Say the words “Candy Crush” and you’ll find someone who has heard of the game. They might not play it, but they know someone who does. They might even be that annoyed person who cringes at seeing a Facebook request to play. This person can’t delete the request fast enough as they wish the entire Candy Crush world would blow up in a nuclear holocaust of sweet destruction.

If they play, they have the look in their eye of a hardened warrior. The candy crusher will have many stories of how they were one move away from immortality or how the thrill of victory was achieved with a life saving booster. They all have stories of frustration, self doubt and at times, have questioned the meaning of life.

The candy crushing warrior also knows that the next game could be the big breakthrough they have been waiting for, where self-satisfaction is like no other, but with no doubt, all their dreams will be crushed on the next level. I started playing in June of 2013 and I can admit that I was sucked into it.

When I started it seemed like everyone was playing it. One day on the way to work I decided to do something random. I was going to ask people if they played Candy Crush just to see their reaction. I got to work and loaded up my car with candy crushing anticipation for my first call, which was a non-injury crash involving two vehicles. After checking to make sure there were no injuries, I started my interviews. The first person I interviewed was a woman in her early forties, who was driving a minivan. I got a good vibe from her so I sprung the question.

“Do you play Candy Crush?”
With a suspicious look the woman asked, “Why?”
I replied, “I wanted to ask a random question about Candy Crush to see people’s reaction.”
With a huge smile she said, “Yes!”
“What level are you on?” I asked.
With a look of embarrassment she said, “221.”

The stress that came with the car accident seemed to melt away from this woman with one simple and silly question. I gave her the report number and moved on to the next person. While I was finishing up my investigation, a family member of my candy crushing amigo arrived. As I walked by I heard the woman say, “That’s the cop who asked about Candy Crush.” When it was time to leave I got a big wave and thank you from the woman. It was funny how crushed candy and crushed cars could go together.

In August of that year I had a civilian report writer ride with me for a few weeks of traffic training. He had never heard of Candy Crush so I told him we were going to ask people on every call if they played. From that point on for two straight weeks I asked at least one person at a crash scene if they played. Of course, it depended on the situation who I asked. I wasn’t going to ask someone in the ambulance if they played, but everyone else was fair game.

The reactions from witnesses and drivers were hilarious. These strangers would start talking to me about what level they were stuck on and what type of frustration they had gone through. It seemed like half the people played and the other half didn’t want to start because they heard it was too addicting. One driver once told me she passed three levels while waiting for me to arrive at her crash.

One night at a DUI crash there was a group of about ten people standing on the corner of a large intersection watching the scene. They were there because a friend was involved in the collision. The group happened to be standing next to my car. I couldn’t resist and I asked the group, “Who plays Candy Crush?” It seemed like everyone at once laughed and within seconds they were all talking about it. One woman told me she had been stuck on level 65 forever. She even jokingly asked if she could friend me on Facebook so I could send her extra lives because none of her friends sent her any.

One night at a crash a witness stopped and gave me her statement. As she was about to leave she mentioned she and her husband were truck drivers and were leaving for Utah as soon as she walked back to the truck. When I heard she was going to Utah I asked if she played Candy Crush. The woman didn’t know what Candy Crush was so I told her to download it now and she would thank me by Barstow (two hours away off the 15 freeway). She went to the App Store and downloaded it right on the spot.

One night a fellow officer and I were talking at a crash while I waited for the gas company to respond for a leak. He downloaded Candy Crush on the spot and was on level 4 by the time he left. A week later he told me he didn’t do anything else besides play on his phone. He also mentioned hating me for letting him download it.

Another Candy Crush story involved a gang member from L.A. who was on parole for assault with a deadly weapon. He was with two other males who were possibly involved in a fight and the police helicopter had directed us to their location. While record checks were being done I made small talk with the male, who told me the gangs in Orange County were nothing compared to L.A. This guy had his gang’s name tattooed across his chin in large letters.

