Adventures in Probation & Parole

Another in a series of Looooooooooooooooooooong Updates

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 02:24:24 GMT

Ok, so I think I posted (too tired to fully check) a couple months back about the supervisor job. If I didn't, yeh, I'm a supervisor now. Oh and I'm also the acting supervisor over another unit that had a dimbulb step down.
So I'm managing two separate units, with about 25 people in both of them combined. Which is a bit over the recommended daily dosage of minions.
Burning the wick at both ends, getting frustrated and considering the application of smallish, blunt and mass-heavy objects in order to rectify problems.
I know whereof the mad glint in the eye comes when the word "management" is mentioned.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 04:46:19 GMT

........Ok, so things are changing again.
The supervisor has retired and I am going to be the Acting Supervisor until they can hire for the position, which may be a couple of months. Of the place where I work.
I'm working a day shift again, and Monday through Friday.
Several people are not happy about it (possibly including me) but I'm going to do the best I can and try to not wind up a complete nutter.

Epic Shoplift

Fri, 04 Jul 2008 00:07:43 GMT

Ok, so this is gonna be a quick one before I go into work.
Goober gets picked up for Shoplifting under $100 the other night. And, of course, he's on Probation. I slap him silly with an Arrest & Hold and then pull the criminal complaint.
Seems that Goober McMoron attempted to shoplift 6 Nutribars. Yes, yes indeed...6 Nutribars that he attempted to shove into the waist band of his sweat pants while in Wal-Mart.
See, that's stupid. If you're gonna violate your conditions of supervision, go big.
"Offender was noted by Loss Prevention personnel attempting to conceal a plasma screen TV under his shirt."
OR
"Say, aren't you the guy who tried to shoplift a BMW?"
"Yes, yes I am."

...Yeh, and you left some money in here too

Sat, 07 Jun 2008 08:05:12 GMT

Now, the other thing about doing my job is networking. Having contacts that you can go to for information and to request things.
So, the other night, I happened to notice that a goober, let's call him Timbo Strong, had been brought in on new charges of Assault. Offender was also showing as ROR (Release on Own Recognizance) which indicates that while he was still in the jail, he was mere minutes from release. The following is what transpired.
Offender is scheduled to be ROR'd after having been arrested on charges of Assault on the Person of Another and wanted to check if he was on Probation. Confirmed he is on supervision and requested they not allow him to go and that I will be sending out an A&H.
Received call back from Alexis @ Records advising that Offender had already been released but that they are attempting to get him back into custody to book him on the A&H at this time. She will keep us apprised.
Alexis called back to report the Offender is in custody on our A&H. Thanked her profusely.

See, they thought he had already been released and was being transported in the bus to town. They radio'd the bus and had it turn around to check for the Offender. He wasn't on the bus. They had one of the Jail guards check the parking lot for the Offender, but he wasn't there. Then they got the Offender's cell phone number off his booking documentation and called him. They told him that he had forgotten to sign some paperwork that was instrumental in his release and he needed to return to sign it. Offender said he would be right there......and walked back into the jail under his own power and willingly even. Once back inside the jail, the door closed and he was in custody.
To quote Mel Brooks: "It's good to be king."

Hook, Hook, Hooking!!

Sat, 07 Jun 2008 07:54:02 GMT

Received telephone call from Tatterdamalion County SO Deputy Martinez advising that the Offender Rosemary Dahlia had been in a truck that he had stopped on a county road tonight. Driving the vehicle was Thetus Hail who told the Deputy that he had picked the Offender up in the Broadway area of town and there had been an agreement of $50 for sex. Offender Dahlia did admit to a predilection for women but, if money was involved, admitted she would have sex with anything. Mr Hail was taking to the Offender to his house. Per the Offender, however, she had solicited a ride from Mr Hail, and she did not know his name, first or last, and that he was taking her home, which so happened to be in the exact opposite direction they were traveling in. Based upon the Association and the suspicious nature of the remainder of the contact, authorize an A&H for Offender. Requested that Sgt Martinez call us back if there any other concerns for inclusion in the report.
Deputy Martinez called back and reported that 2 cold, unopened beers were found in the floorboard in front of the Offender. Per Mr Hail, he had met the Offender several nights ago while drinking in a motel and the Offender was there with several friends. When he saw her tonight, the subject of sex came up and the Offender stated that she would have sex with him for $50. The Offender was also in possession of a room key, and the Deputy is going to have someone go to the hotel and check on the room, and if the room is in her name, they are going to search it if possible, and anything in the room she will have constructive possession of. He will keep us apprised.

