We’re both Laker fans

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The other night I was dispatched to a traffic collision involving two vehicles which had moved to a parking lot. When I arrived, I saw a man and woman speaking to each other.

I got out of my car and asked, “Is anyone hurt?”

In a loud and friendly voice the man said, “We’re both Laker fans. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this.”

Since he was in his mid-fifties, I figured he’d been a Lakers fan for a long time. As a joke I asked, “Would it be a big deal if she was a Celtics fan?”

He turned toward the woman, who was in her mid-twenties and asked, “Are you a Phoenix Suns fan?”

It sounded like the guy didn’t like the Phoenix Suns instead.

You just never know what you’re going to hear at a traffic collision scene.

Another fatal

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It always seems like I handle two or three fatal traffic collisions a year. It always the same every year. The most I ever handled in one year was ten in 2006. The second most was eight in 2011.

Well, this past week I handled number five. It was a pedestrian who tried to play Frogger across the street. It would’ve been number six had I not been off another night a few months ago when a fatal went out at 1:30AM.

Five might not sound like a lot when you compare it to ten, but that’s still five too many, especially when one of them was a toddler.

This also doesn’t count my other traffic partners, who work different shifts and hours the rest of the week.

We still have all of November and December left in the year. When you work 5PM to 3AM, that still a lot of time for a lot of bad things to happen before 2017.

Be careful out there.

What’s in the box?

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The other night I went to a hit and run collision where a truck was rear ended at a red light. After the crash, the victim asked the bad guy for his information. The bad guy told him he didn’t have insurance, so the victim said he was going to call the cops.

The bad guy replied by saying, “I’ll go to jail.”

The bad guy went back to his car and returned with something in his hand. He walked over to the victim’s driver door and put something on the seat. He then went back to his car and took off.

The victim looked and saw a small red gift box with a yellow bow on top on his driver seat.

Was this some type of remorseful gift for the hit and run? Was there money or even jewelry to help the victim feel better about being left in the middle of the street with a damaged bumper and an injured wife?

What could it be? Was there something mysterious in the box? The feeling of anticipation was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“What was in the box?” I asked.

“Nothing,” replied the victim. “It was empty.”

“Empty?” I replied as I heard the loser tune from The Price is Right playing in the background. WTF

The victim’s daughter held the box up in her palm and opened it up for me. I looked inside and saw that it was as empty as when Geraldo Rivera opened Al Capone’s vault (Google it if you didn’t get it).

After I left the call I thought of something funny. It’s too bad I couldn’t leave the the gift box at the suspect’s door with a note inside that said, “Badge415 found you.”

Maybe this year Santa can leave a lump of coal for Christmas in this guy’s stocking.

“I have a clean record”

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“234, we just got rear ended,” said an officer on the radio.

He gave his location and advised there were no injuries. I grabbed the microphone and said, “729 en route.”

When I arrived, I saw both vehicles in the southbound #2 lane at the intersection. The officer told me they were stopped for a red light when they were hit from behind.

He also told me the SUV’s driver was unlicensed. I shook my head as I thought about the two times my patrol cars were hit by unlicensed drivers.

I walked up to the woman, who was still in the driver seat, and asked her to step out of the car so we could talk on the sidewalk.

“You want me to drive over there?” She asked.

“No, you don’t have a license. Come out and we’ll talk on the sidewalk.”

“I can drive over there,” she said as she pointed to the right.

I was pretty sure she’d already done enough driving for tonight. After she exited the car we walked to the sidewalk. Once we were safe on the sidewalk the woman said, “I have a clean record.”

Well, that made me feel better…..

During the interview I learned she applied for a driver’s license and failed the written test. When I heard that, I almost pointed to the cars and said, “You failed the driving test too,” but I held my tongue.

When the interview was over, I gave the driver a card with the report number on it and said her car was getting impounded. She responded by asking if she could keep the car.

Keep the car? Really?

Let me get this straight. She was unlicensed, failed her test, crashed into a police car and now she wanted to keep the car???

Hum, let me think about it…… No.

“Enjoy that feeling”

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The other night I was working a patrol shift when I was sent on a call with a new cop. I had met him once or twice when he was in training and didn’t know anything about him.

We handled the call and then talked next to our cars. I guessed him to be 21 or 22 years old. He had a baby face and probably shaved once a month. His youthful appearance and wide eye look gave him the unmistakable look of a new cop.