I asked, “Do you play Candy Crush?”
With an embarrassed look, he grinned and turned his head as he said, “Yeah.”
“What level on you on?” I inquired.
“Level 3.” he replied.
“Level 3? You’re not even trying then.”
With a surprised look he said, “What do you mean?”
I told him level 3 was easy on Candy Crush.
The gangster then said, “I meant I’m on level three in prison.”

I started laughing and told him we were talking about Candy Crush. He laughed too and then told me he wasn’t sure what level he was on, but it was in the twenties. He also told me he played the game on friend’s phones. The last thing he said about Candy Crush was, “I don’t like those chocolates.”

And finally, this last Candy Crush story happened this past weekend when this woman flagged me down. She was yelling at her husband on the phone and said she had a question. With her husband still on the phone, she told me he was an alcoholic and a fool. She was not upset, but very talkative about her situation. I saw my opportunity and asked if she played Candy Crush. With a smile she asked why. I told her I liked to joke around and bring up random things to make people laugh. Her demeanor seemed to relax after the Candy Crush question. I asked her more questions about her husband and her situation to see if I could help.

She went on to tell me they had been married for a year, but she didn’t know he was an alcoholic when they met. I asked how long she knew him before they got married. At first she wouldn’t tell me, but then said they only knew each other for a month. She explained he was an illegal alien and they got married to get him legal status. I asked her how things were between them in the beginning. She told me things were good in the beginning because it’s always like that in a new relationship.

I told the woman that life was like Candy Crush. She gave me a puzzled look, wondering how I could relate this game to life. I said Candy Crush was like a new relationship. At first everything is easy, but as you play more, things start to get hard. As you play more the bombs and chocolate appear, making things harder and more challenging. She laughed and thanked me for listening. I gave her kids some badge stickers and she waved with a huge smile as she drove away.

Some might think it’s silly to ask about Candy Crush, but it is also a way to have a good time at work and show the public we are human too. Part of this job is about connecting with people in a short span of time in situations that are not normal for most.

Do you play Candy Crush?

One thing that’s funny about police work is you never know what you’re going to learn by asking a few more questions. I’m naturally curious and I can usually get people to tell me things they normally wouldn’t say. Sometimes things come up during interviews that are just too good to pass up.

Two weeks ago I responded to a minor injury crash in the eastern end of the city involving two cars. When I got there I spoke with both drivers and there was nothing out of the ordinary involving the crash. One of the drivers was a male in his mid-twenties. I asked him if he had been alone in the vehicle or if there was a passenger. The driver replied there had been a female passenger in his car, but she left to use the restroom. This wasn’t unusual because it was 1AM and there were no restrooms available at the collision location.

I needed the passenger’s information for the report so I asked the driver for her name. The driver could only tell me the girl’s first name. When I asked for her last name he told me, “I don’t know it.” With a raised eyebrow, I was curious because there had to be a good story here and I was pretty sure I would find out with a few more questions. I asked him why he didn’t know her last name. The driver told me he had been dating the girl for two weeks, but he had no idea what her last name was. He also seemed proud that he didn’t know it.

I asked, “How did you meet?”
“On the internet.”
“Wasn’t her name on her profile?”
With a cocky smirk the driver said, “I honestly don’t know it.”
I joked, “I guess this relationship isn’t going very far.”

He laughed and again told me he had no idea what her last name was.  I next asked him if he had her address,  thinking he didn’t know it either. To my surprise he pulled out his phone and showed me his contacts list, which had her first name and her address. I copied the information down, but I still needed her last name for the report. About ten minutes later, the female arrived and the driver brought her over to where I was standing. I asked her what her last name was and she told me. It was a unique name and she spelled it for me. After she spelled it I told her I knew her father. This story was getting better by the minute as I gave him a sly smile. He seemed uncomfortable as he returned my gaze.

What a small world, which probably seemed to get smaller for the guy who was still standing next to her. I told her I used to work with her father and I knew he worked for the city in a different department. She was very friendly and was genuinely happy that I knew him. She asked me for my name so she could tell her dad who had helped her. I told her my name and then said, “I’ll email him. I have a story for him.”

