I Don't Know Snot!

**This is the ongoing story of becoming a police officer in my forties and then becoming The Bad Luck Detective. It’s best to start with the first post.

I had called my chiropractor’s office when leaving the academy on Friday. They made a special appointment for me the next day. My body was readjusted and I was told I needed more fluids. I was given a water additive to replenish my body from all the sweating. It tasted terrible but I was willing to do anything to feel better.

Donna arrived for Sunday night study session. I was relieved to see her. This was the beginning of week five and on Monday morning Sgt. Dickens failed to show up for inspection and we stood around scratching our heads until it was time for class.

Tuesday morning we were presented with our Guidon. This is a flag representing our academy and class. Sgt. Dickens made quite a production and we all took pride in the presentation. The flag was yellow with PAFRA and class number 95 in large black letters. A cadet was chosen to be our flag bearer and it was quite an honor. He would carry it at all times including PT and DT. Our flag was to be the symbol of our pride. Nothing was to happen to it or we would be punished like no punishment we had yet seen. We were told we needed a class slogan by the end of the week.

Our first slogan was rejected by the Sergeant as being inadequate. We spent every available minute trying to come up with something suitable. Friday morning when called to attention for morning inspection, we belted it out.

“Class ninety five is the best by far. We smoke all the rest like a cheap cigar. Uh”

Sgt. Dickens approved and the slogan was officially added to our drills.

Our academy polo shirts and workout clothing had arrived and were passed out. We were told to wear the workout and academy shirts on Monday morning. Class ninety six would be starting on Sunday, and would be moving into available dorms, and using the classroom beside ours. We were told to stay away from them. We had our new polo’s and the new cadets would be in white shirts and ties. It was nice to be us for a change.

The day wasn’t over it was time for OC gas (o-chlorobenzylidene malononitrile) better known as tear gas. The “red shirts” came in directly after lunch. There were three of them. We learned to identify red shirts with pain beginning that day. It started as a lot of fun. They blew things up and taught us about making bombs. We were able to play with plastic explosive. One of the cadets made a penis and it became a contest to see who could make the best one (academy humor at it’s best). We were also shown videos of crowd control and actual mob scenes with police intervention.

We were then marched outside and taken about a mile out into the desert. We were issued side-handle batons and learned “hands on” crowd control. We split into two groups with one side being the “out of control” crowd, and the other being the officers. It was a great learning experience, and the psychology behind crowd control is fascinating.

The time had arrived. We were run in a slow jog for a mile, to open our pores (this made the gas burn more on our bodies). We were then lined up in our squads, but instead of being spread out, we were told to stand shoulder to shoulder. It had been explained the cans of tear gas would reach over 1400 degrees in temperature and we were not to touch them. We were also told we had to keep formation until a whistle was blown or we would start over.

The cans were tossed around us. We tried holding our breath but it was impossible. Water was poring from our eyes and breathing was unbearable. I felt someone at my feet and I grabbed their shoulders and held on. We could not break our formation. I thought we would all die before that whistle was finally blown.

The shrill noise sounded and we all ran away from the gas. We were coughing, choking, and throwing up. Everyone had snot and saliva running down their face. This was not a pretty site but we had done it. It took about ten minutes for our breathing to return to normal. The amount of mucus we expelled was amazing. Our skin was on fire. We were marched back to the classroom.

Sgt. Dickens came in.

“I am so fucking proud of you! This is what I’ve been waiting for. You are a team. You are Class 95. You are my Class and you should be proud of yourselves.”

It was great; we were all smiling and laughing. We were proud. In that moment I felt I could take on the world. We’d had a day of learning about crown mentality and here we were, our skin burning, our lungs scorched, with noses running with snot, and we felt as if we had achieved great success. On that day our Sergeant could have led us anywhere, and told us to do anything, and we would have followed.

I didn’t drive back to Small Town that weekend. My husband was away on a business trip and it was easier to stay on campus and relax. I ate dinner in the cafeteria Sunday evening with a few fellow cadets. Class 96 was marched in, and we saw the same looks on their faces that we’d had on ours, that first day. It sucked to be them.

I Have An Egg Head!

**This is the ongoing story of becoming a police officer in my forties and then becoming The Bad Luck Detective. It’s best to start with the first post.

I went home that weekend and finally broke down and told my husband everything going on at the academy. He was sympathetic and gave me a fantastic full body massage that night. He agreed with my plan for my return. He even helped me out.

I arrived at the study session Sunday night with a shaved head. Thank you Demi Moore and J.I. Jane, you were my inspiration! Sgt. Dickens could point out anything he wanted at Monday morning inspection, but he would never again be given the chance to complain about my hair touching my collar. I loved my hair, and so did my husband, but I was determined to finish what I started, and if sacrificing my hair would help; it was a small price to pay. I just wish I was one of those women that looked good this way. I looked like an egg with a nose.

I made it over the six-foot wall that morning at physical training (PT), and was so excited I forgot to run the twenty-five yards to complete the event. It didn’t matter, the entire class was cheering, and Sgt. Listberg gave me a huge hug. Everyone said it was because I was ten pounds lighter without my hair.

Sgt. Dickens never batted an eye at my shaved head. He only found a piece of hair (not mine) on my back pocket and gave us ten pushups. I knew I wasn’t out of the woods but it was nice to have some of the pressure off. My roommate became the next target.

If we wanted to communicate with our advisors we had to write a memo. We were given light blue paper, told to print in all capital letters and we could not scratch out or erase anything. The blue paper showed the erase lines. Misspelled words were another no no. When fished with our memo it was to be given to our squad leader and he in turn gave it to our class leader. Both would review and correct, giving it back if they found any problems.

Donna decided she was sick and tired of Sgt. Dickens and squad advisors coming into the classroom and monitoring us when we needed to be concentrating on school work. If an infraction was seen during class we were pulled outside on the next break and given pushups. We all held our breath when one of our superiors came into the room. Donna was right, it made it hard to concentrate.  

Donna wrote this in a memo. It was then given to her squad leader and next to the class leader, it was then turned in. The next morning was the reprisal.  

During morning inspection Donna was asked to step front and center. She was then asked if she wrote the memo. It had her name on it but I guess Sgt. Dickens was making a point. Her squad leader was called up next, and asked if he read the memo, and if he agreed with Donna’s analysis. He stated he did and yes he agreed. Cadet Clark, the class leader was called next. He also stated he agreed. Sgt. Dickens asked if anyone disagreed with Cadet Chavez. Not one person raised their hand.

“The entire group of you is nothing but a class of fucking babies. I’m embarrassed to be your Sergeant. I’m embarrassed you think you can be police officers. Not Fair (his voice was screaming at this point) not fair! I’ll show you “not fair.” You will all turn in a ten page memo by tomorrow morning on what is not fair in life. You will proceed with one hundred pushups this morning and twenty hill runs after class to give you a start on your memos. One of us will now be in the classroom at all times and you will learn what fair is all about. Cadet Higgins you may lead the class in pushups.”