Yeh, when I first got the call, it was only Association with Persons Detrimental to Supervision, and a long stretch at that. But asking questions and filling in the blanks turned it into a pretty righteous arrest, although we never heard back about additional stuff in the room, that information might have just gone straight to the PPO.

And Lo, Shall the Smiting Intensify and Cause Much Smarting, Like Pouring Lemon Juice on a Paper Cut

Sat, 07 Jun 2008 07:12:26 GMT

Ok, now in direct contrast to that last story (What? Waddayamean ya haven't read it yet? Go read it nowl.) is this one where things panned out pretty good.
A bit of background to it though, to explain things.
We had gotten two phone calls from the goober who sounded drunker'n a lord. I mean, you've heard of drunk dialing? This was obliterated dialing. And we could barely understand him, he wasn't exactly verbally gifted at this point in his life, his words slurred and unable to remember what he'd said 2 minutes prior. He just kept asking for his PPO. Now, it was late, about 2200, and my general rule is, you can piss up a rope unless you're bleeding out about talking to your PPO after 2130. Just a general rule. I had tried to get more information from this goober myself, but nothing doing, he hung up on us twice as we tried to get the information.
So,here's where the following verbiage picks up with the story:
Based upon concerns regarding possible intoxication, or medical problems, that Offender Melon-Head Johnson might be experiencing, did contact Lower Mongolia Dispatch and request that an Officer go by the last listed address of Offender to conduct a welfare check. Requested that responding Officer contact us to let us know of contact, or any negative thereof.
Received telephone call from Officer Muldoon, who advised that he had spoken to Offender in the hotel room and, indeed, the Offender was intoxicated and was somewhat belligerent when Officers spoke to him, to wit, when Officers knocked on the door several times, Offender Johnson opened the door violently and screamed, "What the fuck do you want?!!" Officer Muldoon reports he is feeling slightly buzzed after the exhalation of breath from Offender Johnson. Queried if the Officer could go ahead and take the Offender in custody, based upon the alcohol violation and the possible danger to himself and he advised that he could.

Wait.......What?

Sat, 07 Jun 2008 06:59:16 GMT

Ok, so I said I was gonna try and put some emails up, as they're the only time I get to have interaction. Of course, some things have been changed to protect the guilty.....and the innocent.

Received telephone call from BFE County Dispatch, who requested I contact Officer McGehe regarding Offender Maynard O'Dalton, which was done. Offender did $95 worth of gas fraud at a gas station in Slobovia tonight but, when he left, he forgot his credit card at the station. The Offender was tracked down to a Travelodge there in town, where he had a room. In the room were observed to be several "tweakers" with the Offender and, the Offender did admit to Officer McGehe that he had smoked Methamphetamines three days ago. Offender is not going to be cited for the gasoline theft as the Officer told him he would not be arrested if he got someone there to pay for the gas, although he has been "criminal trespassed" from the station. Based upon the change of address, association with "tweakers" and the Offender's admission of drug use, requested FPD to take Offender into custody, which they were reluctant to do based upon them telling him that if someone paid for the gas, they would not arrest him. Requested a second time if they would arrest him for us if I fax'd them the paperwork, and they requested that his PPO arrest him at the Office when he reported this AM. I advised I was reluctant to leave that as an option based upon a suspicion that he might run, but the Officer felt he would not do that. After trying for two times to get the Offender taken into custody and the Officer's reluctance to do so, I conceded the point and requested that the Offender be given verbal direction to report to his PPO's Office at 0800, which the Officer agreed to do. No A&H issued.

Now, the problem with this was that, if you read the text, the Offender was living in a motel room, and had never received permission from his PPO to change his address. He admitted to drug usage, was hanging out with other drug users and attempted to commit fraud for almost $100 worth of gas. And the officer wouldn't arrest the goober. Swear to buddha, if I ever learn how to do the force-choke over the phone...........

Thank You for Calling, My Name is Igor, How May I Help You?

