Page 157 - NIXBOOK

Me, working at an off duty job in the evening. The local movie theatre is showing the presidential debates live on a big screen.
For free! A small crowd has shown up to take them up on their offer and I’m there because this is Donald J. Trump v Hillary
Rodham Clinton and Tensions. Are. High. The movie theatre management had decided it would be prudent to have a uniformed
officer at the door as a polite reminder for audience members to remain civil. So I got paid to watch the debates. And the
audience members behaved themselves; they were all anti-Trump so there were no outbursts or threats of violence.

I pulled over a young submarine sailor once for speeding. He didn’t like me at all and I didn’t like him; it was pretty much an
instant personality conflict. He had a really, really bad attitude and it showed. But I let him go without an expensive ticket, on
the condition that I got a phone call from his superviser a couple levels up – the chief of the boat. I let the sailor go and guess
who never told the COB that he needed to call the police to talk about a sailor with a bad attitude? Maybe that sailor thought
I’d forgot all about it, or wouldn’t know how to contact the COB myself. Two minutes after I picked up the phone, the
submarine’s Chief of the Boat was on the line. He told me “No, he didn’t report to me that I should call you, but I’m not surprised.
We’ve been having problems with this kid lately. Don’t worry officer, we’ll take care of this.”

I got called to a house for some kind of problem; this was a long time ago when we had a housing development that had been
built as civilian contractor housing during WWII; fifty years later the neighborhood was old, low income, run down and ghetto,
and called “The Projects.” The problem there that day was Ed, one of our frequent fliers, who had cut his hand open on glass
and needed an ambulance. The only reason why I remember this is that Ed, in an attempt to get the blood off his hand that was
veritably gushing out, started the old shake-your-hand-and-fling-blood everywhere technique, with no regard for the nice police
officer standing in front of him.

Old lady lived in a house at the corner of a busy intersection. Kept getting mad at the local pizza delivery driver kid because the
pizza place was like two blocks away and he drove past her house at least three times an hour with his car radio too loud. One
day while I was outside her house directing traffic during a bicycle race, she walked over to me and complained about him again
and just then the kid drove by. I immediately stopped him, asked him to please turn down his radio, explained the old lady
situation, and he agreed and turned it down and continued on his way. I was feeling pretty satisfied that I was able to address
her problem literally seconds after she reported it to me. Later, the on-duty sergeant told me that she had called to complain
about me right after that; she was very disappointed that I had not arrested the kid or at least given him a ticket.