Presumption

What’s this soap box doing here?

Presumption of innocence, otherwise known as innocent until proven guilty, is only relevant in one place; the courtroom.  It doesn’t apply to the local news.  It doesn’t apply to your neighbors.  It doesn’t apply to a national sports show, and it doesn’t apply to the police.

If you’re charged with a crime, and you choose to go to trial, the burden of proving your guilt rests solely on the prosecution.  Every member of the jury (or the judge) has to consider you innocent until the prosecutor proves otherwise.  If they can’t accomplish that, you’re acquitted.  The prosecution does this by presenting as much relevant information as they’re allowed, and trust me, there’s a lot of relevant information they’re not allowed to tell the jury. 

A prosecutor has to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.  The cops only need to believe it’s more likely than not a crime occurred.  The news only needs to know that you were arrested.  Your neighbor only has to see your neck tattoo. 

If you think people shouldn’t form an opinion before they’ve heard all of the facts you’re delusional.  You’ll never hear all of the facts.  You’re also a hypocrite.  You didn’t know all of the facts when you pointed your favorite finger toward the sky and called the driver that cut you off some choice words.  Are they rude?  Are they late for work?  Is there a woman in labor in the back seat?  Are you going to follow them to their destination and politely interview them until you know the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?  No.  You’re going to form an opinion and move on.

People form opinions based on the information available to them.  I’m a bald white male with a significant amount of visible tattoos.  Girl Scouts don’t ask me to buy cookies when I walk out of Safeway.  I don’t walk around whining about being judged based on my appearance.  If your urine contains enough opiates to put down a herd of elephants then people are going to form opinions.  No one has to wait for a verdict to call you heroin addict, unless of course they’re on the jury.

There are no rules in the court of public opinion.  You’re only innocent until your pee comes back hot; then all bets are off.  Sorry.  

Raise

I have an idea.  Raise your own kids.  Parenting isn’t supposed to be easy.  It takes effort.  It takes time.  It takes commitment.  Do you know what it shouldn’t take?  Cops.

Your kid staying out after curfew isn’t a police matter; it’s a parenting matter.  They aren’t missing; they’re disobedient.  Pause Desperate Housewives, put down the Dryers, put on a robe, get in the minivan, and go find them.

Your kid refusing to go to bed isn’t a police matter; it’s a parenting matter.  Under what authority do you expect me to force your child to put on their pajamas and go to sleep?  Last time I checked there wasn’t a bedtime statute.  Don’t ask me to just come over and scare them either.  That backfires when the kid grows up and doesn’t trust me.

Your kid throwing a fit because you’re watching Wheel of Fortune and they want to watch Glee isn’t a police matter; it’s a parenting matter.  Ask them how much they payed for rent.  Ask them how much they contributed toward the electric bill.  Ask them when was the last time they made there bed.  There’s no such thing as an out of control eight year old; there’s just an eight year old that’s about to be parented.

You’re the same person that tells me I should be out looking for murderers and rapists instead of harassing you for speeding.  You’re the same person that asks me if I don’t have something more important to do than stop you for expired registration.  As a matter of fact I do, but I can’t ever get to it because I’m too busy taking care of your obligations.

Raise your own kids.

Achoo

I have allergies.  If it grows, I’m allergic to it.  I’ve sneezed in eight different states, 10 differnt countries, countless cities, hundreds of sleeves, and thousands of tissues.  Sneezes have appeared out of nowhere and disappeared as fast, lingered for minutes at a time, come in threes, exited with the force of a 300 win mag, and hinted at arrival only to hide when I acknowledge their exiztence.  I’ve unintentionally created new patterns on dress shirts, misted unsuspecting neighbors, blown holes in Kleenex, knocked over lamps, and scared my children.

In all of my vast experience violently spraying unwanted particles out of my nostrils there’s one thing I’ve never done.  I’ve never accidnetally taken a wrong turn and driven against the flow of freeway traffic until I crashed head-on into someone minding their own business.  I’m sure it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Gazunteight!

Ration

I think I should get a ration of “You got what you deserved” cards that I can throw down when it’s appropriate.  I’d love to have one a shift, but I know that’s not realistic.  I even understand the argument against one a week.  But one a month seems legit.