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 22:04:37 GMT

So, it's been 8 months, almost, that I've been at the new job. We do a lot of things and I've got the responsibility for my shift. I'm what is called a "Lead Officer," but the power isn't fully invested yet. I call myself a Data Miner though. I mean, sure, we take phone calls from both the Offenders and Law Enforcement, but as most PPO's, statewide I've discovered, don't keep the database updated the way they should, I have to check out online data for the courts, track down where the goober should be and where he's been, monitor data points in the GPS-array for the sex offenders and conduct audits of the other PPO's. Yeh, doesn't sound like much eh?
We've got three arrest logs that we check through for goobers to have been arrested, two are online and one is a fax we receive. How wonderfully archaic for the fax huh? Sometimes we have to compare SSN's, FBI#'s, height & weight and scars, marks and tattoos. All of this to figure out if the goober is actually "ours." By that, I mean a goober who falls up under the jurisdiction of my department, or should fall under that jurisdiction. I have access to NCIC, court records, Misdemeanor records and arrests and can even pull criminal complaints and booking sheets if the need arises.
We monitor what is currently an infinitesimally small number of sex offenders that are on active GPS systems. By "active" I infer that the system they carry has a cell phone and we receive updates on where they are all the time. If you know the "ins & outs" of the system and have some tech-savvy, you can do a great deal more. And yes, in answer to your lifted eyebrow, I can do a great deal more.
We take phone calls from the goobers, statewide, and get to listen to them whine. Sometimes the family calls and they whine too, especially if goober was arrested and the family wants to bitch out the PPO. Considering that I work at night, I act as the doorman/bouncer for the PPO's. I don't put many phone calls through unless we're talking life or death emergency here. Or, maybe if it's before 2100. They don't understand that I'm a PPO too and that I can answer most of their questions. Not that I really care. Most of the time, it's more of a hostile-action telephone call between me and the goober. Only difference is, here, I can't reach across my desk and kill them. *Note to Self - Begin research into activation of Midichlorians in my system so that I can force choke over the phone.*
We've had a few bad ones over the last couple of months, ones where we put a No Bond Arrest and Hold into place to restrict the goober from Bonding out. Sometimes, they've already posted the bond for their new charges when they discover they can't get released. Sometimes, they're already gone. And if they get new charges, then they're usually the bad ones. Child Abuse Resulting in Great Bodily Harm or Death; Possession of a Firearm; Criminal Sexual Penetration of a Minor; Rape; Murder in the First, or Second, Degree. Driving While Intoxicated/Driving Under the Influence has become blase and is almost routine now.
The outlying areas of Law Enforcement love the hell out of us. They call up, tell us how the goober has been messing up and, if the goober is in custody, we issue the No Bond. Goober is taken into custody. It's the LE in the big towns that don't utilize us the way they should. But hey, that's on them. They know we're here, vishnu knows, I've sent out enough faxes to them with our contact number on it.
We do paperwork too, although that's not that exciting. Entering field calls, auditing files and the desktops of PPO's (where they have all their goobers). We do other paperwork-type stuff but it's difficult to classify. And yes, I now have those little "finger condoms" that are used to help turn the pages. Although I had to get them on my own as the Department is loathe to spend money.
What I'll try and do is go back and find some of the good telephone calls I've taken and post them. It's easy to do that as I also send out emails for everything I do now. Some things will, of course, have to be changed to protect the guilty.

Tick Tock Tick Tock

Sat, 01 Dec 2007 12:57:55 GMT

And just like that, time passes by.
So it's been a couple of months. I've changed jobs, I'm still working for the Department of Corrections and am still a Probation & Parole Officer, but now I'm at the Probation & Parole Response Center, which is essentially a 24/7 call center. We take phone calls from the Minimum risk goobers and also phone calls from Law Enforcement. I work the graveyard shift and am a Lead Officer, which was a promotion and extra bit of money. But I'm not having the same degree of interaction with the goobers, I'm not going into their homes, I'm not arresting them in the office, giving them UA's or anything like that. So a significant downturn in things to talk about. I may be able to verbally smack someone down over the phone, but it's not the same. I do miss the excitement and, lemme tell ya, working the graveyard shift all the time now (what with my full-time job and my part-time job, both being graveyard shift) is a bit of a drain.
Let's see, I also turned 40 in the not too distant past, which was a royal BITCH, let me tell you. That changed the way I was looking at a lot of stuff, I mean, I'm not going to go out and start a hunt for a wife or anything, as I'm pretty sure that I will, barring the use of a shotgun, die a bachelor and unmarried, but things snap into perspective.
I also went on a trip to Ireland and Scotland. Took some of the money from getting my home equity loan, that I used to pay off my credit cards, and went over there. Loved the hell out of it and want to go back. I've got pictures and if anyone that reads this wants to see them, lemme know, as I've got it set to where I haveta invite people to be able to see them. I don't want "Random Internet Schmuck" to be able to see them, even if I'm only in two of the pictures.
So...that's where I'm at, in a roundabout way I suppose. I'm not really sure what I want to do with this blog now. I don't think talking about day-to-day things would be worthy, and I'm pretty sure that nobody really cares to know my opinion on things. So bear with me as I try and figure out what do do...

