She Was JELLO

Posted on January 23, 2015 by Badge415

Have you ever thought a train was going to hit you?

I see “Car Accident Stress” every night at work. It’s usually the feeling of the unknown after the collision that the driver feels. Or it’s how a person reacts to what just happened. Over the years I’ve seen all types of reactions to car accident stress.

Every once in a while someone’s reaction stands out more than others. Last night was one of those times.

When I arrived, I saw the aftermath of a two-car rear end collision. Both vehicles were still in the street, blocking traffic. One vehicle’s front end was smashed and there was fluid all over the road.

Both vehicles were stopped next to a railroad crossing. This particular track is very active with trains going by all the time.

The first driver I spoke to was calm and told me a tow truck was already on the way.

The other driver was still sitting in her vehicle. I walked up and noticed she was crying. She had minor damage to the rear bumper of her Ford Expedition and I wondered why she was still crying twenty minutes after the crash.

I then asked her what happened.

As she started talking the railroad lights and bells started ringing as it singled the approach of another train. The railroad arms came down inches from the front of her vehicle. Thirty seconds later a train blew by us at 50 miles per hour.

Between sobs and tears, the woman told me she was driving down the street when the railroad lights came on as she approached the tracks. She stopped and was then rear ended by the truck behind her.

The impact pushed her forward onto the tracks where she came to a stop. After the collision she looked to her left and saw the headlight of the train coming toward her.

Now, that’s not something you hear every day.

“You actually saw the train’s headlight?” I asked.
With an even louder sob she replied, “Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I backed up,” she said between deep breaths and tears.
“Wow. Did the train honk its horn?”
“No.”

This woman seemed like she was going to need some major counseling after tonight. She truly had the look of fear in her eyes and her body language was basically JELLO now.

From training classes, I know that it takes thirty seconds for the train to get to the crossing after the lights and bells start sounding. I also know that it takes a while for the train to start back up again after the emergency brakes have been applied.

This all made me think she really wasn’t that close to getting hit by the train. Plus she was able to back up before the arms came down.

She was an emotional mess so I thought I should give her those facts to put her mind at ease. I figured it was the least I could do since she was now JELLO.

I tried explaining it to her, but it didn’t help. I thought I’d get a smile and a deep sigh of relief.

Instead, she cried louder and the sobs were bigger than before. She went from being solid JELLO to runny JELLO. Kind of like JELLO that gets left out all day long at a picnic on a warm summer day.

Now the poor girl couldn’t drive her vehicle out of the street. I had to get her father to move the car to a parking lot.

After the street was clear I drove to the parking lot to ask her one final question. She wasn’t crying anymore, but she had the thousand-yard stare now. I felt bad for her because she truly thought she was going to die in fiery ball of death.

There was nothing that I could say to make her believe the train really wasn’t going to smash her car into little pieces. All of this was probably made worse every time the train passed by.

One thing is for sure after last night. If she ever has a son there won’t be any train sets in her house.

My Car Failed Me

Posted on January 19, 2015 by Badge415

We all have a certain patrol car that we like to drive. Ask any patrol cop and they’ll tell you their favorite car number.

Mine is 779.

I’ve been driving unit 779 so long the seat knows when Daddy’s home. On my work days it seems like I spend more time in that car than in my own house.

Through all the good and bad times, 779 has never let me down. That is until this past Wednesday night.

It failed me.
It stranded me.

It made me ask a few questions like:

“What did I do to you?”
“Haven’t I treated you well?”
“Don’t I get you washed?”
“Don’t I go over speed bumps slowly?”

It’s not like I treat the car like a dirty girlfriend.

The other night at about 2:30AM I decided to write some parking tickets before EOW (End of Watch). When I left the station I noticed the alternator light was on. No big deal. I was going to write the tickets and then put the car out of service when I got back.

As I drove to my target location I noticed that my lap top wasn’t charging even though it was on the docking station. Then the unit radio started turning on and off.

What could happen next?

I drove into an alley and saw about fifteen cars parked on both sides. Add the trash dumpsters to that equation and a fire truck would have a hard time negotiating the alley.

I parked my car and left the engine and head lights on like I always do.

I started to fill out a ticket and noticed the engine was making an unusual noise. Not to worry, the shift was almost over.

After I wrote the second ticket I turned back to the car and saw the head lights had shut off. Not a good sign.

The engine didn’t sound so good now. Maybe I should’ve just stayed in the traffic office for the last thirty minutes of my shift.

I got into the car and the unit radio had shut off. I might have a problem now.

There was no way I could drive the car in like this. I decided to turn the car off for a minute or two just to see if that would help.

I wrote the third ticket and then went back to the car to start it back up. I turned the ignition and all I heard was clicking.

It was almost as if an unseen force was trying to prevent me from writing parking tickets that night.