Let’s say you call 911 because you want to report a theft.  You tell dispatch that your car was just broken into.  I show up and you tell me someone stole your GPS, purse, and laptop.  You proceed to tell me your GPS was suction cupped to the windshield, your purse was on the front seat, your laptop was in plain view, your car was parked on the street, and it was unlocked.  There’s only one week left in the month, so I promptly hand you my January “You got what you deserved” card and drive away.

Let’s say you call 911 because you want to report a burglary.  You tell dispatch someone just broke into your house and made off with your property.  I arrive and you show me how they kicked in the man-door to your garage.  You show me how they busted open the door from the garage into your kitchen.  You show me how they forced open the door from the hallway into your medical marijuana grow room.  I whip out my February “You got what you deserved” card so fast you don’t even have time to say, “Duuuuuuuuuuuuuuude,” before I’m out the door.

Let’s say you call 911 because you got your ass kicked.  You tell dispatch a bunch of guys at the bar beat you up.  I show up and see that you have a chin-strap beard, over-jelled hair, uneven orange self-tanned skin, manicured nails, and enough gold chains to make Mr. T jealous.  I don’t even say a word to you before handing you March’s “You got what you deserved” card and high-five the guys responsible on the way out.

Step on the brake, Jake.  I’ll never hand this card to a woman who’s wearing a short skirt, tight blouse, yoga pants, low cut jeans, or drinking too much.  That card will stay firmly entrenched in my pocket as I do everything in my power to make you suffer.  I’ll visit you in prison and watch you slowly lower yourself onto the metal stool on the other side of the cold steel table.  I’ll watch you sit gingerly, and grimace as the weight of your body rests on your backside.  That’s when I’ll take out April’s “You got what you deserved” card and slide it across the table without saying a word, and leave.

Decision

Failing to use a signal becomes failing to stop for a red light becomes excessive speeding becomes driving buzzed becomes driving drunk becomes driving through the front door of the local Jack-in-the-Box.

 Toilet papering a house becomes egging a house becomes tagging a fence becomes keying a car becomes smashing a car window becomes breaking into a garage becomes breaking into a house becomes stabbing an 83 year old woman for a six dollar pendant.

 Sneaking some Schnapps out of the liquor cabinet becomes hiding behind the shed to smoke some weed becomes buying an unlabeled bag of Vicodin in an alley becomes slamming a booger-ball of heroin in a 7-11 parking lot at 3am and driving through a telephone pole.

 This might seem like an exaggeration, but it’s not.  Most felons don’t volunteer at the senior center one day, and extort two million dollars from their employer the next.  When small decisions go unchecked they turn into medium bad decisions, which turn into large bad decisions, which turn into enormous bad decisions, which end up hurting people; usually not the person making the bad decisions.

 This is why you’re getting a citation for making an illegal u-turn.  You’re welcome.

 

Challenge

I love being a cop because it challenges me.  It challenges me physically.  It challenges me mentally.  It challenges my patience.  It challenges my sarcasm filter.  It challenges my ability to stay awake on a Tuesday night in the middle of January.  Without challenges I don’t grow.  I don’t become a better cop.  I don’t become a better person.

With that being said, every once in a while I appreciate being thrown a bone.  I appreciate a guy leaving his credit card on the bar when he runs out on an unpaid tab.  I appreciate a drunk telling me they couldn’t even pass sorbriety tests if they were sober.  I appreciate a crack head admitting she’s wearing her own pants.

What I’m trying to say is that I appreciate you breaking into cars after two inches of fresh snow.  As much as I like running with the K-9 (remember I enjoy physical challenges), I barely had to engage my brain to follow the footprints.  You did make me climb a fence, but that’s why I do pull-ups.  Leaving the cardboard box you were hiding in open wasn’t even the icing on the cake.  The proverbial icing was the footprints leading up to every car you broke into.

Thanks for the…uh…challenge.

Crash

You failed to negotiate a turn and drove your $35,000 ultimate driving machine through a residential brick wall.  If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought the Kool-Aid Man escaped from the back yard.

You didn’t get out of the car to assess the damage to your German enginerred vehicle or the wall, but you were planning on talking to the homeowner in the morning.

You sped off down the road, leaving a trail of car parts behind.  The parts included the headlight assembly mixed in with the bricks strewn across the sidewalk, the side-view mirror 30 feet down the road, part of the undercarriage two blocks further than that, and the front passenger wheel (suspension included) four blocks past the undercarriage. 