“How long have you been out of training?” I asked.

He thought for a moment and replied, “Four months.”

After a few minutes of talking, I could sense an energy and enthusiasm about him that reminded me of myself when I was his age. I stood there and remembered when everything was new.

Every call was an adventure and I would’ve done the job for free.

I stood there and wondered what I looked like as a “Boot” with my shiny new badge pinned to my chest with absolutely no idea what I was doing in the new world of police work. After reflecting, I thought back to this new guy, who still had 30 years ahead of him.

He didn’t have the look of a cop who had seen dead babies, dismembered body parts, or sacrificed family time for the demands of the job. He also didn’t have the look of a person who had seen and done things regular people only saw in movies or read in books. He still had his “innocence”. The job hadn’t changed him yet.

After talking with him for a few minutes I asked, “Would you do the job for free?”

He got a huge smiled and said, “Yes.”

He went on to tell me how he couldn’t wait to go back to work from his days off and how fun it was to be out here on the street. I listened and silently remembered saying the exact same things when I was his age.

“Enjoy that feeling,” I said. “When I was new, I would’ve done the job for free too.” After he laughed I added, “I still like coming to work, but I want to be paid now.”

You can’t beat getting paid for what you love doing.

My junior negotiator

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Last week I attended a 40 hour basic crisis negotiation class along with two other co-workers. We went to this training because we are the newest members of our department’s negotiation team.

On Wednesday I picked up my daughter from gymnastics. When she got in the car she said, “I tried some of the things you learned,” referring to the negotiator school.

She went on to tell me how she asked a girl at gymnastics how her day was. That particular question came from a negotiation book I just read. The goal was to ask that question and then use “mirroring” to get the girl to keep talking about her day.

The girl answered by saying, “It was good and bad.”

“It was good and bad?” asked my daughter.

The friend replied back and added more about her day. My daughter then repeated back the friend’s last words in the form a question just like she did with “It was good and bad?” This went back and forth at least five times as my daughter got the girl to keep talking.

With enthusiasm in her voice my 11 year old said, “I was shocked that it worked so well.” She was very proud of herself. She then said, “Can I be a junior negotiator?”

That made my day. The innocence and the smile on her face were truly a negotiator dad moment.

The candle call

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You just never know when something new or different is going to happen at work.

A few weeks ago, I responded to a major injury collision on the west end of the city. After the crash, one of the drivers was transported to the hospital and later died. The other driver and passenger remained at the scene and stood at the northwest corner.

A group of their friends showed up and stood by with them. Before I knew it, one of the friends was sitting on the sidewalk playing a guitar. There was a hippie like feel in the air as other people sat down next him. The only thing missing were candles.

A little bit later I saw a guy holding a Jesus candle walk into the street from the opposite corner. When he was told to stay out of the street he said, “I want to put the candle out for the guy.”

“Put it on the corner,” someone told him.

“But he died over there,” he replied.

The man figured out he needed to stay out of the street and put the candle down at the southwest corner. He lit it and a short time later the flame went out.

About an hour later I heard arguing at the same corner where the candle was. I looked and saw a two guys yelling at each other as they prepared to fight.

Didn’t they see the police cars and the cops standing in the middle of the street? First the guitar, then the candle and now a fight? Was it a full moon?

We walked over and separated everyone. It was just bizarre and we shook our heads at the madness.

When it was time to leave, we called for tow trucks and took down the crime scene tape. As the tow truck drivers cleaned up, something caught my eye. The was a candle with its flame shining brightly in the night at the northeast corner. I didn’t see who left it, but it was a symbol of just how different this call was.

Now there were two candles on opposite corners. This was the first fatal crash where candles were dropped off while I was still there. Even after all these years, there’s still room for plenty of “firsts.”

You just can’t make this stuff up.

A night in Hollywood

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The other night, I took my kids to the Hollywood Bowl to see John Williams conduct the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra. We sat there under the stars as they played music from movies like Star Wars, Harry Potter, Superman.

When the concert was over we took our shuttle back to the shopping center at Hollywood Bl and Highland. My kids asked if we could take a stroll on the Hollywood Walk of Fame when we got back there.

It was almost 11PM and there was a carnival like atmosphere on the Walk of Fame. Besides the street performers, there were also vendors selling hot dogs from grills.