I then had to make the dreadful radio transmission for a tow truck.

“784, my car just died and I need a 926.”
“10-4, 784,” replied the dispatcher

A patrol sergeant got on the radio and said, “2S1, send a unit to stand by with 784 until the 926 arrives.” I appreciated that because you never know in this neighborhood.

After a few minutes I decided to try and start the car again. I wasn’t willing to accept defeat. Plus, I didn’t want to wait for the tow truck.

This car had never let me down so why start now.

I sat in the car and turned the key again as I said, “Come on.” With a lot of hesitation, the engine started. It was alive, but in critical condition.

I turned the lights on and saw they were dim. Probably as dim as my hopes of making it back to the station. The unit radio was off, but I didn’t need it now. I needed the car to move.

The car was on emergency power mode and I was going to have to baby it on the way in.

See, 779 would never fail me.

“784, my car is possessed. It just started up again. You can cancel the 926. I’m going to limp the car back to the station.”

With a feeling of relief I started driving westbound through the alley. I started to turn onto the street when the dashboard lights went out. The car died and it silently rolled to a stop. It just shut off.

The car threw in the towel.
It raised the white flag of surrender.
It rolled over and played dead.

Now I was blocking an entire street and the alley.

With a feeling of defeat I keyed my pac set and said, “784, start the tow truck again.”

I put the car in neutral and pushed it back a little so it wouldn’t block the street. Why couldn’t I get stranded in the parking lot of a 24 hour Starbucks instead?

My car had failed me, but at least it wasn’t 100 degrees in the summer time.

The tow truck arrived and 779 was loaded up. I got a ride from another officer and my car was then sent to “time out” to be fixed on another day.

The next day the car was back and the alternator was fixed. I had full power and I was back in business.

Then……..

The transmission failed me.

Maybe unit 779 will have a better week when I come back from my days off. If not, unit 780 might be my new number one. Just kidding. 779 is my car. At 48,000 miles, It was just having a midlife crisis.

Calling 911 can ruin your drug business

Posted on September 18, 2014 by Badge415

Don’t be a drug dealer and call 911

Back in late 1995 or early 1996, I was dispatched to another 911 call at a small apartment complex I had never been to before. It seemed like it was going to be the typical hang up call where someone was either playing with the phone or dialed 911 by accident. Whenever a 911 call is received, dispatch will call the number back to see what the problem was. If there’s no answer then officers will have to be sent out. On this particular day there was no answer on recall. I figured I would be done with this call in one minute tops.

A Caucasian male in his twenties opened the door just a crack. Not like most people do when they open the door wide open. This was just enough to see his face and nothing else inside the apartment from where I was standing. I told him the reason we were there and that we needed to go in and make sure there was no one injured inside. The man seemed a little hesitant at first, but he backed away from the door as he opened it for us.

I noticed he was wearing boxer shorts and he was holding a pair of jeans in his hand. Maybe he was just being shy when he had opened the door. Since we still didn’t know what we had on this call yet, I told the man to give me his pants because I wanted to check them for weapons. I then found a large knife in a sheath that was attached to the belt. I didn’t give him his pants back and had him sit down.

From where I was standing, I scanned the apartment interior. It was the typical small apartment I was used to going into. A small kitchen was to my left with very old and stained counter tiles and dirty grout. A couch, chair and coffee table were in the front room where we were standing. This room was a little messy, but I had seen worse. There was a hallway between the front room and the kitchen, which lead to the bedroom. The room was dark and the window blinds were closed.

I looked down at the coffee table and saw two scales in plain view. They were three beam scales, which is not something you see every day unless you’re watching Miami Vice or in the police evidence room. I then saw small plastic zip lock bags on the table next to the scales. These particular bags were smaller than sandwich bags and are used to package methamphetamine to sell. I looked even closer and there were small bits of marijuana crumbs all over the table next to the scales. Of course, the one gallon zip lock bag full of marijuana sitting there on the table didn’t look out of place.

I looked over at the male and asked him why he had the scales. The male hesitated as he was trying to figure out damage control. He then said, “I collect them.” That was the best he could do? Now, I was starting to think this wasn’t the smartest drug dealer in the world. He could’ve at least tried to say, “Those aren’t my scales.”

This call was a done deal for me and it was time to handcuff him to go to jail. I told him to stand up and turn around, which he did. I noticed that one hand was open, but the other was balled into a fist. I told him to put his hands together, but he wouldn’t. After a few seconds he revealed a large rock of meth that he had been holding. Who opens the door for the police while holding a rock of meth in their hand?

There was no one else in the apartment and I learned that he had just had an argument with his girlfriend today and she had left right before we arrived. I’m pretty sure she had the last laugh on that one!

Never upset your girlfriend when you’re a drug dealer.