It began. If we stopped or got out of sync, Sgt. Dickens was in our face. We all struggled through, but it was a hell of a morning. During class we weren’t just pulled out during break we were pulled out of classroom time and told to do more pushups. The pushup club did not exist that day.   

After our classroom torture was finished, we headed to the hill. When our hill runs were accomplished, we headed back to our dorms to begin writing our memos. I didn’t go to bed until 0230. Donna cried for hours. She felt horrible about the entire class being punished for her memo. I tried to explain to her that Sgt. Dickens was psyching her out and she had to pull through.

We turned in our memos before breakfast to our squad leaders. Some were returned, and cadets spent breakfast rewriting the page which had mistakes. We all remembered our old grade school trick of writing in large print, this helped. The memos were eventually turned into the Sergeant, but our classroom time continued to be hell that week. I lost count of pushups.

Our calendar showed Wednesday was expandable baton training and we were told to bring them to morning PT. There was no inspection and we spent the day learning the in and outs of beating someone with a baton. My biggest fear was getting mine taken away and being beat with it, but we learned techniques for keeping the bad guy from accomplishing this. I also learned why we did so many pushups. I could barely hold the baton by the end of the day and I’m sure I wouldn’t have made it just three weeks before. After that day we were given permission to carry our batons on our duty belts.   

Donna was talking about not returning after the weekend. I made her promise she would be back, but I had my doubts. Sgt. Dickens was singling her out during inspection and she could do nothing right. The psychological abuse was terrible but for some reason I think my age played a huge factor in it not affecting me as much as younger cadets. It was the physical requirements I was feeling, and my body was breaking down. My back was killing me, my joints were unbearably painful and my muscles cramped continually. My age had caught up with me.

Friday finally came and we left for the weekend. I called Donna several times and she said she would return. I wouldn’t believe it until I could actually see her.

I Hate Birds!

**This is the ongoing story of becoming a police officer in my forties and then becoming The Bad Luck Detective. It’s best to start with the first post.

My weekend consisted of lazing around my house and doing nothing. It didn’t matter that the house was a mess. I used ace bandages to keep icepacks on my arms and legs. My husband took me out to dinner on Saturday night, and I drank a couple of margaritas, and finally felt better. I didn’t tell him about what I was facing the following week. I made the entire academy experience sound like a lark. He was glad I was doing so well.

I left at two in the afternoon, and made it back to campus for study group. My class adviser had the short straw that week, and he was in the classroom ready to prepare us for the test. His name was Corporal Tsisonnee, pronounced Tis-on-knee. He was quiet and had not interacted much with the class. I needed advise, and decided to speak with him after we were finished.

He told me he had been informed of my transgression the previous Friday. He asked what I was going to do about it. I told him I needed to change Sgt. Dickens’ mind, and somehow redeem myself. Corporal Tsisonnee told me it would be hard, and it would take a lot of heart.

There was that phrase again. Sgt. Spears from STPD had used it as well. Corporal Tsisonnee said he believed in me, and I could succeed if I truly wanted to. I left feeling better.

The following morning no one was looking at me. Word had spread, and I was not a person you wanted to be seen with. Rocco and Donna were my only allies. I think everyone else was surprised I’d returned.

For PT we headed out to the POPAT training field. We were taken through the obstacle course, and got to drag the dummy. It wasn’t easy. Next we headed to the fences. The chain link was not a problem because you could get a toe hold in the fencing. The wall was a nightmare. There were five of us that couldn’t make it over. Rocco was one, though Donna made it over on her first try. Rocco and I decided we would head back out that evening and work on it some more. 

Morning inspection was a nightmare. My shoes were perfect but not according to Sgt. Dickens. He stepped on my toe, and then complained I had dust on my boot. He also complained about my hair wisps touching my collar. It didn’t stop there. He gave the entire class twenty pushups for each infraction I had. He watched me like a hawk, and I managed to pull through the punishments.

During our first week we were given school identification cards. We attached them to our shirt pockets because we were still carrying around our duty belts. We were told if we lost a badge it would be like losing our police badge and the punishments would be endless. A cadet reported his missing badge to our class leader, and Cadet Clark reported it to the sergeant. We were told to report to the running track at lunch.

I only missed five of eighty-five questions on our Monday test, and had the forth highest score in the class. It was a relief, but I was more worried about what was in front of us during lunch. We double timed to the track and saw Sgt. Dickens waiting for us. There was a flock of large black birds on the football field, and Sgt. Dickens told us one of the birds had our badge. We started chasing the birds. Sgt. Dickens then shouted we needed to be begging the birds to give us back the badge.

We started begging loudly saying, “Here birdy birdy, give us back our badge please.”

We ran across the field and through campus following those damned birds. The college kids got a real kick out of us yelling at the birds. This went on throughout the entire lunch hour. We were then told the birds had left it on the hill at the water tower and we could look after class. Starving and dehydrated we headed back to the classroom.      

We ran the hill that day until we couldn’t see straight. I think the only reason we were allowed to stop was that several cadets looked as if they would pass out. When everyone left, I stayed behind to do my ten punishment hills. Cadet Clark told me he had to stay and monitor me. A young Cadet by the name of Rodriguez stayed behind as well. He told me he didn’t want me to do the hill alone, and he ran by my side. As we ran, he told me about himself. I was incapable of speech at this point, and every breath was a struggle. Cadet Rodriguez was twenty years old, and would be turning twenty-one in a few weeks. He’d worked at a county jail, and had waited until he was old enough to attend the police academy. He said he admired me for coming when I was so old. I didn’t take offense, I was so happy to have someone with me. He chatted the entire time. I had no food in my system to throw up, but I did spit up some foul tasting liquid.

Cadet Rodriguez told me he was struggling with the weekly classroom tests, and asked if I would tutor him. He said he would shine my shoes nightly, if I was willing to help. We made a deal. After the run we went back to my room, retrieved my boots and notes, and went to Rodriguez’ room. His roommates were busy shining their boots and said they wanted to participate as well. My boots were passed around. As the weeks went by we fit about eight cadets nightly in that small room and I also had a study group at my breakfast table on Monday mornings before our test.     

The next day I began the pushup club. During every break I worked on my pushups. We added one pushup daily and I kept track of out totals for the entire day. Including our morning punishment we did 843 pushups that week. The club began with Rocco and me but soon we had about ten cadets joining us. I don’t think they needed to do the pushups but our efforts were being noticed by the Sgt. and advisors. Anything that made us look good was on the agenda, because we were told repeatedly we were pieces of shit, and not fit to wear a badge.  

We were finally given permission to wear our duty belts. We were also issued “blue guns” and told to practice our draw. Blue guns are hard rubber imitation firearms matching our department issue gun. Thank god I had gone out shooting before the academy, and knew what kind of gun I had. It was nice to wear our belts, and not carry them everywhere although a set of handcuffs, a flashlight and blue gun were the only gear we had.