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The smell drew me in like a magnet. The sizzle of the the hot dog, grilled onions and peppers had me pulling $4 out of my wallet before I knew it. Both of my kids passed and said they didn’t want one. After paying,  they watched with anticipation as I ate it. After one bite I instantly knew it was the best hot dog I’d ever had.

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Then there was a man with a giant snake on his shoulders. You couldn’t help but stop and look at that thing hanging from his shoulders. He  was quite the attention getter. There was also a guy wearing a mask walking around carrying a backpack with a cat strapped on top.

He saw us looking and said, “You can pet him. He’s a nice cat.” He then leaned down so my daughter could pet the cat. I’m surprised the cat didn’t have a mask on too. Here’s the funny part. The masked guy with the cat seemed normal and fit right in.

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Only on Hollywood Bl can you see a masked catman walking around next to Superman and Batman on the Walk of Fame.

It was a great way to end the night.

 

 

 

I only wanted Starbucks

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It’s amazing how doing one little thing can open the door to something else. Ask any cop and they’ll tell you stories how this happens all the time. The smallest vehicle code violaton often leads to other things like warrants, suspended licenses and other crimes.

The other night I was getting onto the freeway when I saw an SUV going a lot faster than everyone else. I had a perfect view from the on ramp as the vehicle raced past traffic.

The SUV came up to slower cars and had to slow down. It then accelerated again when a hole opened up. The driver’s only problem was I happened to be right behind her.

I still had Starbucks on my mind, but we were now going 83 miles per hour and passing other cars. I finally decided to stop the car and warn the driver. I just wanted to get my drink and use the restroom.

I put my lights on and the SUV took the off ramp where Starbucks was. This was going to be perfect. I put the stop out over the radio and dispatch told me the registration had expired 8 months ago.

The driver made a right turn from the off ramp and stopped within eyesight of Starbucks. I spoke to the driver about the violation and she told me she was on her way home. I also asked about the expired registration. She said, “This is my boyfriend’s car. I didn’t know. I’ll call him.”

I went back to my car and ran the plate on my computer just to make sure it expired in January.  After I confirmed it I went back to the car. The driver said, “I called my boyfriend and he didn’t know.”

I found that hard to believe. I could understand one or two months expired, but eight? The registration also showed parking violations on file.

“I’m going to impounded the car,” I said.

The driver simply said, “Okay.”

There was no drama or questioning the impound. It was as if she knew and expected the vehicle to be taken away. The tow truck arrived and Uber picked her up.

It’s funny how things work out. I only got on the freeway that night so I could get to Starbucks faster. If she had slowed down I would never have noticed.

By the way, I got my drink.

I need pants!

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On Wednesday, I got to work and realized I forgot my uniform and badge at home. If I left now, it would take me two hours to get back because of traffic. That didn’t sound very appealing at this point.

I decided to check my locker to see if I had a BDU uniform which had a cloth badge sewn on it. It wasn’t my normal every day uniform, but it would be better than nothing. I got to my locker and found a shirt, but no pants. Things weren’t looking good at all.

That’s when I saw an officer walk into the locker room. He was the next aisle over and just getting off of work. I was thinking about my options when an idea popped into my head.

I walked over and told him what happened. I next asked, “Can I borrow your badge?”

“Sure,” he replied.

I had no shame at this point because I asked, “What size pants do you wear?”

“They’re a 32.”

Well, that wasn’t going to work for me. “Do they have the elastic waistband?” I asked.

“No.”

It was worth a try.

Well, I had an old shirt from my locker and a borrowed badge. I was more than half way there. Now I needed a pair of pants.

Who could I ask?

I turned and saw a large plastic bin where old uniforms are thrown into. I looked at the pile and dug into it like a homeless person looking for a coat on a cold and snowy winter day.

I pulled out a pair of pants and looked at the size. Nope! That wasn’t going to work. I grabbed for another pair  and yanked them out. I looked at the size and held them up to see if the length was going to work.

The length seemed right and things were suddenly looking up. I hurried to my locker and tried them on. It was a perfect fit. Even the length was spot on.

I grabbed my old shirt and put the borrowed badge on it. It didn’t matter it was over 375 numbers past 415 at his point. After I was done, I walked over to the mirror and inspected my “thrown together” look.  Not bad at all.

I walked upstairs and made it to work at 5PM on the dot. Talk about lucky.