Frank’s Back

Posted on March 23, 2015 by Badge415

Frank’s back!

A few days ago I posted a story about a drug addict and thief named Frank, who I met while doing my DRE certifications. They story got people talking because it’s been viewed over 4,300 times on Facebook.

If that story got you upset, then this one should leave you wondering WFT?

Last night I was back at Fullerton PD doing my DRE certifications and guess who I saw? If you said Frank, you’re right. He was under the influence again.

Part of me was surprised and part wasn’t shocked at all.

As soon as I saw Frank, I instantly thought of the story I wrote about him the other day. Frank wasn’t worried about jail then. And guess what? He’s still not worried about it now. Prop 47 says he gets a citation.

It’s his “get out of jail free” card. Actually, it’s a pink copy of his citation.

Remember, the citation is just the cost of doing business to Frank. As long as he signs his ticket he gets out of jail. If he gets a fine he just has to pay it. And where do you think he’ll get his money from?

You again!

He’s a thief and a criminal. That’s the way he described himself last week. Frank steals to pay for his meth, so that means he’ll probably steal to pay for his fine too.

So, Frank just needs to visit your house, business or break into your car to get the money to pay off his debt. Problem solved. His fine is paid and he gets to roam your neighborhood to feed his habit. Oh, I forgot to mention that Frank is also a documented gang member.

Not to rub it in, but Frank would’ve stayed in custody if it wasn’t for Prop 47.

Some people think being under the influence is a “victimless crime.” Well, tell that to the person whose house or car was broken into. They’ll tell you they felt violated and were the real victims.

Who thought Prop 47 was a good idea anyways? Oh yeah, the people who voted it in. The Franks of the world thank you for it.

The Highs and Lows of The Job

Posted on March 21, 2015 by Badge415

Tonight was the perfect example of how one call can be a complete polar opposite of the very next.

I went to a call involving two tourist who just happened to crash into each other. This woman drove two hours to watch her granddaughter compete in a cheerleading competition today. She was on her way home when her vehicle was disabled in the collision.

She was now stranded far from home with no transportation. Taking a taxi was not an option. If she wanted a rental car she would have to go to the Orange County Airport because everything else was closed. That wasn’t going to work either.

She now needed a hotel room for the night. I told the woman I wasn’t going to leave her alone and I would drive her to whatever hotel she wanted to go to.

We were in front of the Double Tree Hotel, so she checked there first. They were having trouble finding her a room and it looked like I was going to drive her somewhere else.

While we waited, she showed me a competition photo of her granddaughter and she asked about my family.

The hotel finally found her a room and it was time for me to leave. The woman thanked me again for staying and not leaving her alone. She then asked, “Can I give you a hug?” I told her she could and we both smiled. She then gave me a giant hug and I left.

I was feeling pretty good after that because it’s not every day in this job that you have an interaction like that.

The very next call didn’t have the same happy ending.

I heard the call go out over the radio about a woman who was not breathing and a family member was performing CPR at that moment. I was close by and off I went with lights and siren.

I was hired in 1994 and graduated from the academy in February of 1995. Up until last summer I had never performed CPR on anyone except for the dummy at training.

Now I was en route to CPR attempt number three since August. The first two times didn’t work out for me or the victims. Now I was feeling apprehension and dread as I raced toward the house because I knew I was going to be the first one there.

When I pulled up to the house I was mentally prepared for what I was about to do. This was different than when I performed CPR the first two times.

I went into the upstairs bedroom and there was a woman in her mid-sixties lying in a hospital bed. A man was bent over doing chest compressions on his wife of forty-five years.

I then took over for him as he watched with hope. This didn’t look good, but I still had to try. She had a lifeless look on her face and some type of fluid was coming out of her mouth.

I was in an awkward position, but I kept pumping away as I waited for the paramedics. Two minutes seemed to take forever until they arrived. When they did, they hooked up a monitor and checked for a heartbeat.

She was flat lined and they pronounced her right there. They then pulled the sheet over her face and told the family they were sorry for their loss.

She was about the same age as the woman who just hugged me on the last call.

