Nothing
livened my cubicle life up more than when my favorite client Rector McCollum
walked his retired-self through my office doors and plopped into our comfy
conference room chairs. Time disappeared as I leaned forward on my elbows
listening to his cop stories, riveted by the action and suspense of his life on
the streets. His goofy personality drew me in, but his kind words wrapped me up
in a big bear hug. He must have sensed my excitement, because he wrote down a
phone number on a business card and scooted it in front of me. “Kim, you would
love a ride-along.”
On
April 26th, 2014; I parked at the Audelia Police Station in Dallas, Texas.
My head was spinning, my hands were shaking; the anticipation was killing me.
Officers Felix and Wilstead snatched me up to ride along in the backseat of
Vehicle #2008 for the 3pm-11pm tour. They were young, African American women
and they didn’t seem too thrilled. Felix stood at least a head taller and when
she looked at me, I instantly felt like a tag along. Wilstead was a few inches
shorter but not smiling either. With their uniforms and thick vests, they were
beefed up and ready to hit the streets with me as their shadow.
At
first, all I heard were codes and I wondered if I would even understand what
was going on. I stared at the stiff laptop situated between them in the front.
Every 911 call was listed and the dispatcher assigned the calls to the officers
on the field. My officers’ team code was F222. I quickly put myself to work
trying to decode the letters, numbers and abbreviations on the screen.
Disoriented 80 year old driver on the wrong side of the road. Fire trucks stuck
on the road. 17-19 year old black male selling marijuana. Stabbing in the face.
Wilson peeked at me and asked
the first obvious question. “Do you want to be a cop someday?” I smiled. Being
a cop was the furthest idea from my mind. “I am curious to see what it’s
really like out there. All I know is what I see on TV.” I had stereotypes that
I wanted solidified or thrown out the window, so I started drilling them with
questions. The first thing they cleared up for me was the fact that they don’t
chase people, contrary to my favorite cop shows. They said it’s not worth the
potential injuries. Phenix with one hand on the wheel said, “Oh I will chase
them in a car and bump ‘em if they are running away!” She laughed and said she
definitely doesn’t hop any fences. They also said they will give the offender
“knee strikes” if they aren’t cooperating. I had to look that up and it looks
painful.
Around
5:30pm we stopped at a gas station for snacks. The girls poked around the
pickup truck in front of us and saw an open beer can. They waited for the
driver and passenger to come out of the store and then pulled them aside. Phenix
motioned me to come and I stumbled out of the car, not sure why she called me.
They were circled around a young Latino who looked like he was going to pee his
pants. He was sitting on the ground against the store wall with his eyes
focused on the dirty cement. Phenix was drilling him with questions with no
luck. “Do you speak Spanish?” I nodded and my heart quickened. I knelt down to
get closer. I wanted to be able to hear his every word and since he was scared;
I wanted him to feel like I was a friend instead of an interrogator. I managed
to get his name, date of birth, and asked him if he had an ID. Since he was
probably only fifteen or sixteen (and probably not a legal immigrant), he
didn’t have a driver’s license. He said his school ID was at home. The girls
talked some sense into the driver but didn’t write him a ticket. We walked away
together with Phenix yelling; “Don’t drink and drive! Get a Driver’s License!”
We
drove over to where other cop cars were parked in a rough neighborhood and the
girls swapped stories with the cops on tour. They recognized a black male
across the street and pulled up his profile on the database. His mug shot
stared at me and Wilson had to scroll down through his endless list of
offenses. I looked out my window and watched him saunter around the street,
purposefully taking the long way around to avoid us. He was a sex offender
walking around as a free man and it sickened me. My adventurous ride-along felt
somber for the first time.
The
sun went down and a stabbing code came across the air. For under a minute, red
and blue lights bounced off my window and the familiar sound of police sirens
rang in my ears. The thrill surged through me but subsided once we climbed the
stairs at the apartment complex. The “stabbing” was just a cut on the leg of an
elderly man. He looked rather grumpy when we stepped in the small apartment;
probably because there were about ten cops in the room. We shuffled through the
pack and left after a short conversation with another officer. After a
situation like this, I had some questions for my hosts. Why was a cut leg coded
as a stabbing? “That’s the thing.” Wilstead looked over her shoulder to explain
some of the issues they face. “We are on the street trying to protect the city
and we rely on the information we are given. It’s not always accurate.” I asked
her what other pet peeves she had, and she didn’t disappoint me with
enthusiasm. “I hate it when I pull someone over for running a stop sign, and
they have kids in the backseat. And I always write a ticket if kids aren’t in a
car-seat.” I was beginning to understand what the life of a cop is. Their main duties
are to answer their calls and patrol the neighborhood. Wilstead summed it up
best when she said, “If I can do something in the moment to make somebody feel
safe, I have done my job.”
After filling up the
gas tank at a super-secret police gas station in the back woods, we pulled into
their headquarters and I expected to get kicked to the curb immediately. Felix
asked if I wanted a quick tour of the Police Station and I eagerly agreed. We
walked through their beautiful in-house kitchen as Felix explained the story
behind it. “Last year there was a rapist on the loose nearby this Police
Station. All the families were freaked out, and three women were raped in their
homes. We spent weeks patrolling the neighborhood to catch the guy.” I ran my
hands across the granite countertops. “We finally arrested him and he was
sentenced to 85 years in prison. The neighborhood dropped off food and gifts
every day, and they paid to remodel this kitchen.”
I left that night
feeling proud to have been able to spend eight hours with two cops who help
protect me, and a million other people in one of the biggest cities in America.
My respect for police officers grew exponentially after my ride-along, and I
will forever be impressed and humbled by their bravery.
Related: My Cop Buddy
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