Ain't got no legs!

Kimberly said it was okay for me to post some police stories on this blog even though the content will often juxtapose with the rest of the happy-go-lucky baby blog. But my writing serves two purposes: One is I don't particularly enjoy telling stories when people ask me to do so. Especially over and over again. Number two is I can't remember what I do from one night to the next because you go from one weird call to another and before long the crazy old lady who sees German soldiers hiding behind her furniture, ("Can't you see their bayonets, Officer? They're sticking out from behind the sofa?") blends in with the crazy old lady who is trying to lure the neighborhood kids into her apartment for "arts and crafts time" at 2:00 in the morning. And, yes, there are little kids out at 2:00 in the morning. The amazing thing is the old lady really wants to have arts and crafts time. She's just lonely. Regardless, I think if I write some of these things down it will help me remember them.

At about the two month mark of my Field Training there wasn't much I was prepared for. I was doing good just to find the place I trying to get to. My field training officer (FTO), Ed Buckspan, and I get a call about an explosive device in an automobile at 1500 S. Sheridan. Ed and I had been at the Tulsa County Fair on a special assignment where all we did was shake hands with the public and answer their questions. We were only a mile away from there so we head to it. I felt confident in route to this call because about the only call I thought I knew how to handle was a bomb call. My father is a bomb tech for the Oklahoma Highway Patrol. Him and I had spent hours upon hours talking about explosives and all the things that come along with them. I had also interned for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms and learned even more about how to handle a bomb call. I felt prepared. I knew what to do for a change. Here was my time to shine. Show my FTO I had it in me.

Within a minute we arrive on scene. In the parking lot of the Check and Go at 15th and Sheridan there sits a filthy mid 80's Econoline van with a little old, white man at the wheel. He looks just as grimy as the van. I strategically park my patrol car about 50 yards from the van so as not to get myself killed if the van decides to blow up. Over my car's loud speaker I tell the guy to get out of his van and walk towards me. I am pretty proud of myself. My FTO hasn't had to tell me what to do yet. This is a first.
The man doesn't move. Once again in a little less friendly of a voice, I tell the guy over the loud speaker to exit his vehicle. All of the sudden the van starts to drive towards us. I WAS prepared. Things are not looking good for me now. The situation has now steered off course. I yell STOP over the loud speaker. My FTO steps out of the vehicle.

It should be said that you never know what your going to roll up on. This could be a nothing call. A crazy. It could be a suicidal. Maybe an ambush. You never know. So when my FTO,Ed, jumped out of the vehicle it would have been completely acceptable for him to run in the opposite direction of the van. He doesn't though. "Stop that goddamn van," He yells. Oh boy, things have gotten dramatic. The van slows to a stop about thirty feet from my car. "Get out of your car, NOW!" Ed is normally a soft spoken guy.

The driver sticks his hairy little head out the van window. "I can't," the guy screams at us. "I ain't got no legs." Ed and I exchange a bewildered look. "Oh....oh...ahhh...okay" Ed says. "Dispatch didn't tell us that over the radio."

My game plan has gone out the window and now I'm back to being that stupid rookie having to rely on his Field Training Officer.

Ed looks over at me, "Now whatcha gonna do?"

I approach the van and start talking to the driver. Turns out he ain't got no arms either. After a few questions I find he works for the traveling carnival as a "gopher, you know, I go for this or that." He met this girl that works at the carnival with him and they started dating a week ago. Well, he finds out that the sex is good but she is certifiably crazy. He dumps her earlier that day. And now he thinks she has planted an explosive device under the hood of his vehicle. He tells me he thinks this because, "the hood maybe looks like its been opened."

This van has been in at least five different automobile accidents. The whole thing is smashed up and dirty. Black trash bags taped over the windows. The passenger side door is tied shut with bungie chords. And this guy thinks he's noticed a slight difference in how the hood is looking between the five minutes it took him to go cash a check and come back out to his vehicle. For his peace of mind I look his vehicle over and don't see anything the least bit suspicious. He wants me to look under his seat for any wires. I oblige him.

As I open his door and bend down to look, I see his two dirty, stinky bare stub feet just dangling there blocking my view. I ask him if he can move them and he of course says no. So I have to move them myself. Of course there is nothing under his seat. He is really relieved by this. Okay, I am ready to go now.

I turn to walk away and he says he wants to shake my hand. I normally don't shake hands because this job is dirty and contagious as it is without shaking hands. But if I tell him no he is going to think its because of his tiny mal-formed hands. I don't want to hurt the guy's feelings. So I look him in the eyes and shake his little stub of a hand.

Man, just when you think you're ready to handle a call it curls up into a dirty ball and starts rolling down hill on you.

-Jeremy