Imminent Vacation

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 23:38:57 GMT

Ok, so while there haven't been any stories to share (not really, my interaction is over the phone and the stupidity has been at a low level probably based on that) I do want to update that I will be incommunicado for awhile as I'm going on a vacation that I've been planning for about the last 6-9 months.
I may turn the blog into something else upon my return as the stories are not especially forthcoming with the new job. :-P

Sun, 08 Jul 2007 08:09:35 GMT

Two stories in this vein boys and girls, as Uncle Igor is the PPO known for having the capabilities to test substances in the field to see if they're controlled substances (AKA illegal drugs) or not.
Ok, so the first one happened a couple weeks back when I was out in the field with Kevin. Kevin, if you've read back through the stories, is the PPO that is usually cursed with things happening to him in the Field. And this time was no different.
So we roll up on one of Kevin's guy's homes, ok, an apartment complex. Now, I've been out with Kevin before to this particular goober's residence and there's been the brother of the goober's wife on scene. Let's call said brother (brother-in-law to the goober) Danny. Now, Danny is a young kid, maybe 20 or 21, but is already on his way to being on supervision. He's had a couple of shoplifting charges and some minor possession charges (paraphernalia and THC). He's also had a warrant, which he had been instructed to take care of and, until such time, he had been directed to not hang around the residence. So we roll up this time, and who answers the door? Danny...of course. He's there babysitting a couple of the young kids. So Kevin and I start giving the home a fairly good toss, just based upon Danny's presence. But, we're not having much luck. Then Kevin comes downstairs with a shoebox that he had found under the bed. He told me that it had a peculiar odor to it but that he couldn't identify it. I took the shoebox and smelled of the inside. Now, I know I've mentioned in the past that I have friends who exist outside of my current job. By "outside" I mean that these are....partakers of the herb (THC). I don't approve, but 'tis their choice, I don't partake and I view THC as the least harmful of the drugs, on the same level as alcohol almost. Plus, I had the same kinds of friends in college. So I'm familiar with the lifestyle, verbiage and many other things in the same realm. Consequently, I'm also familiar with the "good stuff" and how it smells. You see where this is leading right? When I opened up that shoebox, I smelled the "good stuff" inside it. We're talking some primo THC that had gotten worked into the cardboard. I shifted it around a bit and was able to see some greenish substance shifting as well. So I went and grabbed a NIK test (google it) out of my pack in the car and took the shoebox to the kitchen table. I disassembled the shoebox in order to free up any "green & leafy substance" caught in the edges. Then I poured the G&LS onto a sheet of paper. There wasn't much, just enough to overflow a tad bit off of the head of a pin. But I thought it might test. Kevin had Danny sit down on the couch and was quizzing him about the stuff while a next door neighbor watched the young'uns. I tilted the paper and let the G&LS fall into the NIK test container and then went through the process of breaking the ampoules of liquid that would show whether or not the G&LS was THC or not. After breaking each ampoule, I would agitate the container to ensure that the liquid was absorbed by the G&LS. Immediately after breaking the last ampoule, the liquid in the bottom turned a very dark shade of purple. Yes boys and girls, the G&LS went from being "G&LS" to being THC. And what with the quick reaction of color change, the very good stuff of THC. At this point, the questioning of Danny became a bit more intense as we queried him on whether or not he had hidden something in the residence or on his person. And it was also at this point that, for our safety and his, Danny was placed into cuffs, even though he wasn't on Probation or Parole. I'd be able to justify it afterwards based upon officer safety, if it came to that. When I asked Danny my standard questions before search (Do you have anything on you that will cut me, poke me, bite me? Anything sharp? Anything illegal? Weapons? Hand grenades? Nuclear weapons?), he replied that he did have a small baggie of THC in his right front pocket, along with some rolling papers. I gave him a quick pat-down, frisk, found the baggie and tossed it and his property off to the side until I was done. When I checked the baggie of THC, I could immediately tell that this was not the same stuff as what had been in the shoebox. Yeh, it was THC but barely. Most of it was twigs and stems, with just a few leaves. Rolled up into an approximate version of a "dime bag" of THC, in that it would cost $10 per bag. He said he hadn't paid for it, that some friends had given it to him for free. I laughed and told him I knew why he hadn't had to pay for it and told him that he had gotten crap or bupkis. So it turns out that the stuff in the shoebox had come from the sister of the goober wife, who had been in the home a couple weeks back. Goober wound up going into custody for a couple of days due to the drugs that were found in the home, along with Danny's presence, who wasn't supposed to be there.