There was nothing else I could have done. I stood in the hallway as her husband called someone and said, “Mom’s dead.”

I felt kind of weird being there to hear him make that call since this was such a private moment. It took me back to when I told my kids that my father had passed away.

Now it was time for them to grieve for their wife, mother and grandma. It was also time for me to go to another call.

Tonight was the perfect example of the roller coaster ride we call police work.

This job is also just like Forest Gump and his box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get……

Where Does An Addict Get His Money?

Posted on March 20, 2015 by Badge415

The other night I went to Fullerton PD for my DRE certifications as part of the class I completed a few weeks ago. I had an interesting conversation with a suspect and I wanted to share it with people who are not familiar with addicts.

First of all, most of these people don’t have jobs, but they need income to support their habit. Where do you think they get their money from?

From you!

These addicts break into your cars, your houses and your businesses. They steal and then steal some more.

During our conversation I asked him how often he uses meth and marijuana. Without hesitation he replied, “Every day.”

“How do you feel when you don’t do meth?

“I get anxiety.”

“Does the drug make you feel well?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Do you drink?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“Because I lose everything when I drink.”

“What do you mean?”

“I lose my car and I go to jail. So, now I don’t drink at all.”

“How many DUI’s do you have?”

“Two.”

“How much do you spend a day on meth?”

“$300.”

“Do you have a job?”

“No.”

Let’s assume he over estimated his daily usage. Either way he still needs money for his habit. Where do you think he gets that money from?

“Where do you steal from?” I asked.

“I don’t do anything in my city. I have pride in my city.”

It seemed like he really wanted me to understand he had pride in his city and it was important to him that I knew that. I asked him more questions about his thefts, but he didn’t want to tell me. At one point he smiled and said, “I’m a criminal.”

At least he knows it.

Is this a guy you want roaming around your city? Absolutely not, but guess what? He was cited out. He was cited out like all the people who were arrested for being under the influence of a drug that night.

He was cited out because of Prop 47 in California. Prior to Prop 47, he would’ve remained in custody for the under the influence and drug paraphernalia charges. Now we have to cite him out. I’m sure that pink copy of the citation made him feel bad.

He said he normally starts to feel the anxiety about six hours after doing meth. That means he’s ready for more meth or he has to find more before that feeling of anxiety takes over.

Guess what he’s going to do if he’s short on cash? You guessed it. He’s going to rip someone off.

I still find it shocking that people in California voted for Prop 47 and allow people like Frank to be out on the street to do their thing.

What if Frank gets caught stealing at a store? He’ll get another citation for petty theft. That’s just an inconvenience to Frank. It’s the cost of doing business.

Eventually things will catch up with Frank, but right now he only has to worry about a citation. County jail time is the least of his worries.

Frank’s job is stealing and getting high. At thirty-one years old he’s got all the time in the world.

I work in the Twilight Zone

Posted on March 19, 2015 by Badge415

Sometimes it seems like I never get a normal collision call to handle. There’s always something.

Here’s what I consider a normal call.

All the drivers have licenses.
There are no injuries.
Everyone has insurance.
No hit and run.
No one has been drinking or taking drugs.
There are only two vehicles.
There’s no drama.

It’s not like I’m asking for much.

There was a call last Wednesday night that didn’t come close to what I just described. It was just one of those weird calls where I was in the Twilight Zone.

For the story we’re going to refer to one guy as DUI Man and the other as Motorcycle Man. Then there’s Motorcycle Man’s son. We’ll call him Knucklehead.

On that day, DUI Man was driving his vehicle even though he was never issued a license. The unlicensed part didn’t bother him because he drives all the time.

DUI Man doubled parked his truck in the middle of the street in front of his house. He left it there so he could talk with a friend. I’m sure parking in the driveway would’ve been too easy.

While DUI Man was talking to a friend, Motorcycle Man started riding up and down the street, even though he didn’t have a motorcycle endorsement on his license. DUI Man thought he was riding too fast and he was concerned for the neighborhood children. He decided to tell Motorcycle Man to slow down.

Let me say that again. DUI Man was worried about the safety of the neighborhood kids.