By the end of the week my fellow cadets were treating me normally, but Sgt. Dickens was not happy. On Friday I was given an additional ten hill runs for dropping a piece of paper on the floor in the hallway.

We only had five hills to run as a group, and the entire class ran my ten with me. As I ran, there was a litany going off in my head; I will never call Dickface Dickless again, I will never call Dickface Dickless again, and on it went. This recitation would probably come out at the worst time and I was doing myself more harm than good by saying it, but it got me up those hills when I didn’t think I would make it.

This had been a hell of a week but I had survived and I only had fifteen more to go.

Is Dickless A Bad Word?

**This is the ongoing story of becoming a police officer in my forties and then becoming The Bad Luck Detective. It’s best to start with the first post.

After more torture at morning PT, we went to breakfast, had inspection, and sat down for our first test. Bubble sheets again. It was a multiple choice test, but for every question there were at least two possible answers. I felt I had done well though, and we were able to leave the room when we finished. I was the third one out the door. Cadet Clark our classroom leader, who we had elected the previous week, was the first to finish. There was a machine for grading in the secretary’s office outside the classroom. When approximately ten tests were turned in, they were gathered and run through the machine. My test was handed back and I only missed three out of eighty six. It was a good feeling.

We all managed to pass but there were quite a few scores in the seventies. We were told this was the easiest test we would be given and we needed to study harder. Class began and we managed to make it through the day. We had eight hill runs after class and they were easier than the week before.

Each squad had been given a package of stencils and one black marker earlier that day. We were told we needed to stencil our last names on the back of our white physical training (PT) t-shirts. It was a disaster. Mistakes were made left and right by the male cadets and t-shirts were thrown in the garbage. When it was my turn to stencil I had no problems. It was easy. I wasn’t a housewife and homemaker for nothing. Word got out. It was decided I would stencil while cadets shined my boots. What a trade off.

The next morning for the first time Sgt. Dickens said, “Nice boots cadet.”

We could carry a backpack for our binders and classroom supplies. I carried everything but the kitchen’s sink in mine. Ibuprofen, Kleenex, band aides, sun block and chemical icepacks were only a few of the items. The word also got out on this. Cadets raided my supplies endlessly and I earned the name Momma Ivy. I think we nicknamed everyone. We were proud of those names and it was our own way of making us a family.

Tuesday and Thursday mornings were Defensive Tactics (DT). We had Sgt. Tillman for our instructor. He was in his late forties, in fantastic shape, and basically kicked the shit out of us. We were hit, knocked down and handcuffed until our wrists were raw. I had bruises everywhere and icepacks were my best friend. My roommate and I bought a small refrigerator for our room and I was able to keep the packs frozen. It was cheaper than the chemical packs though I carried those for emergencies.

During the first and second weeks of DT we learned how to fall. We were tested on falling forward from a standing position, turning our heads to the side (so we didn’t break our nose), and landing just on our palms and toes. It’s hard not to use your knees to break your fall, and some of the cadets had difficulty but we all passed.

We began learning pain compliance techniques; wrist locks and joint control. The painful part for us was practicing on each other. We learned proper search techniques. I learned men like to hide things in their “junk.” This means I had to search their “packages” thoroughly. The male cadets had a harder time searching the women than we did the men. We all had to get over our mental rebellion and learn to grope each other.

My arms were twisted and I was thrown to the ground too many times to count. I would limp to my room after DT, take some Ibuprofen, apply ice packs while changing my cloths and then head to breakfast. Rocco and I began skipping dinner, eating a power bar and working out. We were barely keeping up in PT and our POPAT training was beginning the following week. By the end of my second week I had lost ten pounds and Rocco lost twenty-three.

My roommate Donna and I were becoming good friends as well. She had been in the army for ten years and worked at a grocery store before coming to the police academy. She was thirty-two and wanted a better life for her son. She was single and her mother was keeping her son while she attended the academy. She told me she didn’t really like the military but dreamed of being a police officer. She was getting her asthma under control and had moved to the middle of the pack when running. Once a week we did a personal best run and did not run together. I was proud of Donna but this put me dead last. Rocco finished about a quarter mile in front of me and everyone else was able to cool down until I crossed the finish line. I was then given two minutes to rest before hitting the weight room. PT was my worst nightmare.

I was also struggling with my pushup. Sgt. Dickless, I mean Dickens, had pin pointed me as a weak link for his class. He seemed to spend more time on my morning inspection than on other cadets. He loved giving us all pushups for my infractions. I didn’t get his exclusive attention but it was apparent he had it out for me.

The entire class referred to Sgt. Dickens as Sgt. Dickless when we were out of his hearing. It became second nature to call him by his nickname. I was also incorporating the “F” word in my vocabulary. It seemed to be how every cadet talked and it was becoming just another word. I never swore a lot before the academy but the only way to describe a hill run was to call it a “fucking” hill run. No other word did it justice.

Sgt. Dickens decided I was doing improper pushups and not going down far enough. He told the class he was adding five hill runs everyday until I could do them correctly. The class was pissed and I was getting angry glances. Class leader Clark said he would help me out that evening. He showed me a proper pushup and I could barely complete ten. If Sgt. Dickless was going to be watching me the entire class was in trouble. I added pushups to my nightly workout routine.

That week we did five extra hill runs everyday with Sgt. Dickless screaming at the bottom about whose fault it was. We were again released on Friday at 1600 hours. We all trudged to the bottom of the water tower and began running upward. We finished and cadets began heading to the dorms to collect their things for the weekend.

I was walking with Rocco and said, “Sgt. Dickless is a fucked up piece of shit.”

I had no idea Sgt. Dickens was behind me. I was grabbed by my arm and spun around.

“I will see you immediately in my office!”

Rocco gave me a look of complete terror and I gave him a small push in the direction of the dorms. I went to the office. This was like being in grade school all over. I was forty years old and being sent to the office. I swore I would not cry.

Sgt. Dickens was staring at his computer and waited about five minutes before speaking to me. I knew this drill. I’d used it on my own children.

His voice was low when he finally spoke, “Why are you here Cadet Ivy?”

Before I could answer he went on, “You can’t run, you’re overweight, too old and you are not cut out to be a police officer. Is this a joke to you? Will your social club give you a certificate if you complete two weeks of the academy? How about make it easy on everyone by going home today and not coming back on Monday. Let me add this, if you come back on Monday I will make your life a living hell.”

I looked him straight in the eye. “I became a police officer because I can do the job. I apologize for my lack of respect today but I will be back on Monday.”

He shook his head and told me I would have ten personal hill runs on Monday. He then dismissed me. I didn’t cry until I was in my car and heading home. I had made the worst enemy possible.            

  

Are We In Hell?

**This is the ongoing story of becoming a police officer in my forties and then becoming The Bad Luck Detective. It’s best to start with the first post.

