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.