I really wanted to look at the guy to see his reaction, but I would’ve busted up laughing if I had. As they walked away it seemed like the guy didn’t have the same skip in his step anymore. In fact, the cockiness he once showed was pretty much flushed down the toilet. Something tells me he knows her last name now and I’d like to think I motivated him a little bit.

And in case you’re wondering about that email…… Yes, I emailed dad the entire story.

You can lie, but your fingerprints never will.

At my department we have the greatest piece of technology to combat LLPOF. That’s short for “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.” We use the Bluecheck fingerprint device whenever someone doesn’t have identification. It’s a game changer when it comes to trying to identify someone. The look on the suspect’s face is priceless when we tell them what their real name is.

This device is easy to use and works wonders. The device communicates with my work laptop computer and the internet. Both of the person’s index fingers are placed on the device and it captures the prints. The prints are then sent to the computer via Bluetooth. A search is then done through our police department records, the Department of Justice and the FBI. The results usually come back within a minute. If they have been arrested before then the prints will come back with a name.

If the person had been booked at our department then their picture, name and birth date will appear on the screen. If their fingerprints are in the DOJ database then just their name and date of birth will appear. Finally the FBI might alert on the prints.

Here are a few examples when the Bluecheck alerted us to LLPOF:

I responded to a car stop on Saturday night and was asked to Bluecheck someone. I walked up to the suspect and asked him what his name and birth date were. After he answered, I asked him if he had ever used a different name. He replied he had not. After he answered, I captured his fingerprints and let my computer do the work. Within a minute it gave me an FBI hit, along with a different name and date of birth. After looking at my computer I walked over to him and asked, “Who is Joey?” He just stared at me like he was trying to figure out what to say. When he opened his mouth, all he could do was stutter as he tried to get the words out. I then said to him, “This is my favorite part.” The suspect could only say he had been stopped by the police department in a neighboring city and they had checked his name and let him go. I pointed to the Bluecheck and said, “I bet they didn’t have this.” He only shook his head in defeat and said, “No.”

He finally admitted to using his brother’s name and birth date because he had two warrants. He also had warrants in another state. I think this guy was feeling pretty confident with the information he had given before the Bluecheck was used.

Another time I used the Bluecheck at a traffic accident scene was when one of the drivers was unlicensed. My gut feeling was the driver wasn’t telling me the truth about his name so I brought out my LLPOF detector. Before checking his prints, I asked him the same basic questions about his information and I asked if he had ever used a different name before. Of course, he said he was telling me the truth and he had given me his true name. Within a minute his picture appeared on my screen with a different name and birth date.

The picture on my screen was from twelve years ago and he looked considerably younger. A little research showed he had been arrested twelve years earlier for driving while unlicensed. I’m sure he failed to appear on that charge, but it didn’t matter now because here we were over a decade later. I took my lap top over to the suspect and showed him his picture. The look of surprise on his face was awesome as he said, “That was a long time ago.” As he went to jail, the suspect said, “I’m telling the truth now.” Whatever.

One of my favorite Bluecheck stories involved another traffic collision. There had been four people in the suspect vehicle that had crashed at 3AM. One of the people lied to us about being the driver and was arrested after witnesses came forward and pointed out who the real driver was. The real driver went to jail for DUI. That left two other passengers. They both gave false names and birth dates to the other officers. The Bluecheck revealed their real names and they both had warrants. Four occupants. Four arrests. Good thing they didn’t have a minivan full of people.

And finally, I was sent to a car stop one night for the Bluecheck. The officer had already written the ticket for the driver, who was unlicensed, but he hadn’t signed it yet. There was a sergeant and another officer from a different department on the car stop with our officer. They had never seen the Bluecheck before and I explained to them what it did before I captured the prints of the suspect. Within five minutes the suspect was in custody for lying about his name. He also had a DUI warrant for his arrest.