Motorcycle Man’s son (Knucklehead) didn’t like this and decided he needed to get involved for some reason. Before you knew it, Knucklehead and DUI Man were fighting in the middle of the street. The crowd separated them and DUI Man wanted to leave.

DUI Man jumped into his vehicle, but there was one small problem. DUI Man was really DUI. As he drove off, he sideswiped Motorcycle Man’s car by accident. He then fled the scene, but returned a short time later.

DUI Man walked up to me and wanted to report an assault and battery because he was a victim. Did I mention that DUI Man was also an illegal alien and they were neighbors? Not that it mattered, but it just made the story that much more bizarre.

DUI Man ended up getting arrested and went to jail. Of course, this wasn’t his first DUI arrest.

That’s when I learned a little bit about Knucklehead. It turned out he was in his thirties and still lives at home. He is unemployed and has “Three baby’s mammas.” Those were his words.

He has a couple of arrests for domestic violence, but he just got off probation. I’m sure he’ll treat the new “Baby’s Mamma” much better than the last two.

I forgot to mention that Knucklehead was shot during a drive-by years ago and his license is suspended for not paying child support.

The only thing missing from this call were circus animals, clowns and some midgets.

The next call was much easier. That one involved an unlicensed driver who, crashed head-on into another car while on the wrong side of the road.

There was a restriction on the victim driver’s license for corrective lenses so I asked him where his glasses were.

The driver told me ink spilled on his glasses and they were smashed. After that, the glasses were in the kitchen and the dog, “Disappeared them.”

“Your dog ate your glasses?” I asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“It was a Pit Bull,” he said.

That was the funniest thing I heard all night. See, you just can’t make this stuff up.

“It’s Ferguson All Over Again”

Posted on March 17, 2015 by Badge415

You never know when hatred is going to be spewed your way.
Let me first say this. For the most part, the people I deal with are pretty nice. Most of my calls involve normal people who crash into each other and they’re happy to see an officer. And almost everyone says thank you when I give them a card with the report number.

When it comes to having a vehicle impounded, they’re still pretty nice despite the circumstances. They may be upset, but they still hold it together.

They already know they’re in the wrong in the first place for being unlicensed or having a suspended license. It’s pretty cut and dry. Either you have a license or you don’t. There’s not much to debate there.

I wanted to share an unusual call from last Friday night. It was actually more than unusual. It was downright ridiculous. Let me start by giving the facts about the crash.

• This woman made a left turn in front of another vehicle and they collided into each other. She was clearly at fault, but she was upset at the other woman. The best quote up until that point was, “Can’t a person make a left turn without someone hitting them?”
• She didn’t have car insurance.
• She recently purchased the car, but it wasn’t in her name yet.
• Her license was suspended for failure to appear.
• Her failure to appear was for an insurance ticket.
• She moved twice and never notified the DMV of her address change.
• The other driver was transported to the hospital by ambulance.

When it came to driving a car, she was pretty much wrong in every possible category. So, I really didn’t think there was going to be problem when I told her the vehicle was being impounded.

Boy was I wrong.

The first thing the driver told me was I was being racist. That’s when she yelled out, “It’s Ferguson all over again,” as she waved her arms around. It went downhill from there. Her performance was more Golden Globe than Academy Award. It was more PBS than Prime Time.

I couldn’t help but laugh inside at how dumb she sounded.

From there the drama was non-stop while we waited for the tow truck. She yelled and screamed for about twenty minutes. I was surprised she didn’t take a water break at some point.

Her behavior was so over the top it left me shaking my head in disbelief. I was really happy we had the body cameras rolling for this spectacle.

At one point, she actually bent over and yelled into the camera like a crazy woman.

Who does that?

Then her mom showed up and it started all over again. Nothing like having the mother of a twenty-nine year old woman show up at a collision scene and call you a racist too.

The show was finally over when the tow truck left with her car.

It’s still hard to believe she compared her irresponsibility and the impounded of her car to the events that occurred last year in Ferguson, MO.

I understand she only saw the badge. I wasn’t a person, a father, a husband, or a minority to her. I was just a cop.

