BLITHERING, BUMBLING, AND RAMBLING #25

SO, WHAT’S THE NEW JOB LIKE?

1978- Wheatland P.D.- An enthusiastic 22-year-old kid fresh out of college walks into the police department.  Yeah, it’s my first day.  I talk to the Chief, who introduces me to an officer named Dave.  We talk for a few minutes, and I am scheduled to ride with Dave the following week.  And the very next day, Dave gets into a horrendous gun battle and car chase with two bank robbers and winds up shooting one of them.

Wow, huh?  And he also shot a truck and the wall of the Sheridan Garage as the chase and hail of gunfire went through the town and out into Placer county.  Dave had a lot to say about it when I rode with him the following week.  He was very transparent, talked about what went right, fear, adrenaline, mistakes, and things he wished he could do over.  It was an eye opening experience for me.  

And then…

Because there had been an officer involved shooting, the guns involved were taken for ballistics testing and shot pattern investigation.  Dave had used the shotgun in the patrol car during the shooting.  So  a replacement shotgun was put in the patrol car.  And a week after his first shooting, Dave fired that shotgun too.

The replacement shotgun was different.  It was, like, old.  Really old.  It had a visible hammer slide on the top and the rustic look of the 1800’s.  Yes, 1800’s.

Dave came on to shift about a week after his gun battle and was checking the shotgun out . Unfamiliar with it, he tried to unload it, and, Kaboom ! it went off.  Uh oh.  Luckily, it was pointed up at the time, and one of the flags on the pole in front of city hall took a minor hit. 

Dave got called into the Chief’s office for a lecture on gun safety and a suggestion on training needs.  Dave argued that there wasn’t much training available for antique firearms, and that maybe the department might want to provide weaponry made in the 20th century.  The Chief mulled it over and thought he might have a good point.

My second week on the job I got to ride with Dave, and again he had a lot to say about what had just happened.  Again he was very transparent, about what went wrong, the embarrassment, the adrenaline of the situation, and how he REALLY wished he had a do-over on that one.  And as time passed, he had a sense of humbleness about it. When people asked if he had ever been in a shooting, he’d give a wry smile and say “Two, actually”.  What a conversation starter.

So, in my first two weeks I rode around with a guy who had shot a truck, a garage, a bank robber, and a flag. (You can imagine some of the comments he got about, you know, accuracy).  As I rode around with him in that second week, I sat on the passenger side of the old 1973 Dodge which had the shotgun in the rack on the passenger side of the floorboard, making my long skinny legs angle to the right.  And there in the shotgun rack in front of me, was that antique shotgun that was known as the “Flag Blaster”.

It made me wonder a bit about my chosen career in law enforcement.  After all, I was riding  in a car with a guy that had calamity following him.  I’m not sure if it was planning ahead or morbid humor, but each time we rode together for the next few weeks (until they got rid of the Flag Blaster) Dave would say, “If all hell breaks loose, you get the shotgun”.  

So tell me, what was YOUR first two weeks on the job like?

THE RINGER

1961- Sacramento.  Back when I was a kid I went to kindergarten at Star King Elementary.  It was 5 blocks away from our house, and I walked to and from school each day.

Along the way there were a few other kids from the school in my class that I walked with.  We were all on the same schedule and there were two guys, Steve and Jimmy, who I walked with almost every day.

One morning, on the way to school, two blocks away and my two friends suggest a “door ditch”.  I am confused.  What’s a door ditch ?  It’s fun they said, we just ring the doorbell and run.  Steve offered to be the first.  Jimmy and I walked past the house Steve was going to, and looked back as Steve creeped up to the door.  We watched as Steve made a quick stab at the door bell and ran towards us yelling “run!”.  We got past the house next door when an old guy in his bathrobe and slippers  came out and yelled “Stop!”  Which, of course, made us run faster.

By the time we got to the next block, we realized we weren’t being chased and we walked the rest of the way to school.  My two friends said they did this all the time.  I told them we might get in trouble and they laughed  and said no, they were too fast to ever get caught.  Hmmmm.   They told me to try it on the way home from school.

I went home from school that day with Steve and Jimmy.  As we neared that same house, they kept encouraging me to try it.  I was pretty sure I couldn’t so I said no.  This time Jimmy stepped up and said to watch him do it.  Now this time, Steve and  I waited on the same side of the house as before, but, that meant to get home we had to go past the front of the house.  This was a key fact that that these two masterminds hadn’t taken into account.  Me, being new to the door ditch strategy, didn’t see what was coming.

As Jimmy is walking up to the door, suddenly it opens, and out lunges (and yes I mean LUNGES!) the same old guy- bathrobe and all, steps out of the house and reaches for Jimmy.  The look on Jimmy’s face is wide-eyed panic as he turns and runs just as fast as he can down the street.  The old guy gave chase for about 20 feet, then yells something at him, and does a sudden about face and walks back towards -  GAAAAHHHHH  it’s ME!!

I turn to Steve for quick advice on what to do, and whaaaatt???  He’s gone like yesterday, in the wind, skeedaddled, and just plain out of sight.    GAAAAAHHHHH !!!  X 2 !!!   Right place at the wrong time!