Day two began at 0430 hours, a squad leader knocked on our door the previous evening to inform us we needed to meet before physical training (PT), and try to straighten up our marching and formations. Some of us also needed to learn a few more basic commands.

We were in front of the dorms at 0445. It was already warm. We lined up and the space beside me was noticeably empty. Another cadet asked where my partner was. I explained what happened the evening before. Everyone moved down one spot.

Stacy was one of two cadets to skip out the first day. The other was a male cadet from squad three. It was at this point that I swore to myself I would complete the academy. I had never given up on anything and I wouldn’t begin now. I was not a quitter.

We marched and learned things like: about face, quarter turn, marching while turning a corner, and standing at attention with our toes pointing out so the Sergeant could stand between our feet and inspect us up close and personal.

It was time to march to PT. As much as I would come to dread our early morning workouts, the marching was great. We marched and sang to cadence. One of the cadets fresh out of the military knew every cadence imaginable. They were funny, entertaining and inspiring. Our voices rang across the campus.

Sgt. Dickens was waiting when we arrived. The yelling began and we were introduced to our PT instructor Sgt. Listberg. He turned out to be a great guy but we weren’t aware of this on the first day. After warm ups we went on our first run. Sgt. Listberg told us it would be the last mile we ever ran at the academy. He was correct. Wednesday we ran two miles.

It soon became apparent I was a slow runner and I was put in front to keep the pace. Another female, Cadet Higgins was put in front beside me as well. She ended up dropping back due to her asthma and barely finished the mile run. I finished but could tell my pace did not offer a challenge to the other cadets. I knew I had work to do.

We were then taken into the weight room and put through Sgt. Listberg’s idea of a power workout. There were thirty-one torture stations set up. The only good thing Sgt. Listberg did was turn on some great 70’s rock and roll. Every sixty seconds he blew his whistle and we moved to another station. Arms, legs, wrists, butts and thighs were all worked out. After this we were taken to the gym bleachers and made to jump with both feet together to the top, where we ran back down and began jumping again. This went on until the end of class. Do you have any idea how your teeth clack when you land on both feet? My head was killing me. We double timed it back to our dorms, changed into our shirts and ties, and headed to breakfast.

Eating was again a difficult task. God forbid we spilled anything on our white ironed shirts, it would mean changing before inspection. I did manage to get some food in my mouth using my shaking arms and hands. The three female cadets sat together and a few male cadets joined us. Our “clicks” were already forming. Cadet Chavez sat next to me. He was obviously as stressed as I was. I found out he was an emergency medical technician sent to the academy in order to be part of a SWAT team. He was twenty-seven years old, fifty pounds overweight and worried about what he’d gotten himself into. He was told the academy would be a piece of cake, but he was having doubts. I agreed and we made a pact to complete the academy and help each other out. We weren’t such an unlikely friendship, we were both in over our heads and both needed to lose weight. It felt great to have a friend and he was also in squad five along with me. We would suffer together.

Our first inspection was horrible. Sgt. Dickens along with all six squad advisers were in attendance to find something wrong. Our ties were the improper length, our shoes were not shined to high gloss, we had lint on our black pants, and several of the guys did not have a close enough shave due to shaving the night before and not this morning. In all we were given eighty pushups and six hill runs. The pushups were done on the spot and the hill runs would be executed after class. I found out why we practiced a duck stance that morning. Sgt. Dickens placed one foot between my boots, put his face an inch from mine and began the inspection from the top of my head down to my toes. I know my last OBGYN appointment was not this thorough.

It was a relief to enter our classroom and begin learning. The first two hours every Monday would be with Lieutenant Griffin for report writing. He talked and told stories more than he taught us report writing but we enjoyed him tremendously. Our binders were explained to us. A schedule was located in the front of the first binder and encompassed the entire eighteen weeks of the academy. Our lesson plans were outlined, which explained the four inch thickness of the binders. We were told we would get a break every hour but most importantly we were not to fall asleep in class. We could stand up in the back of the room but there would be hell to pay if one of us was caught sleeping.

Our first lesson was on the history of policing. Robert Peel created the first organized police unit called “Bobbies” in 1929. He was our founding father and his ideas lived on today, in modern policing.

We were given a lunch break and then went back to the classroom. Sgt. Dickens stuck his head in and did some yelling on a regular basis but learning was the focus. We had different instructors for different lecture modules. My brain wanted to explode by the end of that first day in class. I actually wish it had, because waiting for us were our six hill runs we’d earned at morning inspection.

We double timed it over to the bottom of the hill which consisted of a quarter mile dirt path which curved back and forth up to a water tower. It was steep, rocky and looked like a nightmare. We started up. I was the second to last person to the top on the first run. We were all going at our own pace. It was 109 degrees outside. We had water bottles at the bottom and took drinks between runs. One of my roommates slipped and fell. She twisted her knee and sat out the last few trips to the top.

We hadn’t noticed but Sgt. Dickens showed up as I was taking my last hill run.

“What the hell are you doing?” He yelled at the cadets at the bottom waiting for us stragglers to finish.

“Are you individuals or a team? I want your punishment done as a unit. Start over and get it right this time.”

Before reaching the halfway point Higgins, Chavez and me turned around and went back for our classmates. We formed two lines and ran six more hill runs together. We were then released for the day. I was too tired to eat and went back to my room. I ironed my shirt for the following day, tried to shine my shoes but fell asleep. I slept until 0430 hours the next day, woke up, and did it all again. We were give 110 pushups at morning inspection and ten hill runs. I could barely move my arms during class and taking notes was excruciating. I thought Friday would never come. I was gigged for my boots every day. Our class could do nothing right.

My thinking began to change that week. I had always respected the police but my admiration was growing for them as well. We were constantly under stress. It was explained it was similar to what it would be like as an officer on a patrol shift. Being a police officer was stressful as well as deadly and if we couldn’t handle it we needed to leave. It was not shameful to decide this was not right for you. It was smart.                      

I struggled with my decision to become a police officer on a whim. Did I have what it would take? Could I handle the stress?

Friday finally came and we were released at 1600 hours. I was too tired to make the drive home. I called my husband and begged his forgiveness. I spent the weekend working on my shoes, typing my notes and organizing my binders. Sunday evening at 2000 hours we had a study group in our classroom. All but two cadets showed up. The two missing didn’t show up for PT on Monday morning as well. They had decided being a police officer was not right for them. My roommate with the hurt knee was one of the two not returning. I was down to one bunkmate. The bathroom schedule became much easier.

Cadet Donna Higgins, Rocco Chavez and I were becoming a team. We were the slowest, most un-police like cadets at the academy and we bonded. We weren’t treated badly by other cadets but we knew they didn’t think we would make it. Our first classroom test was the next day. If we didn’t pass, the decision to stay would be taken out of our hands.    

Will My Arms Fall Off?

**This is the ongoing story of becoming a police officer in my forties and then becoming The Bad Luck Detective. It’s best to start with the first post.

