More Old Journal Entries

Following are more entries from my old journal from my police days...

August 27, 1988

This past weekend, I drew jail detail. I went in there on Saturday morning to find there were 15 people on the A side, 3 more than capacity. And half them belonged in a detox center, not jail. I ended up sending one to the hospital for the DTs (some of the winos called it the DDTs) and he was at the ER for 4 hours before they brought him back. This was nothing compared to what second shift had. An hour after I left, one of the trusty prisoners totally flipped out in DTs. The trusties were sitting on the carport getting some air and this guy suddenly started jumping through the weeds like a rabbit. They finally corralled him and took him to the hospital, but the they ended up sending him right the hell on back to us.

I came in the next day and they had him locked in a cell, totally off his rocker. The floor of his cell was completely covered in water and soggy newspapers. He had allowed the front part of his bunk to collapse and he was sitting on the tilting bed, as is. He thought he was in a big truck and wanted me to set the brake before it went out of control. He was talking to people that weren't there and was having an earnest conversation with the toilet. The hospital had sent Librium back with him, but that was like pouring a glass of water on the Chicago fire.. I was annoyed that the hospital had sent back a person so obviously in need of medical help. They do it all the time and I hate it because we are not set up to take care of sick people and we are not medically trained. The jail is in one sense a dumping ground. We end up having to take the people they won't take elsewhere. A lot of the people we get don't really belong in jail, but they can't get the help they need elsewhere, because of financial reasons. A middle class alcoholic can go to a detox center, the poor ones end up in jail.

August 28, 1988

The mall has a big problem with loud, rowdy teenagers loitering there, picking fights with each other, drag racing around the parking lot, and so on. A group of them mugged a 72 year old woman the other day. Another officer proposed a funny solution -- we bus all the winos from the viaduct to the mall and move the teenagers to the viaduct!

August 29, 1988

Last night we brought in one who was bucking for the "Asshole of the Month" award. He was very sarcastic and belligerent, verbally abusing everyone in sight. He refused to use the phone because he thought it was "bugged". When he was put in the cell, he promptly dismantled the bed and flooded the cell. When he bitched about this, I told him he had made his bed and that now he could lie in it. Later on, he started whistling for the jailer instead of calling him by voice. I don't know about the jailer, but hell could freeze over before I would come in response to a whistle. The day I respond to a whistle is the day I strap on a dog collar.

September 26, 1988

The fair is gone and not a moment too soon. It ended with a bang, as usual. Second shift had a rip-roaring drunk brought in last night. He ripped up the fingerprint cards and threw them at the jailer. When he was put in his cell, he promptly broke the toilet in there. They decided to send him to the county mental tank. They put him in the paddy wagon and he promptly did a donkey act, kicking out the back door of the van, and running into the field with handcuffs on.

October 6, 1988

Today, about a half hour before we got off, someone got shot at one of the projects. Another officer was bringing a prisoner to the jail as the call went out over the radio. When he heard that, he just shoehorned the guy out the door to the jailer and sped off. The shooter turned out to be one of our regulars and he had shot this guy in the leg in a fight over a woman. Dumbass.

October 24, 1988

Last night the Sgt. called out on the radio that he was opening the gas pumps, asking if any units needed gas. The dispatcher responded, "10-4!". The Sgt popped back, "J, I didn't think you needed any more gas!"

November 25, 1988

Tonight, a guy was arrested, caught trying to steal a pickup truck. When questioned about it, he said he was sick of walking. Yet, he had $170 in his pocket. Too cheap to call a cab, I guess. I told him he should have tried to steal a Pinto instead of a truck -- that way he would have only been charged with petit larceny!