Anyway, when the call went out ("officer in fight, needs assistance") I was eating my lunch, in a parking lot clear way the hell on the opposite side of the patrol area. After a quick check of my map to ensure I could find the flyspeck streets the dispatcher had given me (which turned out to be wrong anyway) I roared out with lights and sirens blaring, and whizzed in, around, and through busy midday traffic, though I was responsible and never went more than slightly over 100 mph at any given time.
I bring this up, to say this: if you ever find yourself tooling along a semirural two-lane undivided highway in your blue early-model minivan, with heavy oncoming traffic in the other lane, and a police car should come up behind you at a high speed with its lights flashing, and its siren screaming, and its air horn blasting, and you're not immediately sure what to do...
DO NOT SLOW YOUR FUCKING VEHICLE TO 10 FUCKING MILES AN HOUR IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING LANE WHILE YOU MULL IT OVER.
Thank you.
Ofc. Krupke at 5:53 PM
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18 July 2005
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18 July 2005
Here is a translation (with link to original) of an article in Spain's El Mundo. It reports that a computer file captured by Spanish police reveals that the goal of last year's Madrid train bombings on March 11 was specifically to remove Aznar's government from power. It worked.
So the score in Spain so far is: Terrorists 1, Democracy 0. But I don't think the season is over.
So the score in Spain so far is: Terrorists 1, Democracy 0. But I don't think the season is over.
Ofc. Krupke at 10:37 AM
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15 July 2005
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15 July 2005
While I was driving around central Devil's Island on a recent night shift doing nothing in particular, I noticed a firetruck parked broadside across the street about a block ahead. Nothing had come up over the radio, so I popped my strobes on and rolled up to find out what was going on An alarm, I figured.
Not so. The firemen had been alerted at the station by a citizen who had just hit a coyote with his car.
"A coyote?" I asked a little incredulously to the closest fireman. He pointed with his flashlight, and sure enough, there was a small coyote standing a little shakily on a mangled forepaw in the middle of the roadway, surrounded by small splotches of its own blood. It stumbled back and forth a little, casting a tired look at the assembled humans and one dog that were watching it, as though it were slightly hung over and auditioning for the role of "Mad Hyena #3" in a second-rate Tarzan picture.
I dutifully got on the radio and advised Control of the situation. The dispatcher responded, "Unit 13, did you advise, 'a coyote'?" My SCPD-issue two-way pager buzzed on my belt, and I knew before I looked at it that it was my supervisor, Cpl. Kirk. His message was short and to the point:
To: Ofc. Krupke
From: Cpl. Kirk
Subj: Coyote
What?
Coyotes are certainly not unknown in the area, but they aren't very common either. You're more likely to see a snake or an alligator. The firemen told me that they had already requested an Animal Control unit, but I asked Control to verify that they were en route, just to be sure. Eventually, the dispatcher called me and told me to switch to an auxiliary channel, at which time she informed me that Southern City Animal Control does not respond to calls of that type, and that we would have to call the Southern State Department of Natural Resources.
"Unfortunately, they're closed right now," she said, "but I spoke to someone over there and they advised for you to go ahead and take it out."
Those were her exact words, "take it out," as though she were getting ready to send me a slow-moving patrol boat and a melancholy voice-over. I had a brief vision of myself standing tall in front of the Chief of Police, explaining why it was that I had panicked the city's most tranquil and affluent district with nocturnal gunfire and gotten the blood of poor hapless Wile E. on my hands, only to find out later that the dispatcher had meant "take it out of the road."
"Unit 13 to Control," I asked somewhat testily, "could you clarify 'take it out', please?"
"Uh, well," she replied, stumbling a little. "DNR advises that all they're going to do in this situation is take it out anyway, so it would be best for you to take it, uh..." her voice lowered to a mumble. "...kill it." DNR is infamous for this sort of thing among the Devil's Island cops after the experience of Rehnquist with the alligator (see post for 03 July)
At that point, Cpl. Kirk, who had switched over to the channel and listened in, told the dispatcher that we would be doing no such thing, that either Animal Control or DNR needed to respond, and that if DNR showed up, we weren't going to let them shoot the coyote, either. When told that Animal Control didn't handle wild animals, he responded that what we had basically was a 20-pound dog. And, semantics aside, he had a point: certainly the poor battered thing would be less trouble than the feral rottweilers and pit bulls the dope dealers keep downtown. And so an Animal Control guy was paged out, showed up, and used his restraining pole to get the coyote into his truck. The coyote seemed to wish everyone would just leave it alone. It put up a half-hearted wriggle as it was placed in the cage, on the off-chance any of its friends were watching, I suppose. He took it to the veterinary ER, where, he told us, it would probably be euthanized anyway.
