To Serve and Protect, or Whatever

In 2016, I retired from law enforcement after 25 years of being a police officer in northern California. I believe I have mentioned this before. Prior to 25 years as a police officer, I spent 25 years not being a police officer and having no idea that I would ever be a police officer. So, how did I end up driving a black and white sedan with lights on the roof?

Let me tell you about it.

In 1989, I was finishing up my final year at UC Davis. I was about a month away from graduating with a B.S. in Genetics. I thought I had my career all planned out at that point. Get a job with the local genetics research firm in Vacaville, work my way up the corporate ladder, collect stock options and a high six-figure salary, then retire at 35 with more money than I knew what to do with.

That was the plan.

The first step was getting through a job interview with the genetics company that my entire career path hinged upon. The job I was applying for was basically an entry level lab assistant. It would be my task to wash up the lab as the more senior people completed various tasks.

Okay, to be more accurate, they needed a dish washer. Someone to clean up test tubes and petri dishes.

During the interview, I was told that, due to the number of candidates applying for the job, a B. S. was insufficient to secure the position. They told me to feel free to reapply when I had completed my Master’s Degree program.

The only problem was that I had absolutely no intention of staying in school any longer. Certainly not long enough to go for an M.S.

I didn’t get the job. I was at the end of my schooling and had no idea what I was going to do next. The path I had imagined I would follow had just disappeared like a bread crumb trail in a windstorm … a windstorm full of hungry birds.

It was at this time that I called up my good friend, Wes Blalock. I needed someone to be a sympathetic ear and I thought he would be a good place to start. I was wrong. His advice was something along the lines of, “I don’t have time to listen to your whiny shit right now. Why don’t you come see me the next time you come down to San Jose.” This was followed by the sound of dial tone.

Have I mentioned that Wes is my best friend?

So, I did go see him the next time I was in San Jose. Wes was working as a police officer at that time and he suggested I do a ride-along with him during one of his shifts.

“So we can talk?” I asked.

“No. So you can see what real problems look like.”

Again … best friend.

I did the suggested ride-along. Sometime during the night, amidst the fast driving, foot pursuits, and one particularly messy drunk driving arrest, I got the idea that maybe I should be a police officer, too. I figured, if I can’t get a job with a genetics company, I guess I can do this.

I suggested the idea to Wes and he just shook his head like I had suggested if we flapped our arms hard enough we could get the patrol car to fly.

It was not the brightest idea I’ve ever had, and it should have disappeared the next day after a good night’s sleep, but for some reason it stuck with me. I even went home to tell my parents that I had decided to become a police officer.

My mom rolled her eyes and said, “You could get that job with a G.E.D. Why did we bother to send you to college?”

My dad looked up from the television long enough to say, “You owe us $40,000,” then went back to watching MTV music videos. Or, maybe it was a nature program. It was definitely one of the two, since he never watched anything else.

Still looking for validation, I called my grandfather. He was the only person in our family that had actually been a police officer. He worked for the Los Angeles Police Department during the 1920’s and 30’s and was a beat cop during prohibition and the Great Depression. I figured if anyone would appreciate the choice I was making, it would be him.

After I told him my decision, there was a long pause on the phone. He finally said, “Okay.” I thought that would be the end of it, but he suddenly added, “You’re kind of small. You know they’re going to kill you, right?”

Well, with support like that from my family and friends, how could I not become a cop? It was like Destiny tapping me on the shoulder and pointing down a sun-lit path, saying, “In that direction lies happiness, wealth, and contentment.” Then Destiny pointed at a dark briar patch and said, “But f**k that. You should go that way. Show all those assholes they’re wrong.”

So, with my injured pride leading the way, I leapt into the briar patch.

Twenty-five years later, I have successfully proved everybody wrong. I would love to rub their noses in it, but my grandfather and parents are all dead now, so… it kind of takes the fun out of it. It’s like successfully surviving a dangerous dare, but it killed all your friends. There’s nobody left to celebrate your stupidity with.

Wes is still alive, but I can’t talk to him. He’s still convinced he never should have taken me out on that ride-along.

I guess I’ll just have to take a pyrrhic victory lap on my own.

By the way, my advice to anyone who is thinking about becoming a police officer today is this: listen to your friends and family and run in the opposite direction just as fast as you possibly can. In the immortal words of my grandfather, “You’re kind of small. You know they’re going to kill you, right?”

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