After receiving our binders Sgt. Dickens reviewed the class rules. We would be spending eight hours a day in the classroom. Everything we learned throughout the week would be covered in a test on Monday mornings. We were expected to get a seventy percent or higher. If not, we would be given one retake. If we did not pass the retake with a seventy percent we would be sent home immediately.

We were expected to pass POPAT (Police Officers Physical Aptitude Test).

A 99 yard obstacle course

Body Drag – Lift and drag a 165 lb. lifelike dummy 32 feet

500 Yard Run

Chain Link Fence – Run 5 yards, go over fence and run an additional 25 yards

Solid Fence Climb – Run 5 yards, go over solid fence and run an additional 25 yards

The nightmare six-foot fence was now on the table. Each event was timed and higher points were given for lower times. The minimum passing score was 384. Men and women were scored equally. Age did not matter. If we scored a 383 we were going home. I think I liked the Cooper Test better. Oh yeah, we had to pass the Cooper Test as well.

There would be no fraternizing with college men or women including each other. If caught we would be sent home. We would tell the truth at all times, if we were caught in any lie we would be sent home. We would attend every class. If we missed more than three class days, we would be sent home. There were so many “you will be sent home rules” it’s hard to remember them all.

We would keep our dorm rooms spotless and have a dorm inspection weekly. All home work would be turned in on time. Our notebooks would be inspected weekly. We would be given daily uniform inspections. We were to be outside on the back classroom deck at 0745 each morning and inspection ready. Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays we would meet in the gym at 0530 hours for Physical Training (PT). On Tuesday and Thursdays we would meet at the same time for Defensive Tactics (DT). These classes would last an hour and a half, giving us 45-minutes to eat breakfast, change into our uniform of the day and arrive for inspection on the deck. Infractions would be severally punished. Punishment hill runs (whatever that was) would take place after class at 1700 hours daily. We were not to leave campus unless we had permission.  There was an absolute ban on cell phones during the day.

After this set of rules and instructions were yelled out, we were marched to the gym. It was time to learn a few military formations and some of the terminology. Sgt. Dickens continued to yell and we eventually got it. It was hot in the gym; I don’t think the college had turned on the air conditioner. I'm pretty sure we were dying. Eventually the first cadet dropped. He passed out in a dead faint. An ambulance was called and we got a break. There were two water fountains and we took turns getting water and wetting our heads and necks. No one spoke; we were all being watched closely.

The "lucky" cadet was taken to the hospital about 15-minutes later. We were told it was time for our first inspection. We lined up by squad. This would be our formation throughout the academy. Squad one would place their right arm towards the person beside them with their fingertips touching the shoulder. The rest of us would then line up behind the person in front of us.

We were shown how to stand at attentions and then at ease with our hands behind our backs and one palm crossing the other. We were told to stand without locking our legs or we would also be taking a trip to the hospital. 

The two Sergeants and their helpers (a.k.a. our squad advisers) began going person to person and finding something wrong. My hair was barely staying up and I could feel it touching the back of my neck.

I could sense someone close behind me and then the back of my hair was tugged, hard.

“Sgt. Dickens, it appears we have a bird’s nest in squad five.” It was yelled into my ear.

I couldn’t help it I giggled. This was something I did when nervous and was a habit I’d had all my life. I broke the habit that day.

“Cadet, are you laughing? Do you find this funny? Give me twenty pushups now. As a matter of fact, I want the entire class to give me twenty pushups. Quarter right turn, assume pushup position. Begin.”

We were so tired. Someone stopped doing pushups at the count of fourteen and we had to start again. The inspection continued and when finished we had done a total of 94 pushups. My arms wanted to fall off.

After inspection, we were shown the location of our dorms at the eastern end of the campus. We were then marched to the cafeteria. I don’t even remember eating. Not a word was spoken. The Sergeants and advisors sat at their own table. We huddled together miserably at whatever empty seat we came to first. It was 1800 hours. We had only been at it for five hours. This sucked.

I tried to eat. I could barely lift my fork to my mouth. I ate very little. After about twenty-minutes we resumed our formation outside. We double timed it back to the dorms. I was thankful I didn’t eat much. We were finally released for the day, and told to be at the gym at 0530 hours.

Getting our room assignments, unpacking, and arranging the shower schedules were done next. There were a total of four women. Our dorm was tiny with two bunk beds. We decided to switch ever two weeks so we each took turns on the top bunk. We would share one bathroom.  

After getting situated, Stacy left the room with her cell phone in hand. She came back an hour later and said she was going back to Montana. She left. I never heard from her again. This really sucked!

Being Late Will Get You Fired!

This is a continuing story and should be started from the beginning...

Over the next three weeks Stacy and I thought we got our first experience at being police officers. We were issued wallet police badges to take to the academy and we were also issued our batons, handcuffs and firearms. Guns, this was one thing I hadn’t thought about. I had never shot a gun before. It looked huge. It was a .40 caliber Glock 35. I was told it had an extra long barrel and was great for target shooting.

Problem! It barely fit my hand. We were taken to the range and given instructions. I screamed on my first shot, the gun practically jumped out of my hands. Sgt. Shultz looked like he wanted to scream. He was patient but I pushed him to his limit. He told me if I made it far enough, the academy would straighten out my problems. Of course, Stacy did an excellent job.

The night before I left, Norman gave me a party. He invited Veronica and a few of my closest friends. They made me a cake and wished me well. My daughters were both in attendance but Roger made his excuses and stayed away. Everyone wanted to know if I was nervous. By this point I was past nervous and had gone straight to petrified.

Stacy and I left first thing in the morning. We stayed in a hotel that night and were expected to be at the academy at 1300 hours. Our hair had to be up and off our collar; we wore white dress shirts with black ties, black pants and black shoes. We had to carry our duty belts minus the guns and gear. We left out suitcases in our police issued unmarked vehicle and went inside. There were about thirty people standing around dressed like us. I only saw two other women.

Everything was going well until a military drill sergeant arrived, though he was wearing a police uniform. He was short, squat and had a loud voice.

“What are you doing?” He bellowed, “Get in formation NOW, NOW, NOW!”

He had several “helpers” with him. They were yelling as well. We began lining up and were told to count off. The first five people got it right but number six missed his turn.

“What the hell is your problem? Did you learn to count in kindergarten? Start over and this time get it right.”

We made it to twenty-two.

Stacy blew it. Her eyes were huge and I thought she would cry. After more yelling we started over. This time we made it. There were thirty-five of us. Next, we were marched outside. The weather was expected to be 115 degrees that day. I think it was 120 at the moment. Our stiff white shirts and ties were drenched with sweat within five minutes. About half the cadets didn’t bring their duty belts with them and the rest of us were made to stand at attention while they were given five minutes to run out to their cars.