There are times when the person is telling the truth and the Bluecheck confirms their information. Other times there is no record of the person’s prints because they had never been arrested before. This device is pretty cool to see in action and it always amazes people when they see it used. Every department should invest in this technology.

The bad guys in our city never know when I’m going to call out “Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.”

It was a summer afternoon when I was dispatched to a non-injury collision on the west side of the city. It was just past 6PM and the call information made it sound like a simple traffic collision. When I pulled up, both drivers were standing by their cars in a residential area just off the main highway. Both vehicles had minor damage from the rear end collision. One car had its hood pushed up a little bit and its front bumper damaged. The other vehicle’s rear bumper was slightly damaged.

The first driver, who we will call Tom, was 19 years old and looked like a hippie from the late 60’s. He had brown shoulder length hair that was unkempt and parted down the middle. He also had round prescription glasses and a mustache that were right out of the hippie handbook. I was just surprised he wasn’t driving the Mystery Machine from Scooby-Doo.

After checking to make sure there were no injuries, I asked Tom what happened. He started to tell me how he had been driving northbound on the street when he rear ended the other vehicle. As Tom told me his story, a strong odor of alcohol was blown toward me by the afternoon breeze from his body. It was about as powerful as a fart in an elevator on a hot and humid day. While I spoke with him, I noticed his eyes were a little droopy and he had a slower than normal speech pattern. Tom had rear ended the other vehicle so I figured he was possible a DUI driver. I focused my questions toward that direction and asked him what he had to drink.

He denied drinking, so I asked Tom what was the odor that I smelled. He replied, “Deodorant.” I told Tom that there was something other than deodorant and I asked him again how many beers he had to drink today. Tom was adamant he had not been drinking. I again told him the odor I smelled wasn’t deodorant.

Tom hesitantly said, “It’s Lysol.”
“Lysol?”
Tom went on to say, “I put Lysol on.”
I was now curious why someone would put Lysol on their body. Since people usually tell me crazy stuff, I decided the Lysol part of this story was much more important than this silly crash. I asked, “You sprayed it on?”

“No, it was Lysol wipes,” as he pointed to his armpits. He then explained, “I wiped first and then sprayed deodorant on.”

Tom then told me he doesn’t take a shower sometimes and his mother gave him the Lysol wipes to help freshen up. I couldn’t resist, so I asked Tom when he last took a shower. Tom thought about it for a moment and then started to say three, but then said, “Two days.” I asked Tom why he didn’t just take a shower instead of using the Lysol Wipes. He told me he was in college and he was busy. I pointed out to Tom I used to go to college and I still managed to take a shower every day. I asked Tom if he had ever used baby wipes. He said he had, but he didn’t like them. I asked Tom if a Lysol wipe was something that should be used on the body. He replied it probably wasn’t.

I then started to wonder if Tom was a few cards shy of a full deck. I explained to him why I had asked so many questions about what he had to drink. Tom was very nice about it and told me he understood. One of the last things he told me was that it was embarrassing to tell people he used Lysol. Really?

I figured it was time to ask him about the collision again because I wasn’t sure what other household cleaning products were going to come up. T.M.I.

Just another normal day at work.

You never know what’s going to happen next at this job.

One night I was dispatched to a simple non-injury traffic collision. Should be easy, right? What could go wrong? I walked out to my car, started it up and headed toward the call like normal.

I started driving eastbound when I saw two bright flashes in the sky. The first thing that came to mind was that someone had just struck a pole. Most people would think a transformer blew, but I’m a little more pessimistic and assumed a pole had been struck by a car, because it happens a lot where I work. It’s like the poles in my city are giant magnets and the cars get pulled into them like a tractor beam pulling in a space ship in Star Wars.

A minute or two later, I came up to a railroad crossing that had its red lights flashing and arms down across the street. I sat there for a little bit, but there was no train. I figured the railroad arms had something to do with the flashes I had seen in the sky. I knew of a way to get around the railroad crossing so I made a U-turn. I then took a side street so I could get to the next major east/west street because I still needed to get to my call. This particular street I was about to travel on was in an industrial area and had two turns.