The old guy pointed a finger at me and yelled “You!  Stop right there!”   And, being a mere 5 years old, my path to home blocked by the angry guy in the bathrobe, I froze like an ice cube, afraid to move.  He assured me I was in “real trouble” if I didn’t tell him who the kid was that rang the doorbell.  And so, like most snitches, squealers, rats, , and stool pigeons, I told him everything he wanted .   Name-  Jimmy .  Where does he live?  Uhhh, I needed an answer, so I blurted out in panic “Plato way”.  Hey, I didn’t know, but I knew I didn’t want to be in “real trouble” for not answering.  He got a pen and paper and wrote it down.  

He shook his finger at me and told me I better go home and tell my parents what I did, and that he was going to talk to Jimmy parents.  So I ran home and blurted out what happened to my mom.  

She told me we’d talk to Dad about it when he got home.  No little kid wants to hear “wait til your father gets home”.  It means any disciplinary action would be decided by Dad.  I figured I was in “real trouble”, and I wasn’t sure what that meant yet.

Dad came home, and a few minutes later I was called into the house.  Dad asked me what happened and I told him.  He told me I wasn’t in trouble, but hanging around kids like Steve and Jimmy meant knowing when to walk away so the trouble they started wouldn’t get blamed on me.  

So the next day walking to school I walked on the opposite side of the street from the old Guy’s house, briskly.   And I never looked at the house.  Steven and Jimmy were at the crosswalk when I neared school, and they were curious about what happened.  I told them and said I told my parents.  Their eyes got big and they asked what my parents said.  So I told them, “My dad says you’re in REAL trouble”.  They didn’t know what that meant either.  

But they stopped door ditching.  Heck, when I told Jimmy that the old guy wrote his name down, Jimmy started taking the long way around the block to school for the rest of the year.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

Deb and I took a vacation in Maui, and our second day we found a cinnamon roll place that was outstanding.  The island had a lot of roosters that wandered around the businesses and gorged on any remnants left behind.  At the cinnamon roll place there was a rooster that had apparently claimed the space as his.  

If any food scraps hit the ground around the tables outside the place, the rooster charged over and went for it.  He pecked and squawked at any bird near it.

This was interesting to watch as you waited in line, and there was always a line there.

One morning I went down early to the cinnamon roll place to get us some coffee.  The line was long.  The roosters were feisty. The orders were coming to the counter like clockwork and as each name was called the the people waiting outside went in and claimed it.

One of the employees brought a stack of three boxes, put the receipt on it and called “Es-Tav”.  Nobody moves.  The employee looks at the receipt and says a little louder “Es- Tav”.   Hmmm, last name maybe, foreign tourist perhaps?  Again, nobody moves and the group of about 5 people near the door waiting for their orders look at each other, wondering who’s up.  

The employee looks around, an expression of annoyance on her face, then yells out “Es-Tav!”.  And the line goes silent,  all movement stops, and the order remains on the counter.  The employee walks over to the other side of the room and works on another order.  A different employee comes over to the counter and looks at the receipt.

Calmly, she says “Steve”.

Now there’s movement.  The guy standing to my left gets a surprised look, chuckles, and goes in and claims the order.  As he comes out shaking his head, all eyes are on him as he walks through.  Even the rooster, stops, raises his head and watches him exit into the parking lot.  We are all chuckling now.  Steve, really?

A crumb falls to the floor and the rooster charges off in attack mode.  I go in and order and wait with the others.  A coffee order comes up at the counter, and, so does the employee who yelled “Es-Tav!”  Oooooohhhh.  The employee barks out “Mary!”  and a woman goes up.  Ok, that was an easy one.

A coffee order comes up, and I tense as a different employee calls out my name.  A sigh of relief as I take it.  My plan B had been if they shouted out some name that sounded like a Lithuanian  mountain and nobody moved, I was gonna take the coffee anyway.

THE LANDING

Speaking of Maui, there was a restaurant experience that made a dramatic first impression, followed by a diversionary tactic that had us equally dazzled.  We were in Kihei, headed up to a restaurant named  Three’s Bar and Grill which had been featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives.  Well, how could we not go there?

It was within walking distance of our condo, and as we headed over, it turned out to be a little longer walk than we thought, but we found it.  The folks there were friendly and as we walked up they greeted us with smiles and took us to the outdoor seating in the shade.  Nice.

And as we sat down, a fly zoomed in and landed on the table right in front of Debbie.

And died there.  Yup.  Landed, expired, laid there motionless.  And a split second later, our server, a really tall young lady, swooped in, reached down and took it off the table, apologized for its existence, and took our order. Wow.

The Mai Tais came, I swear, two minutes later, (F-A-S-T) in glasses that were etched glass Tiki Heads. (Yes,I have photos!).  Ok, we forgot all about the fly.  And the food was good, the weather was nice, and the setting peaceful.  It was relaxing.

Afterward, as we walked back, we couldn’t get over how quickly they jumped on the fly issue, cleared it out of our way, and brought us island beverages that made us forget it ever happened.  Completely.    But on the walk back….

Waaaaaitttttt a minute!  How the heck does a fly die on landing!   Heart attack? Stroke?  Kamakazi-fly-thinking-the-last-thing-I-do—is -ruin-these-California- Bozos—vacation-Tora Tora Tora!!!  What happened there ?  And then we look at the photos of the Tiki- god Mai Tai glasses and remember the quick response, and dang!  We’re impressed with how well they focused us on the service, food, drink and atmosphere!  And we think about how hard it would  be to impress under those circumstances. 

And, doggone it, it’s the only place I can think of, where I would return to, in a heartbeat, after finding a dead bug on our table.  Of course, I’m assuming  that I’m the only one that happened to there.  Makes you think, huh?