Placed in two lines by numbers, we were marched around the campus. PAFRA was located on a college campus. Students would not be arriving for another week. We would have the place to ourselves for now. We ran “double time” in the heat while the library, gym and cafeteria were pointed out. We ended about ten minutes later at the far west end of campus. Our classroom was stadium style. There were six rows and I was the third person in row five. Stacy was next to me and a male cadet was first in our row. We would become squad five. There were seven cadets on our row.

We were told we had one minute to get a drink of water and were sent to the fountain by squads. No one did more than wet his or her lips.

I was getting my heart rate under control, when the back door at the top corner of the room flew open. A metal garbage can was kicked down the classroom stairs and our class Sergeant stormed in. I thought the other guy was the sergeant but soon discovered my error. The new sergeant made the other look like a pansy.

“On your feet, I’m Sergeant Dickens and you will stand when I enter a room. You will address me as sir.” He had our attention.  “Don’t eyeball me; you will look through me and not at me. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir,” It came out weak. I wondered what the hell he meant. Through me not at me, I guess I would be learning.

“What did you say? Is everybody here capable of saying yes sir? Or maybe you don’t understand. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir,” It was louder this time.

“If you have military experience I want you front and center immediately.” About ten guys started for the front of the room. “I didn’t tell you to walk. For the love of God, get down here now.” Their pace picked up.

Squad leaders were appointed and all sent back to their seats. Some seat shuffling went on as the squad leaders took the far right seats in each row. We were in luck, our squad leader already had the correct seat. Next, we were told to come forward when our names were called and given a name plate on yellow cardstock paper along with two large white paper filled binders.

Before my name was called, a young man dresses like us, looked into the room. One of the Sergeant’s helpers noticed him. “Who are you?” She asked.

“Mike Todd.” He answered.

“And what are you doing here Mike Todd?”

“I’m supposed to be in this class.”

“What time were you told to be here?”

“1300 hours.”

“What time is it?”

Mike looked at his watch and said, “1342 hours.”

“And you think you can come in late? Does this look like kindergarten? Sergeant Dickens, this fine young man is late.”

Sergeant Dickens walked over to Mike and got in his face. “Are you eyeballing me Mr. Todd?”

“No sir.”

“You were eyeballing me and now you’re a liar as well as late. You have no business being here get out! Go back and tell your department you were late. See how they like it. Now get the hell out of my room.”

Mike left. We never saw him again.

Good News

It happened on Tuesday morning. The call came in and essentially I was "IN." I would begin the police academy on August 13^th. I was told there was a lot to do and they wanted to see me later that same afternoon.

I arrived at the police department and sat down next to Miss Ponytail. I found out her name was Stacy and she was from Montana. She told me she had always wanted to be a police officer and had seen the ad online. Mo was nowhere in sight and I was pretty sure it was not good news for him.

Sgt. Spears asked us both to step into his office. We were given an academy letter telling us what to expect and what would be needed. We were told we would be issued a check for our uniform allowance and would be expected to purchase what we needed. He told us to get our identification cards as soon as we left his office, a secretary would issue them. Sgt. Spears also said we would begin being paid on the following Monday and would be expected to be at the police department at 0800 Monday through Friday until we left for PAFRA.

Sgt. Spears explained Small Town Police Department (STPD) was in need of female officers and we would be the first if we succeeded at the academy. I had lived here for over ten years and never realized there were no female officers. I believe Sgt. Spears was setting his star on Stacy and did not think I would make it. He seemed to be speaking to her and I was only a side bar.

Stacy and I made plans to head to Phoenix and a uniform store the following morning. We were doing a turn around trip so it would make for a long day. Stacy seemed more likeable as I got to know her. She was 26-years-old and had a 7-year-old daughter. Her daughter was living with her ex-husband while Stacy attended the academy. She told me she was very nervous and heard the academy was difficult. I had put a lot of pressure on myself about getting to the academy but thought very little about actually being there. I would probably begin getting nervous a few days before we left but for now I was just relieved. Stacy said she had always dreamed of being a police officer and this was the beginning of her dream.   

That evening I had to break the news to my husband. I made his favorite dinner. Cassie my youngest daughter and my son Roger were home for dinner as well.

“I have news.” This was said in a determined voice lacking any excitement.

Everyone looked my way and dinner came to a standstill.

“I’m leaving for the police academy on August 12^th. It begins on August 13^th. I’ll be gone for 18 weeks and you will all be fending for yourselves.”

Cassie jumped up and gave me a hug.

“I knew you could do it mom.”

Roger just stared. He then got up and left the table. My husband asked, “Is this what you really want?”

I looked at him and said, “Yes.”

“Well congratulations I’m sure you will do great. What’s this about 18 weeks?”

I explained I would be living in a dorm and weekends off were up to the academy staff. I told him I would come home anytime I could.

Norman and I met my freshman year in college. He was in his third year studying to be an engineer. We fell in love, one thing led to another and then we had one of those talked about moments when the condom actually broke. Nine months later Letty was born. Norman married me as soon as we discovered there were consequences to our actions and went with me to tell my family. I dropped out of college and discovered I loved being a mom. Norman finished college and began his career. Those first years were lean but Norman felt if I wanted to stay home and raise Letty, he would do everything he could to make it work.

I loved being a mom up until Cassie started high school. These past four years were difficult. I knew I either needed to finish college or decide what I wanted to do now that I was grown up. The midlife crisis did not really set in until this past year, turning 40, and Cassie’s final year of high school.

Roger came back out and said he had been reading online about what was expected at the police academy. He said I would need to jump a six foot wall. I could tell he was rather smug about it.

“So I’ll jump a six foot wall. Is there anything else your worried about?”

“Mom, you’re being ridiculous. You can’t possible think you’ll make it through the police academy?”

“That’s enough. What your mother does or doesn’t do will be up to her. She’s worked hard and she deserves a chance. I will not hear one more negative word out of your mouth.”

Roger left the room again. Have I mentioned how much I love my husband? He’s just a great guy. I would miss him and realized we had never been apart for more than a week during our marriage. I asked him if he wanted to go to bed early. We cleaned up the dinner table together, left dishes in the sink and went to bed. About an hour later, I was trying to fall asleep but all I could think about was a six foot wall. Was Roger lying? What on earth was he talking about?

I Think I’m Crazy and a Liar

I was scheduled for my psychological examination in Phoenix on Thursday morning and the polygraph test on Friday. It’s a bit of a drive so I decided to stay Wednesday night in the city. I loved visiting the city and the biggest reason was Starbucks coffee. Venti hot mocha, non-fat, with whip, it’s the only thing I order. My Starbucks and I arrived early. I finished my caffeine chocolate combination and hid the evidence. I didn’t know what the psychological exam entailed but I didn’t want them to know I needed the caffeine to feel human every morning.

I was shown to a small room with four tables and two chairs were at each table. I took a seat. Miss Ponytail and Mo came in a few minutes later. Miss Ponytail took a seat with a good looking military type guy and Mo was forced to sit by me. He at least said hi. Miss Ponytail and I were the only females.