I drove into the pitch black of night, with the only light coming from my head lights, which reached out to the darkness ahead of my car. The street turned left and then right before straightening out again without a car in sight. I cruised at about 30 miles per hour when I suddenly saw something hanging across the road. It looked like a ghostly gray rope that had been strung from one end of the street to the other. But it wasn’t a rope or something I imagined, it was an electrical wire! The wire was only five feet off the ground and it had blended into the night like a camouflaged fish in the ocean.

I slammed on my brake as hard as I could and said, “S@$#%$!!” My patrol car then struck the wire, which then got stuck underneath my light bar. I pushed as hard I as could on the brake, but the car wasn’t stopping as fast as I wanted. As it slowed to a stop, I could feel the tension from the wire on my car. The car was stopping, but it just felt different. At the time I did not know the top of the wood pole had just snapped also.

When the car finally stopped, I saw a wire that was now wrapped around the top of my car to the bottom like a Christmas present. The only difference was there wasn’t a red bow on top of this package and there was no Santa Claus.

My driver window had been down and I was surprised how big the wire was. Maybe it looked bigger because it was only inches away from my head. The wire went straight across the middle of my window, which meant I couldn’t crawl out even if I wanted to. Not that I would’ve because electricity should be respected and feared at the same time. I looked over at the passenger window and saw the same thing.

Of course, this was not exactly what I had been expecting when I took my detour. In fact, I never imagined this ever happening to me and it’s safe to say most people wouldn’t either. I needed to get on the radio and tell dispatch I was stuck, but this wouldn’t be a normal radio transmission. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day and I started to wonder if it had ever happened to anyone.

I picked up the microphone and I had to make sure I sounded cool on the radio because that’s what guys worry about, right?

With nerves of steel (just kidding) I said, “784.”
“784?”
“784, I just hit a wire.”
“A wire?”
“Yes, a wire. I’m stuck.”

I gave my location and I asked for the power company to respond. A sergeant got on the radio and asked that the fire department respond also. I said to myself, “Good idea, but we better not need the fire department.”

Other officers arrived on scene, along with the sergeant. I think everyone wanted to see what I had been talking about. What a sight I must’ve been, sitting in my car with this electrical wire wrapped around me like a fly caught in a spider web.

About 30-40 minutes later, the utilities worker arrived and told me there was no more power going through the line. I had used the time wisely and wrote a report while sitting in the car. I might was well kill two birds with one stone.

The worker wanted me to back up a little, so I reversed a few feet and stopped when he told me to. He then used bolt cutters to cut the wire. The utilities worker then had me back up again so he could get the rest of the wire untangled from the rear tires.

There was a large warehouse across the street from the downed wire I had hit. This was a distribution center with trucks coming and going all the time. After I had gotten out of the car, a man identified himself as the driver of a semi truck and trailer that had collided into the pole. The driver told me he had been backing up to park along the west curb, which was across the street from his work. That was when he felt the collision and then that the power went out.

The driver, who was now a hit and run suspect, knew he had struck the pole and decided to move the truck to a different spot. The driver unhooked the trailer and left it. He then let another person drive the semi truck away to a different job. After the power went out, all of the workers from inside the warehouse went outside. He decided to blend into the crowd as he stood in the parking lot. He did not tell anyone about the collision, nor did he call the police about it either. A few minutes later I struck the wire. He claimed he had no idea the wire had been hanging across the street. I’m not sure if I believe him or not.

As for the car I was driving that night. The light bar had been damaged on top of the police car. The wire had also scratched and smeared the decals on both front doors. Not too bad considering what had just happened.

Immediately after it had happened, I felt safe because I had been in the car. But it was a weird feeling knowing I had an electrical wire wrapped around me and there really was no way to get out. Of course, this isn’t something most people have to worry about when they go to work. Up until that night, I never worried about it either.

This just goes to show you that anything can happen on this job.