I know a guy who got a bloody nose so bad, he took off his sock (a long white tube sock) and used the open end to stuff in his nose to stop the bleeding. The weight of the sock would not allow it to stay in his nose, so he hung the toe end over his left ear. The cop that pulled him over let him go with a warning because he felt sorry for him, not because he had a bloody nose, but because he looked so fucking stupid.
There is a reason why custody staff in the Department of Corrections wear badges and look like cops. It is not to screw with the public. The idea is that inmates might respond better to authority figures, particularly law enforcement. Years ago this might have been a good idea. Today, however, most of the inmates I know have no respect for law enforcement. Personally, I like not having to pick out my clothes every day. Wearing the uniform to and from work has created some interesting situations. I do know of past co-workers who have been fired for doing stupid shit like waving their badge to get chicks to pull over. Never have I intentionally lead anybody to believe I was an officer of the law. Of course people see the blue shirt and badge when they drive by me on the interstate. It didn’t take long for me to figure out why they slowed down as they passed. Twice, I have had folks ask me to sign their fix-it tickets as I pumped gas into the Cavalier. I explain that I would love to, but it would not do them any good.
“My department frowns on its employees impersonating police officers.”
The funniest incident occurred on Friday, October 1, 2004. As a third-shift temp, about 15 minutes ahead of schedule on the way to work, time would allow me to stop at the grocery store for a couple of snacks to add to my lunchbox. A cereal sale display caught my attention. As I was loading up my cart with the six boxes for $10 deal, a teenage employee rapidly approached me. The thought of rewards from the wife for discovering such a bargain were quickly erased by his panicked needs.
“Officer, officer, there is a man in the parking lot drinking a beer in his car, and he’s got a kid with him!”
My hands came up to signal “Woah” right after the mistaken identity clue, “I am a correctional officer; I work for the Department of Corrections. I am not a police officer.”
Before I could finish, two slightly older employees rushed up to add details they thought I would need, “He is drinking it right now! Do something! Somebody has to do something!”
To break the ice, I said, “I could go out there, but if I did, I would just ask him for one, and I should not show up for work with alcohol on my breath.” That got some strange looks. “Look folks, the Department of Corrections frowns on their people impersonating police officers. I am a correctional officer. I do not arrest people. Let the guy finish his beer, he is probably a paying customer.”
At least now I know another parking lot to avoid. On the way out to my car, I saw two squad cars with lights a blazing. The whole incident made me glad I am not a cop. I am certain they have better things to do, and bigger fish to fry. If they responded to this event, they must have been really bored.
Like many young folks in the department, I have a buddy who recently left to be a cop in Seward. He tells me most cops will not pull you over for less than plus-six miles per hour. There is a box on the ticket for six-to-ten miles over, but it is not used much if at all by most cops. If you are speeding when you drive by them, they appreciate it if you slow down. You do not need to show brake lights, they will know. It would be an act of defiance if you did not take your foot off the accelerator. I pick my nose when they are looking to distract them, hoping they will laugh or think that they do not really want to hand me their pen.
“I was talking to this girl and Bruno showed up. Bruno is the guy. Every time a girl says she is here with somebody, it is Bruno.”
There is a reason why custody staff in the Department of Corrections wear badges and look like cops. It is not to screw with the public. The idea is that inmates might respond better to authority figures, particularly law enforcement. Years ago this might have been a good idea. Today, however, most of the inmates I know have no respect for law enforcement. Personally, I like not having to pick out my clothes every day. Wearing the uniform to and from work has created some interesting situations. I do know of past co-workers who have been fired for doing stupid shit like waving their badge to get chicks to pull over. Never have I intentionally lead anybody to believe I was an officer of the law. Of course people see the blue shirt and badge when they drive by me on the interstate. It didn’t take long for me to figure out why they slowed down as they passed. Twice, I have had folks ask me to sign their fix-it tickets as I pumped gas into the Cavalier. I explain that I would love to, but it would not do them any good.
“My department frowns on its employees impersonating police officers.”
The funniest incident occurred on Friday, October 1, 2004. As a third-shift temp, about 15 minutes ahead of schedule on the way to work, time would allow me to stop at the grocery store for a couple of snacks to add to my lunchbox. A cereal sale display caught my attention. As I was loading up my cart with the six boxes for $10 deal, a teenage employee rapidly approached me. The thought of rewards from the wife for discovering such a bargain were quickly erased by his panicked needs.
“Officer, officer, there is a man in the parking lot drinking a beer in his car, and he’s got a kid with him!”
My hands came up to signal “Woah” right after the mistaken identity clue, “I am a correctional officer; I work for the Department of Corrections. I am not a police officer.”
Before I could finish, two slightly older employees rushed up to add details they thought I would need, “He is drinking it right now! Do something! Somebody has to do something!”
To break the ice, I said, “I could go out there, but if I did, I would just ask him for one, and I should not show up for work with alcohol on my breath.” That got some strange looks. “Look folks, the Department of Corrections frowns on their people impersonating police officers. I am a correctional officer. I do not arrest people. Let the guy finish his beer, he is probably a paying customer.”
At least now I know another parking lot to avoid. On the way out to my car, I saw two squad cars with lights a blazing. The whole incident made me glad I am not a cop. I am certain they have better things to do, and bigger fish to fry. If they responded to this event, they must have been really bored.
Like many young folks in the department, I have a buddy who recently left to be a cop in Seward. He tells me most cops will not pull you over for less than plus-six miles per hour. There is a box on the ticket for six-to-ten miles over, but it is not used much if at all by most cops. If you are speeding when you drive by them, they appreciate it if you slow down. You do not need to show brake lights, they will know. It would be an act of defiance if you did not take your foot off the accelerator. I pick my nose when they are looking to distract them, hoping they will laugh or think that they do not really want to hand me their pen.
“I was talking to this girl and Bruno showed up. Bruno is the guy. Every time a girl says she is here with somebody, it is Bruno.”
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