Page 298 - NIXBOOK

Also back from when I was a rookie officer: I was paired with my mentor and field training officer in the first couple months of
my career when we came across two girls out walking late at night. They were about 14 years old, and they accepted our offer
for a ride back home. We dropped them off and we were feeling pretty good about that when my partner decided to call one of
their parents and just check in. The first parent he called said his daughter was at her friends’ house for a sleepover..but the
address he gave was not the one we delivered the girls to. The second parent – also at a different house - said both girls were
asleep upstairs. We asked him to double check that. He did, and a minute later told us that they were not there! My partner and
I then fully realized that we had just aided and abetted two runaway girls to escape to some other place. We gave the address to
the parents and jumped in our car to beat them there. Good news: we found the two girls in the backyard, in a tent with their
two boyfriends – brothers – who lived in the house. A minute later both of the girls’ parents arrived to take their girls back, but
not before the father of the two brothers showed up. I remember explaining the whole thing to him and he could not quite hide
his admiring smile he had for his two sons; I could tell he was a little proud of them for getting two young ladies over to their
place. Helped by the police, even. He was really the only one smiling; the other parents were kind of pissed.

“Somebody stole my car!” the old lady cried to the 911 dispatcher. “We’ll send an officer out to you, ma’am,” the dispatcher
assured her, and I get the call. I go the Walmart to meet her. “I had my car parked right in front of the store with my dog in
there and now my car is gone and stolen!” Her panic level is pretty high; mine not so much because this has happened before
many times; usually it’s just the dog got tired of waiting and drove home. I take her remote control and go head for a different
part of the parking lot, and I click the alarm button on it repeatedly until I’m rewarded with a horn honking, of course not
anywhere near where grandma thought she had parked her car. I go pick up grandma and show her where she had left (and
forgotten) her car and dog. She was equal parts embarrassed and relieved. How many times have I responded to calls of stolen
cars that were actually just misplaced on a different street or different part of a parking lot? A lot. And yes, always old people.

Speaking of the Walmart parking lot, there I am talking to an old guy in his motorhome; he’s gone into homseteading mode
there but the manager has noticed that he’s taken to peeing off his doorstep into the parking lot instead of using his toilet. And
the old guy was peeing a lot, since he was also an alcoholic. I knocked on the motorhome door and talked to the old guy at
length; he was quite personable. He had graduated from the naval academy in 1950-something with a degree in physics, and had
a long distinguished career, retiring as a Captain. But alcohol had taken over his life; his wife had kicked him out of the house
and all of his adult kids couldn’t stand him anymore, so he was alone in his shitty motorhome, with soiled clothes and bad
breath and complete denial that alcohol had ruined his life.