You drove the last block on three wheels.

You went inside the house and straight to bed, falling into such a deep sleep in the 20 minutes it took us to find your house that you couldn’t be roused by three cops banging on your door until our knuckles hurt.

Did I miss anything?  Oh, you’ve never been in a crash before, so you didn’t know what to do?  Children that don’t even have complete control of their bowels yet would know what to do.  

Guess what?  I know what to do.  Turn around and put your hands behind your back.  We’re going for a little drive.  If I happen to drive through a wall, I’ll show you what you should have done.

Math

That was embarrassing…for you. Take your age, multiply by two, add two, and you get me. Take my weight, add more than 30 lbs of cumbersome gear, and what do you get? Still me, keeping up with you.

Math is fun. Let’s do some more. Let’s try a word problem.

Q: You’re running at a speed of “I just committed a felony,” and you reach a six foot chain link fence. You scale the fence in just under “My dad’s gonna kill me” time and sprint toward the tall grass that’s concealing X. You quickly determine that X = a five foot deep, toad loving pond, but not until you’re up to your waist in stagnant filth. Note the amount of time it takes you to get chest deep, subtract the amount of time I saved by leaping from the bank instead of wading in, wonder if I yelled “cannonball” to distract you, or just out of pure enjoyment, and spend three seconds looking for your shoe. What do you get?

A: A very cold hour sitting handcuffed on metal bleachers while I process the crime scene.

That’s not what you got? Let me see your work. Oh, I see what you did. You forgot to carry the one, and factor in my rigorous workout schedule. Try again.

Boom

I understand people are setting off fireworks.  It’s kind of the in thing this weekend.  Believe it or not, it’s happening in a couple of different neighborhoods right now.  I’d be lying if I said it was high on my priority list, but it is on the list.  Thank you for being so specific about where they’re coming from though.  Somewhere near your house really narrows it down.

Have you ever tried to find a cricket in your house?  You wait for it to chirp and you turn and face it; maybe you take a step or two.  It chirps again and you move in that direction.  As soon as you think you’ve figured out where the little bastard is, Jiminy chirps again, and you realize you’re not anywhere near him.  Eventually, you’ve heard so much chirping you start to understand what he’s saying.  He’s mocking you.  He saw your bald spot when you looked under the couch.  He knows you’ll eventually give up and have a sandwich.  Trying to find someone launching arial fireworks is like that, mocking included.

We know people are setting off fireworks.  It’s probably the most overt activity anyone does all year.  We’ll get to it when we have a chance.  If you could specify a house, a street, a direction, or even a zip code where they’re coming from, that would help.

Response

Thank you for keeping tabs on my driving habits.  You’re absolutely right to take eight seconds of my 10 hour shift and extrapolate that to mean I’m a hypocrite, above the law, and careless.  I’m only sorry you can’t spend more of your precious time examining my work routine with a microscope.

The problem with a microscope is its narrow perspective.  Staring intently at my tires doesn’t afford you the chance to see the car prowler duck behind the office building.  I saw him.  I made a split second decision that it was in the public’s best interest that I greet him rather than make sure there was a complete cessation of movement from my wheels before proceeding through the intersection.

Watching only my car’s lights means you might see me make a turn without signaling at least 100 feet prior.  It also means you won’t see the abusive husband driving through the neighborhood in an attempt to flee a crime scene.  I didn’t see him either, until I was already nosed into the intersection.  I guess I could have proceeded, found an appropriate place to legally turn around, and signaled before driving to where I saw him last.  Crap, he’s gone.  Oh well, at least I can sleep at night (day) knowing I didn’t commit any traffic violations.

It’s possible you could find me double-parked, partially blocking a driveway, parked within an intersection, or a no-parking zone, against a red curb, or even (gasp appropriately) within ten feet of a fire hydrant.  Whatever you do, make sure you first assume it’s because I’m lazy.  If you want to humor thoughts that it might have been important that I respond to a critical situation as quickly as possible, make sure to do so after reporting my behavior to my supervisor.

You’re right, this will be a much safer place to live when the police aren’t hiding behind their badges.  Make sure you identify yourself when you need us to respond for an emergency so we can proceed accordingly.