Kirk was motivated less by concern for the coyote, who was by that point lying on the road and breathing hard, than by desire to avoid a gigantic hassle. Any time an officer fires their weapon while on duty, whether accidental, intentional, or coyote-related, SCPD policy requires notifying more or less the entire command staff, the detective bureau, the crime scene unit, the giving of statements, a blood test to ensure Krupke wasn't flying on the phenobarbitol when he pulled the trigger, all of which would give us precious little time to answer the 20 calls a minute we'd be getting because of the gunshot. Still, Kirk is a rational type, and I think he was a little offended by the notion.
"Are we that backward," he asked me rhetorically, "that that's all we can do, is shoot everything?"
I made him promise that if I ever got hurt somehow in the line of duty, that he wouldn't let anybody from DNR anywhere near me.
Not so. The firemen had been alerted at the station by a citizen who had just hit a coyote with his car.
"A coyote?" I asked a little incredulously to the closest fireman. He pointed with his flashlight, and sure enough, there was a small coyote standing a little shakily on a mangled forepaw in the middle of the roadway, surrounded by small splotches of its own blood. It stumbled back and forth a little, casting a tired look at the assembled humans and one dog that were watching it, as though it were slightly hung over and auditioning for the role of "Mad Hyena #3" in a second-rate Tarzan picture.
I dutifully got on the radio and advised Control of the situation. The dispatcher responded, "Unit 13, did you advise, 'a coyote'?" My SCPD-issue two-way pager buzzed on my belt, and I knew before I looked at it that it was my supervisor, Cpl. Kirk. His message was short and to the point:
To: Ofc. Krupke
From: Cpl. Kirk
Subj: Coyote
What?
Coyotes are certainly not unknown in the area, but they aren't very common either. You're more likely to see a snake or an alligator. The firemen told me that they had already requested an Animal Control unit, but I asked Control to verify that they were en route, just to be sure. Eventually, the dispatcher called me and told me to switch to an auxiliary channel, at which time she informed me that Southern City Animal Control does not respond to calls of that type, and that we would have to call the Southern State Department of Natural Resources.
"Unfortunately, they're closed right now," she said, "but I spoke to someone over there and they advised for you to go ahead and take it out."
Those were her exact words, "take it out," as though she were getting ready to send me a slow-moving patrol boat and a melancholy voice-over. I had a brief vision of myself standing tall in front of the Chief of Police, explaining why it was that I had panicked the city's most tranquil and affluent district with nocturnal gunfire and gotten the blood of poor hapless Wile E. on my hands, only to find out later that the dispatcher had meant "take it out of the road."
"Unit 13 to Control," I asked somewhat testily, "could you clarify 'take it out', please?"
"Uh, well," she replied, stumbling a little. "DNR advises that all they're going to do in this situation is take it out anyway, so it would be best for you to take it, uh..." her voice lowered to a mumble. "...kill it." DNR is infamous for this sort of thing among the Devil's Island cops after the experience of Rehnquist with the alligator (see post for 03 July)
At that point, Cpl. Kirk, who had switched over to the channel and listened in, told the dispatcher that we would be doing no such thing, that either Animal Control or DNR needed to respond, and that if DNR showed up, we weren't going to let them shoot the coyote, either. When told that Animal Control didn't handle wild animals, he responded that what we had basically was a 20-pound dog. And, semantics aside, he had a point: certainly the poor battered thing would be less trouble than the feral rottweilers and pit bulls the dope dealers keep downtown. And so an Animal Control guy was paged out, showed up, and used his restraining pole to get the coyote into his truck. The coyote seemed to wish everyone would just leave it alone. It put up a half-hearted wriggle as it was placed in the cage, on the off-chance any of its friends were watching, I suppose. He took it to the veterinary ER, where, he told us, it would probably be euthanized anyway.
Kirk was motivated less by concern for the coyote, who was by that point lying on the road and breathing hard, than by desire to avoid a gigantic hassle. Any time an officer fires their weapon while on duty, whether accidental, intentional, or coyote-related, SCPD policy requires notifying more or less the entire command staff, the detective bureau, the crime scene unit, the giving of statements, a blood test to ensure Krupke wasn't flying on the phenobarbitol when he pulled the trigger, all of which would give us precious little time to answer the 20 calls a minute we'd be getting because of the gunshot. Still, Kirk is a rational type, and I think he was a little offended by the notion.
