Officer Alex offers some increasingly esoteric thoughts on his world
“We passed upon the stair, we spoke of was and when
Although I wasn’t there, he said I was his friend
Which came as some surprise I spoke into his eyes
I thought you died alone, a long long time ago…”
— David Bowie, “The Man Who Sold The World”
“Pushing rope.” That’s what I’ve been doing for weeks now. Months. Maybe years.
I show up to work and I’m not even there. I do what I do and I provide the services expected, from dealing with people one on one to returning phone calls to the ones I can’t meet, but it’s an empty suit. Well appointed and ready to go, but…Empty. Hollow.
So I continue this existence as a Hollow Man and I do what all cops do and hope it passes…that it just gets better, that it goes away. Because it always does, and it always has, but yet here I am. Ignoring the column I tried to write and just punching through the one I’m actually putting on paper now, because—why not?
I feel like I’m chopping wood. Not hacking my way through a jungle, but actively cutting down one tree at a time in order to get from one foot to the next, sweaty and bug- and bark-riddled. I’m a racist by default and full of privilege? Fine. I’m a tool for the tax base, funding the city (but not myself)? Fine. I’m a liar and a leak based on the words of one agenda-driven and poorly-thought-of and obviously fair-willed sycophant? Fine. Again, not my first rodeo. I’ve dealt with back-stabbers and the bosses that actually believed them before, and I’m still here while they are not. “Welcome to America,” as most would say.
But getting in the car, setting foot on the pavement that surrounds HQ? That nausea…that nausea is quite different from the stomach annoyances listed above.
Here’s what I’ve never written about before in this years-long effort to humanize my profession, to explain the parts that the popular media won’t: That this job is a journey—and that journey comes with a price.
Oh, you can touch the top of Mt. Everest, but getting back down the mountain? Two different stories. Literally.
This is not a first. Not for me, and certainly not for my profession, but it’s truly horrible to be in this position.
New promotees? New “Lifers”? Read slowly. As in, line by line, not the folded-up version you’ll be handled when the “Alex Teach Gone Get Fired” groups get excited again. No. (It’s more regulated now, relax.)
And you here, too, you still wish to visit Macrodiff? “I too had to be reminded that cars and trains kill, too, but why bother with the mundane work of a solitary officer out there—but until then, you contradict every order I have met regarding the boys so no further questions—just less clothing for those Surgically Impaired.”
Guys, bid them up. If it’s secret, well, it’s not now, but it’s a start. Let’s take some of this vicious time off Echo. You are always on the side of justice—but we’ll only be for a MINUTE though, OK?
See? Who cares.
(Editor’s note: At this point, we gave up on trying to figure out what Officer Alex was talking about. Please draw your own conclusions.)
At the end of the day, what have to us suspended to me Prison. That’s a lot of flower vases and (speech recently), but text…we write about the world we live in, and not in violation of policy as we hope. ;-)
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.