a blood-stained report form in his hand as it blew in the afternoon breeze.

The cop told me bloody hands was standing next to him while he wrote down his information. That’s when bloody hands decided it was a good idea to point at something on the report form.

In horror, the cop tried to move his clipboard out of the way, but it was too late as the worlds largest drop of blood flew through the air and hit its bullseye.

Well, that was a first.  I’ve had coffee, water and food spilled on my report forms before, but never blood. What’s next? Vomit?

Keep your hands to yourself. I don’t know where they’ve been…..


A Jim Halpert moment


I headed eastbound on a street of overpopulated and rundown apartments where red curbs mean nothing. It was a hit and run call where the victim’s rear bumper was struck and the suspect vehicle was left behind.

The victim vehicle, which was a smaller white SUV, was parked facing eastbound along the south curb. The front bumper of a silver car looked like it was touching the the SUV, but it wasn’t. There was no damage to either car that I could see.

The “victim” came out and I asked, “Have you moved your car since you saw this?”


“Is there any damage?”

“I don’t know.”

What did she mean she didn’t know? She was the one who called the police and told the dispatcher there was damage.

“The car’s aren’t touching,” I pointed out.

“People are always hitting my car.” She pointed to a couple who were standing 30 feet away and said, “They hit the front of my car and the police took a report. The insurance company is trying to get them to pay, buy they won’t.”

“Can you move your car up so we can see?”

With attitude, the “victim” acted like I was asking for too much. She moved the car up a few feet, got out and walked to the back as I illuminated the rear bumper with my flashlight. “Is there any damage?” I asked.

She acted like I owed her money and I was the one who crashed into her car as  she said, “I can’t tell.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell? Either you see damage or you don’t.”

“I don’t know.”

I explained to Einstein there was nothing for me to do because there was no damage, so there was no crime or traffic collision.

With total attitude she said, “The police don’t do anything.”

If I was drinking something at that moment, I would’ve spit it out in laughter.

“Didn’t you say the cops took a report when your car was hit?”


“Well, they did do something. Your problem is with the insurance company and the people who won’t to fix your car. There’s nothing the police can do in that situation. That’s a Judge Judy problem.”

I suggested she park her vehicle in her carport. The woman replied, “My uncle is parked there.”

“Does he live in the same apartment as you?”


“If you park in the carport this sort of thing can be avoided. Why don’t you tell your uncle to park on the street so you can have the carport?”

“I parked on the street to save my neighbor a spot.”

That’s when I had a Jim Halpert moment and I wanted to look into the camera like I was on The Office.