"Are we that backward," he asked me rhetorically, "that that's all we can do, is shoot everything?"
I made him promise that if I ever got hurt somehow in the line of duty, that he wouldn't let anybody from DNR anywhere near me.
Ofc. Krupke at 6:45 PM
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11 July 2005
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11 July 2005
The other day I responded to a wreck on the Interstate 666 overpass, right before the exit to Devil's Island. There was a thunderstorm blowing over, and a girl had skidded from lane number 2 across lane 1, struck the retaining wall with the rear of her car, then slid back across the roadway to hit the opposite retaining wall.
She was Brazilian, and didn't speak very much English. I'm a pretty worldly sort of guy, but I'm at a loss to explain the Portuguese for "tow truck". I tried Spanish, on the vague hope that the languages are similar enough to have traffic-related cognates. The look she gave me made me immediately suspect that la grua means something very naughty in Portuguese. Anyway.
When I first walked up to the car, she told me that her brakes had failed (she very carefully pronounced it "file-ed"). Of course they had. It's not that she braked badly and hydroplaned, it's not that she was driving too fast for the road conditions, it just had to be the brakes.
With all the tension and division in the world today, it's nice to know that while our world may be a rich tapestry of cultures painted with all the colors of the wind, the lies we tell cops after traffic accidents are universal.
She was Brazilian, and didn't speak very much English. I'm a pretty worldly sort of guy, but I'm at a loss to explain the Portuguese for "tow truck". I tried Spanish, on the vague hope that the languages are similar enough to have traffic-related cognates. The look she gave me made me immediately suspect that la grua means something very naughty in Portuguese. Anyway.
When I first walked up to the car, she told me that her brakes had failed (she very carefully pronounced it "file-ed"). Of course they had. It's not that she braked badly and hydroplaned, it's not that she was driving too fast for the road conditions, it just had to be the brakes.
With all the tension and division in the world today, it's nice to know that while our world may be a rich tapestry of cultures painted with all the colors of the wind, the lies we tell cops after traffic accidents are universal.
Ofc. Krupke at 9:59 AM
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08 July 2005
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08 July 2005
Therese Duggan, 44, from Islington, was not going to be deterred either. She said: "I did consider whether or not to use the bus this morning but I figured, 'Oh what the hell, just go for it girl'.
"They're not going to keep me from my shopping."
There'll always be an England.
"They're not going to keep me from my shopping."
There'll always be an England.
Click here and say something nice.
Ofc. Krupke at 10:49 PM
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06 July 2005
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06 July 2005
Over the Fourth of July weekend, I pulled over a guy that I thought was a drunk driver. I followed him onto Devil's Island from the interstate, watching him weave slightly in his lane. At the bottom of the off-ramp, he went into a right-turn-only lane, then went straight across the intersection, nearly hopping the curb on the other side. His right turn signal was blinking the entire time I followed him.
I couldn't smell any alcohol on him, and his speech wasn't slurred, though he was very unsteady on his feet (he may have been on something else). However, he was driving on a suspended license, had no registration, and the license plate on his seven-year-old piece of shit subcompact had expired back when Kerry/Edwards was still a going concern. His driving record showed multiple suspensions, for driving under suspension, failure to pay tickets, and lapsed insurance coverage.
His occupation? Emergency room doctor.
If I ever get shot, I've decided I'm going to fix myself with tweezers, dental floss, and bourbon.
I couldn't smell any alcohol on him, and his speech wasn't slurred, though he was very unsteady on his feet (he may have been on something else). However, he was driving on a suspended license, had no registration, and the license plate on his seven-year-old piece of shit subcompact had expired back when Kerry/Edwards was still a going concern. His driving record showed multiple suspensions, for driving under suspension, failure to pay tickets, and lapsed insurance coverage.
His occupation? Emergency room doctor.
If I ever get shot, I've decided I'm going to fix myself with tweezers, dental floss, and bourbon.
Ofc. Krupke at 6:14 PM
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04 July 2005
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!
O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!
O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
Happy Independence Day, my fellow Americans. Do try not to blow your fingers off.
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04 July 2005
O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassioned stress
A thoroughfare of freedom beat
Across the wilderness!
America! America!
God mend thine every flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law!
O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife.
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!
America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness
And every gain divine!
O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!
Happy Independence Day, my fellow Americans. Do try not to blow your fingers off.