Page 221 - NIXBOOK

Me, in a worn-down double-wide mobile home. The residents are filling out statement forms for an incident that they had
witnessed. They were slow writers so I had to just stand there awkwardly for about 15 minutes, staring at their walls and décor,
which could best be described as post-modern random American plastic kitsch. Absolutely none of it matched anything; there
was no theme or commonality to any of it. I must have been gawking too much because I later was informed by my sergeant
that they had complained to him about me staring at their walls too much. There are of course much worse things to get citizen
complaints about; so I didn’t mind that one at all.

Car crash on the highway; some idiot not paying attention ran into another car during rush hour traffic. Turned into a hit and
run because the driver at fault did not want to stick around to be held any kind of accountable. Actually he fled on foot, leaving
his broken car behind. His passenger also fled on foot. But not before trying to steal. The purse. From the woman they had just
crashed into. HOW RUDE.

We get a report of a couple of domicile-challenged folks scuffling with each other in a public park. I arrive and see one of the
offenders flee into the woods; he wants no part of me. He had warrants for his arrest and he’s caught a short time later. His
stupid girlfriend acts apologetic and sorry but I’ve heard her empty placations before and I’m tired of it, so I resort to coarse
language to emphasize my points as I try to tell her how to live her life and behave in public. Another homeless dude nearby
watching us chooses to get all offended by my language and he starts yelling at me that I’m bring unprofessional. Who yanked
his chain? “Do you want me to turn my attention to you?” I asked. I note two other homeless dudes with him are very wisely
choosing to stay silent and not give me any lip. So I don’t care about them at all; they are literally not bothering me. But the guy
who is calling me out and telling me how to act is bothering me considerably. I’ve had several encounters with him over the
years and he’s been quite unpleasant every time, and he had a reputation with all the other officers as being a difficult (and drug
dealing) jerk. So a week later when we find him squatting in a basement of an abandoned house, it’s a very simple matter to call
the homeowner, let him know he’s got folks living in his old run down beat to shit house and would he like them trespassed
from there? Yes? Okay sir, we’ll take care of it. Do I mind going out of my way a little bit to serve paperwork to the jerk in the
basement, telling him he’s not allowed there, and that if he stays or returns he’ll be arrested? Nope, I don’t mind at all. In fact, I
felt pretty good about it. Now if he had just kept his mouth shut and minded his own business…we would have left him alone.