I didn’t get my feelings hurt or even take anything personally. It’s sometimes part of the job to deal with people like that and there’s nothing I can do that will ever change her mind.

There’s one big difference between she and I.

The difference is I don’t see all citizens as assholes like she sees all cops.

I just see them as regular people that call the police for help. Every once in a while an asshole is thrown in there just to make things interesting though.

She will forever live in her close minded world. She will only see the badge and never see the person behind it.

That’s okay because there are plenty of nice people out there that still make this job worth doing.

I only tell this story to show how crazy, irrational and downright dumb some people can act when they’re mad at the police.

One last closing thought.

Go pound sand lady. I’m still proud to put that badge on and help people.

The Child Who Died On Me

Posted on March 10, 2015 by Badge415

“He’s not breathing!”

That’s the first thing we heard as my partner and I exited our patrol car at a traffic collision last summer.

A group of people waved at us as they pointed to a child lying on his back. We went to the corner and there he was. His eyes were open and empty looking.

Ten minutes before, Matt and I were laughing and telling stories. Now I was standing over a dying child. I got on my knees hoping to feel a heartbeat and see him breathing. That hope was crushed as soon as I touched him.

“Do you feel a pulse?” I asked my partner as he touched the child’s neck.
“No.”

I keyed my radio and said, “I need units code 3 and fire needs to step it up. I have a 9 year old who is not breathing and we’re starting CPR!”

A memory was triggered as I started chest compressions.

For a brief moment I was sent back in time to a backyard pool two months earlier. The face of a sixteen year old flashed into my mind as I remembered performing CPR on him in the dark of night. I tried to save him, but he died.

Now I was performing CPR on a child, which I hoped never to do. With each chest compression I tried to push life back into him.

“Not again,” was all I could say to myself.

As I did the chest compressions, I made the mistake of looking into his eyes. I forced myself to look away and concentrated on the compressions. I couldn’t believe this was happening again.

I could hear people crying behind me and I wondered if his parents were watching.

At one point the child let out a breath. His eyes didn’t move, but his body did as the breath came out. The crowd behind me became hopeful. I expected he would wake up at any moment.

I stopped momentarily and said, “Come on buddy,” as I tried to feel a heartbeat from his chest. My partner had his finger on the child’s neck as he tried to feel a pulse too.

“You feel it?” I asked.
“No.”

I started the chest compressions again as I silently said, “Not again! Not again!”

I could hear the people behind me start to cry louder as the energy of the crowd seemed to fade. “Come on,” I said to myself.

I still believed I would win. I believed he would live. Then he made a breath sound again as his body moved.

I put my hand on his chest again as I said, “Come on buddy. Come on buddy.” I rubbed his chest like I was trying to wake him up from a deep sleep.

That was the last he would ever move again. It felt like I was at that pool all over again.

I was losing the battle with each passing second. I then glanced at his face one final time. His eyes were blank and lifeless still. Those eyes were already looking up to heaven.

I tried, but I lost……Again.

Other officers arrived to help, along with the paramedics. An officer asked if I wanted him to take over. I nodded and got up. The soul of that tiny body had angel wings now.

I walked away and never looked back. I never saw him get loaded into the ambulance. I think that was my way of moving on.

The self-doubt then started as I asked Matt if we did everything we could. I knew we had, but I needed to hear it. He replied we had.

After everything had calmed down it was just me and a few officers at the scene. I looked at the car where the child was sitting. The damage was violent and incredible. I knew he never had a chance. I also knew I never had a chance to save him either.

I made my peace in the middle of that intersection knowing there was nothing I could do.

I didn’t leave work until after sunrise. As I drove home, I thought about his parents and the pain they were going through. I also thought about my daughter, who was the same age. I couldn’t imagine losing a child.

A tear ran down my cheek at the thought of them being told he had died.

When I got home I sat in my car as I took off my sunglasses. The child’s face was in my mind for a brief moment. It seemed like I rubbed my eyes forever as I tried to erase the image.

I walked into the house and was grateful my family was safe. Everyone was sleeping and had no idea what dad saw tonight.

