Some professions just aren't suited for certain people...or their wardrobe
Naturally like all cops I'm part man, part eagle, part wildebeest, part bloodhound, part cheetah, and part bear. But mostly I'm just really good at finding obvious stuff, which was the case this evening when I found a trail of money leading into the woods from the Family Dollar that had just been robbed.
Despite my multi-genomic resume listed above I've never felt like a particularly fantastic police officer, but it still seemed like a good fit and I can get by day by day with relative confidence. I'm not the best at what I do, but I'm decent at it. Make sense? I say all that to show the contrast with the young man I met tonight who was actually fairly terrible at being a criminal, which I discussed with him at length on the way to the jail.
"Sweatpants," I said. "Huh?" He responded from the other side of the Plexiglas behind me.
"You shouldn't have worn sweatpants. Or at least you should have worn some with an elastic waist. If that knot hadn't come undone, you wouldn't have tripped when you ran out the door."
"Yeah," he said as he stared out the somewhat soiled window as the businesses slowly passed in the distance.
"And if you hadn't tripped that cash tray wouldn't gone all over the parking lot."
"Mm-hmm."
I paused for a moment, not being in a particular hurry.
"And you wouldn’t have lost your gun either. I mean that had to be awkward. I can imagine the sound of that thing just skidding across the concrete there…horrible." I gritted my teeth at the thought.
He looked downward and raised an eyebrow.
"But I mean, you did snatch up as much of that cash as you could, so there's that. But again, the sweatpants didn't have pockets. I mean really, who would think your pants would come into play like that? Because once you started dropping bills, I mean it might as well have been donuts I was tracking, right?"
I laughed a little, trying to lighten up the mood.
He didn't laugh.
"So seriously," I went on, "let's be straight here. I'm really thinking it didn't matter what kind of pants you would have worn today. This just isn't a good fit for you."
(silence)
"I mean you could have worn some MC Hammer pants, that elastic was tight and you could have just shoved that cash down the waistband and it would have never gotten past your ankles. Wait, do you even know who MC Hammer is?" I paused. "Never mind. What was I saying?"
"You was saying this wasn't a good fit," my client said softly.
"Yeah! That was it. Thanks. Anyway, no matter the pants, thinking you need to move into a different field of work. I mean, maybe even get a technical certification or something. Driving trucks? Welding? Welding is huge now, Mike Rowe says it all the time on his Facebook page. Do you have any hobbies you can turn into application? Do something you love and you never work a day in your life, that's what I did."
"Well…I mean I used to ball real good, but I ain't no NBA. I mow lawns though. Ain't no hobby but I can do it." He sat a little straighter now.
"Landscaping! See, that's good! All you gotta do is show up, work your way up, and maybe set up your own shop! Everybody's got grass and plants, and nobody wants to cut them. You need to look into that."
"You right, you know. I think I could do that. This is crazy, my hands are all skinned up, I think you're right."
"Of course I'm right!" I said. "But I mean, you still going to jail. So there's that. But maybe after?"
He slumped down again. I probably should have left that part out.
"Hey. Relax. Tell you what, I won't show anyone the video of you face diving in the parking lot, someone will YouTube that shit in a heartbeat and I want you out there working, not getting laughed at."
"Yeah…uh, thanks man." He was staring out the window again.
Did I mention that I still loved my job? My hands weren’t even skinned up or anything.
(That video was probably getting posted, though.)
When officer Alexander D. Teach is not patrolling our fair city on the heels of the criminal element, he spends his spare time volunteering for the Boehm Birth Defects Center.