A woman came in and told us we would start with basic timed tests. We were each given a bubble page and then our exam. We were told not to begin or look at the test until told and then the ten minutes began.

This was easy.

Question 1: 1,3,5 – what number comes next?

And on it went. The questions were basic sequencing problems. They weren’t all as easy as number one but I actually enjoyed doing them. Before the ten minutes were over I had finished but Mo was having problems. He turned to me and whispered, “What happens if we don’t finish? Will they make us leave?” His voice held absolute panic.

I told him to take his time and finish what he could. I was beginning to understand what the tests were about. When you’re forty you’ve taken so many tests in your life it doesn’t throw you to be under pressure or not know an answer. You just go to the next question. Being young, you return to those dreaded achievement tests in high school. Just how smart are you?

For once it was nice to be older. I might not be in the best physical shape compared to others in the room but I had it made when it came to these questions. Five more timed tests were given. I didn’t answer every question but overall I knew I had done well. Poor Mo was dripping sweat and feeling the pressure. Miss Ponytail was flirting with her table partner and didn’t appear any worse for wear.

After the sequencing and math tests we started the hard part. I’ve always felt I had a strong head on my shoulders and was pretty self assured. At the end of four hours I was feeling pretty disturbed. We were given three main tests each with 200 questions. The questions on all three were only slightly different. I could see if you lied in any of the first test questions you would be in trouble. I don’t know if my answers were correct but I answered honestly.

I was asked over ten times if I loved my mother or if my mother is deceased, did I love my mother. I answered yes every time. Next, do I love my father and if my father is deceased, did I love my father. Every time I answered no. Now I was starting to sweat. Was I a horrible person because I didn’t love my father? My father was a no good jerk. He left my mom and his three children when we were young. He needed some space and wanted a different life. He died when I was in my twenties. I never really knew him. I didn’t hate him any longer but I don’t remember ever loving him. I was such a terrible person! I knew they wouldn’t want me as an officer. What a stupid test.

We were called one by one into the room with the psychologist. No one ever came back into the testing room after being called. I was last. This was an omen, I knew it. When I was finally called I went into another small but quaint room with a couch and chairs. I sat on the couch and the Doctor sat in a chair. He went through my evaluation and asked me questions. He never questioned the dislike of my father, he just asked about general life questions. I left feeling crazy.

I slept poorly but had to be up early for the polygraph. I checked in and was given a questionnaire. It covered everything from juvenile shoplifting to drug use. I don’t remember ever shoplifting myself. My mom would have killed me but I remember my best friend stealing a purse and the guilt I felt because I was with her. Drug use was another no brainer because I didn’t know what most of the drugs were. Marijuana, cocaine, yes but mescaline, crank, and meth, I had no idea. I guess it didn’t matter because the bottom line was I hadn’t ever used any. I guess I was just boring.    

I finished and was shown into the testing room. Rob Thomas introduced himself as my polygrapher. He began by hooking me up to electrodes. On my chest, my finger and he explained I was sitting on butt plates and they measured how my butt clinched. I was mortified. My butt cheeks were getting firmer but they still had wobble. I knew they would give a false impression. This was not going to be good. Rob asked what police department I was testing for and what academy I was going to. I told him Small Town and PAFRA (Police Academy For Rural America). He told me he was also attending PAFRA in September. I told him I would be starting in August. Rob was not aware there was a class starting in August and I knew he felt I had told my first lie. I think the ad said August. I had looked up PAFRA online but it didn’t give very much information.

The test began. I was asked the same questions from the questionnaire I was given earlier. Rob stared at his computer screen while the test continued. I answered every question honestly and began relaxing. It was finally over. I was waiting for Rob to re-question me because on the testing information it stated any questionable answers would be re-asked. It never happened. I told Rob I would see him at the academy. His answer, “We’ll see.”

What if every question showed I was lying?

I drove home feeling sad. I knew it was my jello cheeks. Whoever thought they’d measure butt clenching on a polygraph test? I was exhausted when I arrived. My husband was out of town until Sunday, my son was spending the weekend camping and my daughter went to bed early. I made a Tom Collins and listened to music until I was tired and then went to bed. I wondered when I’d receive the news good or bad.                     

Jumping Hurdles

The week seemed to drag by. My husband could do nothing right and my kids were driving me nuts, my son most of all. He actually told me I was an embarrassment to our family. I knew if I slapped him he would call the police just to ruin my nearly perfect background.

I looked up Cooper Standards on the Internet. It’s divided by male and female, it factors in age and has a superior, excellent, good, fair, poor and very poor standard. If I used the good category I needed to perform a 17.7 inch vertical jump, 28 sit ups and 15 push ups in one minute, run 300 meters in 72 seconds and 1.5 miles in 13 minutes and 58 seconds. Were they out of their cotton picking minds?

I was averaging a 14 minute mile and thought that was good. The sit ups and push ups would be easy, I thought but I had no clue on the 300 meters and the vertical jump. I decided to head to the high school track and start timing myself. Maybe I could push it up a notch or two. I called Veronica for moral support. It took me five minutes to get there and she was waiting.

It was probably my hardest workout. I was beginning to think I might not have it in me. Veronica was a drill sergeant and wouldn’t let up. The entire week continued this way. I shaved a minute off my mile but the extra ½ mile was going to kill me.

My phone rang at precisely 0800 hours on Monday morning. I was asked to meet at the track at 0800 the following day. I decided to give my body a rest and take it easy. I jumped on the scale and was down another five pounds. I had fifteen more to go.

The following day was overcast, cold and gloomy. I again arrived early but this time got out of my car and went to do my stretches. Veronica taught me the value of stretching my old tired body. She just looked so much better doing them than I did.

Everyone began arriving, that is all five of us, three men and two women. The other female was a spunky little thing. She didn’t say too much to me mostly just flirted with the guys. I’ll call one Mr. Muscle, and the other two, Curly and Mo. Miss Pony Tail round out our crew. Sergeant Spears told us we would be doing the push ups and sit ups first.

The other four recruits (see I was learning the terminology) chose each other as partners. I was left with Sgt. Spears. I actually finished in the excellent category according to Cooper. Next was the vertical jump. I managed 18 inches and raised Sgt. Spear’s eyebrows. It was the only test I beat Miss Pony Tail on. Next, we had the 300 meter run. I finished in 70 seconds, two seconds to spare. We then had the mile and a half run. I gave it everything I had. It didn’t matter that I finished last I just wanted to finish under my time. Mr. Muscle stopped running about halfway through and walked a lap. He still beat me. Curly also walked part of the way and finished before I did. I missed my time by 35 seconds. It put me in the fair category. I didn’t know if it was enough but I gave it everything I had.

Sgt. Spears said he would call us all tomorrow. I went home and ate a bowl of ice cream. I then ate another bowl but added chocolate syrup on top. I hid my crime by washing and drying the bowl and spoon. It was hard to disguise an empty ice cream carton but I figured it would be blamed on my son.