Hours before I was in the middle of chaos. Now I was home and all order was restored.

When I woke up, I made sure to give my kids an extra long hug.

DRE School

Posted on March 3, 2015 by Badge415

What is a DRE?

If you asked me what a DRE was ten years ago I would have said it was an officer who dealt with street drugs and addicts. Those were two subjects that I stayed away from because they didn’t interest me.

Ask me the same question today and I’ll have an entirely different answer. In fact, I’ll talk your head off about the subject and tell you why it is so important.

The first thing I learned at DRE School was how much we take DRE trained officers for granted. The average cop has no idea what they do, or how much training they have been through. That includes the brand new cop all the way up to the chief of police. Unless you’ve been through the training, you have no idea how much work it is.

Say “DRE School” to most cops and they’ll run the other way. I know because I was one of them.

Cops would rather go to an active shooter call at a nuclear power plant meltdown than go to DRE School. Handling a triple fatality collision sounded much more appealing than going to DRE School.

On the first day, the instructors told us this was going to be the hardest advanced officer training class we would ever take. They weren’t lying.

The information was piled onto us with no mercy. It was like a wheel barrel pouring concrete onto a new house foundation. It went everywhere and there was no room to breathe.

My world suddenly revolved around CNS Depressants, CNS Stimulants, Hallucinogens, Dissociative Anesthetics, Narcotic Analgesics, Inhalants, Cannabis, nerves, neurotransmitters, blood pressure and heart rates.

The eyes were now the window to the soul as pupil sizes and reaction to light helped tell the tale of drug use.

By the third night I felt overwhelmed. I thought there was no way I was going to remember all of this stuff. It was like going up a steep mountain in a snowstorm with a strong headwind pounding my face.

There were two choices. Put up the white flag of surrender or I could listen to the “Eye of The Tiger” song from Rocky 3 and gut it out.

The first week of DRE School was like watching a foreign language film with no subtitles. I know I wasn’t the only one feeling that way.

At one point the light bulb switched on. It was dim at first, but then got brighter. The drug matrix card started to make sense after a while. It started to become more than just a bunch of boxes with words in them.

Slowly the subtitles started to appear in that foreign language film that made no sense a week before. Then, by some miracle it clicked.

What was once pure nonsense in the first week was now like listening to the fourth movement of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony. It all came together. If you’ve heard the symphony, then you know what I mean.

Those two weeks of DRE School turned my household upside down. Everything revolved around my class. All scheduling for my kid’s school, childcare, practices and dinner was planned around my school and studying.

Then there was the occasional DRE dream where I was evaluating someone for drug use. Friends in the class told me they also had the dreams.

At the end of the class our main instructor asked us if we were ready to stop alienating our families and having those dreams. I laughed hard because it was so true.

So, what is this DRE class?

The Drug Recognition Expert program had its beginnings with the LAPD in the 1970s.

Before an officer can become a DRE they have to attend two prerequisite training classes, along with the 72 hour DRE School.

You must get 80% or higher to pass the class.

After passing the course, the officer must complete twelve under the influence evaluations with a DRE instructor present. The officer must be able to name which of the seven drug categories the suspect is under the influence of and this must be confirmed through the chemical test. And finally the officer must pass another written test after their drug evaluations have been approved.

This was not a class I signed up for. It was a class I was told I had to go to. I started out being forced to go, but I had an epiphany half way through. I saw just how important this training was for me. I realized how important it was for every officer on the street. I also saw how important it was for public safety.

Say “DUI” and people automatically think of drinking and driving. That’s no longer the case. Marijuana and prescription drug use is on the rise like never before.

And finally, this isn’t the class we should be running away from. This should be the class officers are trying to get into.

Almost every crime we deal with revolves around drugs. The word “drug” doesn’t mean illicit drugs anymore. It also means prescription drugs.

A heroin junkie is just as dangerous behind the wheel as the soccer mom who is abusing Xanax or the person who is stoned on marijuana.

Next time you’re stopped at a red light. Take a look around. Chances are they’re probably next to you. Do you really want to share the road with that person?

I don’t either.

Let’s train more DREs to help stop these people before they hurt someone.

The night the firefighter was hit by a car

Posted on February 9, 2015 by Badge415

Firefighter Down

“2S2, a firefighter was just hit by a car!”

It was a summer night in August when I heard those chilling words over the radio.

The sergeant then broadcasted that this was a hit and run and he needed Code 3 units.

As I rolled toward the location I wondered how could this happen. Firefighters aren’t supposed to get hit by cars. It’s not in the rule book.

I just happened to be down the street when I heard the call. I floored the gas pedal and pushed the car as hard as it could go. I was there in less than thirty seconds.

When I arrived I saw the fire truck parked facing in a southeasterly direction with its red lights flashing in the night. A fire hose was pulled across the street toward the burned vehicle.

There was a burned out vehicle smoldering on the side of the road in front of this run down looking motel.

The air was filled with foul smelling smoke. It was the kind of smell that invades the lungs and makes you want to turn your head.

Everything looked normal up to that point.

That’s when I saw the firefighter lying motionless on his back in the street. He was wearing his fire turnouts, helmet and breathing apparatus.

His three partners were kneeling beside him and they were yelling his name. There was fear and panic in their voices. They kept calling his name and told him to hold on.

This weird feeling came over me. It was as if all sound ceased to exist at that moment except for their voices. The volume and emotion in their voices made me nervous. I didn’t want to see him die in front of me.

I stood over them and I was shocked to see blood on the inside of his mask. I could barely see his face as he grimaced in pain.

Then the sound of the night came rushing back to my ears. It was as if every police siren could be heard echoing in the night as they raced to our location.

Then there were tons of cops getting out of their cars, all wanting to help. A command post was set up to coordinate a search for the suspect.
Another fire truck arrived and the firefighter was loaded into an ambulance. The siren of the ambulance screamed into the night as it drove toward U.C.I. Medical Center.

His three partners remained at the scene. They all had a look of disbelief and anguish.

I have a vivid memory of the engineer slowly walking to the fire truck and sitting on the front bumper. I watched as he put his hands on his knees and lowered his head. He just sat there and didn’t move for a long time.

I then spoke to the captain. He told me about responding to the car fire and where their truck was parked. The firefighter pulled a hose and started putting water on the burning car. The captain stood a little farther south and stopped traffic in both northbound lanes.

That is when the suspect vehicle drove around the stopped cars and headed straight at the captain.

The firefighter was facing the burning car at this point and he had no idea what was about to happen. The captain waved his flashlight at the speeding car, but it didn’t stop. He yelled a warning toward his firefighter, but he didn’t hear it.

The car sped directly at the helpless firefighter and hit him.

The impact sent his body into the air as he was propelled backward. The firefighter then skidded across the asphalt on his back until he finally came to a stop.

His battered body made at least thirty feet of gouge marks in the asphalt as he scraped across the street. It was amazing he wasn’t killed. There’s no doubt his equipment saved him from more serious injuries.

The vehicle never stopped……

The fire truck wasn’t parked in the best spot to protect them, but that didn’t give the suspect the right to drive around the stopped traffic.

Fast forward over ten years later.

I drove by this location last night and the motel sign triggered the memory of this call. It was the same sign where the burned out car was parked next to. The sights, sounds and smell of that night came back.

I pictured the fire truck and where the firefighter was lying in the road. I could picture the burned out car and other things from that night. There was also the sound of the firefighters yelling out his name.

Then it all faded away back into a distant memory by the time I got to the next traffic signal. The night went back to being quiet and peaceful.

As for the firefighter, he recovered and was medically retired.

The suspect and car were never found. It’s hard to believe that no one ever came forward with information about this. Who fixed that car? Who helped hide the car and the suspect? Who could keep that secret?

Who could hit a firefighter or anyone else like that and not be disgusted every time they looked in the mirror?

Who knows, maybe the driver or someone who knows them will read this one day. If that ever happens I have a message for the driver.

“$#!%$@!. You suck.”