I tossed and turned all night. Before my husband left he told me not to feel bad that I didn’t accomplish my goal. He said I needed to pick something a little more attainable the next time. I was called early and asked to come into the station at 0900.

Sgt. Spears did not look happy. I was the only one there. He asked me to sit, I sat.

“Look, I don’t think you have what it takes. I don’t think you’ll survive a week at the academy. You don’t seem tough enough and this is a tough business. I think you showed guts though by going this far. I had two young strong men stop running yesterday and take it easy when they could have done better. I don’t think you could have done better but you never stopped. Those two men are out of the program. That leaves three of you. I’m going to include you in the poly and psych test. I also want you to have the physical exam. I’ll give you a chance. You showed “heart” and sometimes as police professionals, that’s all we have.”

That was it. I thanked him and told him I was available for the tests. I left, called Veronica and took her out to lunch to give her the news. I was not in yet but I was a step closer. Veronica began crying and told me she was so proud. At that moment I was happy Veronica’s mother didn’t drown her at birth for being so perfect. She was just what I needed.

Accidents Happen

My midlife crisis started with a broken hip which started with a smart horse and a dumb rider. I was forty years old and forty pounds over weight. My horse was in great shape and enjoyed my pain tremendously. He laughed all the way to his new owners. I cried all the way to the hospital.

I convalesced for two months. During this time I watched television, read books, surfed the web and ate lots of junk food. My forty pounds soon became fifty and I think depression set in. I had never suffered from depression so I can’t be positive. It may have just been the pain pills.

After I began walking without the use of a walker, I decided I needed to make some changes. What did I want to do with the rest of my life? An ad on the drugstore bulletin board changed everything.

Small Town looking for a few good men and women!

Must have a crime free background,

Must work well with others,

Must be able to physically undergo the rigors of the police academy,

Must be able to complete what you start.

Must be 21 years old but you’re never too old.

Academy begins August 15.

Six months away, never too old! This was for me. I could actually picture myself in a police uniform. I had always looked good in navy. As I stood back from the posting my reflection appeared in the glass. Who was this fat slob looking back at me? I had no excuse. I was forty pounds too heavy before my accident. I might have under exaggerated the extra ten pounds since the accident.

Things needed to change. I needed to change. What would my kids say? What would my friends think? My husband would sit in his big easy chair and say, “Yes dear.” He would be no help. I needed Veronica. She’s that one friend everyone has but everyone hates. She’s in great shape, she’s a vegetarian and she believes volunteer work is good for the soul. Veronica’s that kind of friend.

Over the next two months Veronica kicked my butt. She never gave up and felt it was her own personal volunteer goal to see I dropped the weight and got in shape. She agreed not to tell our friends. I agreed to keep her latest nose job to myself. We were both happy but I was in pain. My legs hurt, my arms hurt and my butt hurt. What I needed was another prescription for pain pills but I knew I would need to pass the urine test and it wouldn’t look good to have narcotics in my blood stream even if they were legal. I suffered through. As my stomach shrank the small food portions I was consuming became more bearable. My pants became too large and my breasts too small. My husband was the only one who complained. I started to feel like I was in my twenties, well maybe thirties. I had more energy and wanted to exercise all the time. I went to Small Town’s police department and picked up an application.

Yes, the town of Small Town. It’s kind of like Nowhere, Arizona. My husband and I had lived here for the past ten years. He sells widgets to power plants and two of the largest power plants in the country reside in Small Town. Norman also had a pilot’s license and flew to other large power plants. There was a lot of money to be made in power plant widget sales.

There were two reasons I married Norman. One was because I loved him and the other was for his last name. Ivy just went along with Suzie. My maiden name was actually Suzanna Shultz. But only my mother called me Suzanna. My mother is an avid reader and loves old southern charm romance books. She was reading about a female southern bell named Suzanna, while she was in labor with me. The book was 800 pages but her labor was longer. To my horror, she relives the story every year or so.

Back to the police application, it was twenty-two pages long. It required my life history, copies of my birth certificate and high school diploma and it had to be notarized and turned in by the deadline of June 1. Two weeks away. It was time to tell Norman and my children.

Technically they were not children any longer. They were young adults just beginning their lives. The oldest thought she had finally found the “right man,” the middle thought he wanted to be a power plant operator and the youngest had just graduated high school. She would be leaving for college when I left for the police academy.

Norman accepted what I said like I knew he would. I’m surprised he didn’t pat me on the head. I didn’t think this was a good time to explain I would be living on campus five hours away and he would be cooking his own dinners. My kids were a different story. Roger thought I was out of my mind. He actually stormed out of the house. I knew he would be back; he lived with us rent free. My oldest daughter thought I was menopausal, too old and even after losing thirty pounds, too fat. My youngest bless her heart sided with me.

“If this is what you want I think it’s great.” She said.

It actually didn’t matter what anyone said. My mind was made up and I’d been working my tush off to reach my goals. I finished the application and turned it in with a week to spare. I was called to begin the first round of eliminations.

There were sixteen people in the room not including Sergeant Spears. He told everyone he would begin checking our backgrounds after we passed a written examination. Two people walked out without completing the test. I spent the first hour answering questions and the second hour checking my work. The test wasn’t exactly hard but it made you think about and analyze the questions. As I looked around I realized the applicants were young. All appeared in their twenties. Maybe this was not such a good idea. How could I compete? I turned in my test and went home. The call did not come for three miserable days.

Sergeant Spears called and wanted to speak with me in person. He scheduled the appointment for 1300 hours. Thank god I was an army brat and knew what he meant. I arrived two minutes early. I didn’t want to show my eagerness but I absolutely didn’t want to be late. I waited around the corner for thirty minutes before pulling into the parking lot.

I was shown to Sergeant Spears’ office. He looked me up and down as I entered. Not in a male female sort of way but in a “she’s completely lacking sort of way.” He asked me to have a seat.

“What makes you think you can be a police officer?”

“I’m organized, I’m intelligent and I love mystery novels, not the cozies but the real hard core ones.”

I didn’t think rubbing his forehead and then the back of his neck was a good sign. He shook his head and then looked at me again.

“From what we have found so far you have a clean record. I believe you received a traffic citation five years ago but went to traffic school. As we dig deeper, are we going to find out anything?”

“I’m a Democrat.” There it was out. I’d been reading up on police officers and they were overwhelmingly Republicans.

Sergeant Spears just stared. I stared back without breaking eye contact.

“You scored the highest on the written test. I’ve been giving that test for three years and yours is the highest score ever.”

Boy there were some dumb kids now a days.

“If everything checks out you will need to pass a physical, psychological and polygraph tests. You will also be required to meet Cooper Standards for running, pushups and sit ups. Can you?”

“Yes I can.” I said emphatically.

What the heck was a Cooper Test? I would look it up as soon as I got home.

“Okay we’ll be calling one way or another by early next week. Be ready.”

To be continued…..