Another Facebook story

Posted on February 4, 2015 by Badge415

Do you know who your child’s Facebook friends are? Do you inspect their social media accounts? Here’s a story that will make you think twice.

I have a friend at work who is assigned to the safe schools detail and she told me a story I had to share.

The officer contacted a seventeen year old girl at one of our high schools one day. The girl told the officer she had received a “friend request” on Facebook from a stranger, who was also seventeen years old.

Even though she didn’t know the male, she accepted his friend request. After becoming “friends” they started messaging each other through Facebook.

At one point, the male asked the girl to take a picture and send it to him. She did and sent him the photo. Their conversation continued as he gave her compliments about how good looking she was.

The male then asked her to take a topless picture and send it to him. She took the selfie and sent the photo.

He complemented her some more and then asked that she take a picture below the waist. She took it and sent the pic.

Then something happened she never thought of. The pictures got out. Worst of all, the picture got out with her name and face.

The male really was seventeen years old and was in high school. He had a girlfriend who found the pictures and she posted them to her Facebook page for all to see.

That private message and picture weren’t so private anymore.

When the officer was taking the report, the girl said she liked the attention the male gave her. Wow.

That was all it took to get this girl to send naked pictures of herself to a stranger. Attention….

How many other kids are doing this? What other apps or social media sites are your kids being exploited on without you or them knowing?

Take the time to talk with your kids. Make sure they don’t end up like this one girl, who showed a little more than she wanted on Facebook.

There’s no “LIKE” button for that.

When is a Facebook friend really a suspect?

Posted on January 28, 2015 by Badge415

Do your children have Facebook “friends” who are about to become suspects?

Nowadays, every cop on the street has been to a call or taken a report involving social media. Ask any officer who is assigned to a school detail or sexual assault detective and they’ll have plenty of stories that will make your jaw hit the floor that involve some type of social media.

About two years ago, I was dispatched to an assault and battery call in one of our run down neighborhoods in the northern part of the city. When I arrived, I spoke to a sixteen year old girl, who had been drinking.

“What happened,” I asked.
“This guy punched me and left me here.”
“Who is he?”
“I met him on Facebook.”

REALLY?

One day she got a friend request from someone she had never met before. Rather than ignore it like I would, she clicked on the accept button.

She then started messaging this male who she had never met before. After a while she agreed to go to a party with him.

A day later he picked her up and took her to the party, which was at some unknown location. There were two other females in the car with them. Once at the party she started drinking. Of course, her parents had no idea where she was.

When they finally left the party he was supposed to drive her home. As they were driving the girl noticed they were going the wrong way. She told the suspect this, but he pulled to the curb and told her to get out.

She refused and told the suspect to take her home. She didn’t want to get stranded in this strange neighborhood at night. He again told her to get out. She pretested and refused to exit the vehicle.

Apparently he had enough. He got out of the car and went to the passenger side where she was sitting. He opened the door and dragged her out of the car. He then punched her in the face as he kept telling her to get out.

When he was done hitting her he got back into the car and drove away, leaving her on the side of the road at midnight.

I asked the victim if she knew his phone number or where he lived. She had no information on him except for what was posted on Facebook. No license plate number either.

I asked to see his Facebook page to try and get some information about him, but she didn’t have a phone. She had an iPod instead, which was at home.

I drove her home and explained to her mother what had happened. The mother was a Spanish speaker and I had to use a translator to assist me. She seemed concerned, but she had no idea who her daughter went with tonight.

I stood in the living room while the victim went to her bedroom to get her iPod. She returned from the bedroom and handed it to me. The suspect’s profile page was showing. I saw his picture and his name. Below the name were the words, “Add Friend.”

I showed her the iPod and said, “He unfriended you already.” That didn’t take long for her to be kicked to the Facebook curb of “unfriended” status.

She took a look at the iPod and was shocked to see they were no longer Facebook friends anymore. Not that they were ever really friends in the first place.

I left the apartment shaking my head at the ignorance of this victim and her mother. Neither one of them really saw the problem here. They just didn’t get it. They didn’t understand how bad things could’ve ended up tonight.

Watch out for your kids!

Stayed tuned for my next Facebook story…….