The second story was much more recent and involved Field Calls with Raquel. And, yet again, not one of my goobers, but one of hers. So we roll up on the goober home and approach. On approach, we notice a beer can in the front yard. Yeh, it's kinda close to a neighbor's yard and it could've come from them, but we snag it and tag it anyways. It could serve as probable cause for a more in-depth search of the residence if we need it. So we knock on the door...and knock...and knock. The door is finally answered by the goober, who doesn't have a job and is home in the middle of the day. He says he's babysitting for his sister and, indeed, there is a 5-6 year old young'un running around the residence. So goober is directed to sit on the couch as Raquel and I pillage (beer can out front and excessive time in opening the door being probable cause). I find a smallish 100-milliliter size of Jim Beam above the fridge that's been opened. Pillage around a bit more, checking the back yard, the trash cans, the fridges, everywhere. Then I go to link up with Raquel and show her my bounty. She points towards the trash can and draws my attention to a small cellophane baggie. I get out my surgical gloves and snag it. It's in the approximate shape of a "bindle" and has a caramel-colored and caramel-appearance substance on it. And, indeed, I initially thought that it was a caramel-wrapped candy...until I took it up close to my face to get a good whiff of it. Now, let me just interject briefly here that, no matter what you see on TV shows or in the movies, no cop or PPO will ever dip their pinkie finger, or any other finger, into a substance and then taste of it in order to find out what it is. That's stupid, retarded and very dangerous. Some might even think that me getting the substance 6-12 inches away from my face to smell of it might have been dangerous, but I'd argue that it wasn't that dangerous, for reasons too lengthy to go into here. So, anyways, I smelled of it, and immediately recognized the particular aroma of Heroin. So I brought it out into the living room where Raquel and the goober were and started quizzing the goober. He denied knowing what it was, and denied that it was Heroin. Amazingly enough, his drug of choice? Heroin. I pressed him for honesty with us, but he still denied. So Raquel assured me she'd be ok while I went out to the car to get a NIK test out of my bag. I grabbed a couple more pairs of surgical gloves also and some ziploc bags, and came back inside. I wasn't sure how cutting up the baggie and putting it into the NIK test would work, but I did it anyway. Small chunks of baggie, cut up with my knife, with the brownish substance on it were placed in the NIK test. After cutting it up, I noticed that my knife had gotten a good bit of residue on it and I used a bit of cellophane to get that off the blade and put it into the NIK test as well. I then cracked the ampoule, agitated the test kit and watched the liquid turn deep bluish-purple color, indicating that, yes indeed, it was Heroin. I looked at Raquel, nodded an affirmative, and then looked over at goober and asked him if he wanted to try this again. It was at this point that he finally admitted to using Heroin a couple of days ago, he'd still had the baggie in his pants pocket when we knocked on the door and, for whatever reason, he'd taken it out and thrown it onto the top of the trash in the trashcan. Goober was placed into cuffs and he was allowed to call family to come and take custody of the child so that we could transport him to jail. So his mother and sister come, we're giving them the property and about to leave. His girlfriend shows up then. Now, without being mean, she was a big girl. She weighed more than Raquel and I put together, and I ain't no lightweight. She was expressing her displeasure with goober, screaming and cursing at him. At this point, we elected to beat a hasty retreat, with goober coming along, to the jail. Right as I had goober stand up, the girlfriend threw her cell phone, followed shortly by her keys, at him. Exeunt, stage left. Only problem was, Raquel was blocking girlfriend now, along with goober's mother and sister assisting. They were family of goober and they were handling this better than the girlfriend. I was somewhat concerned about abandoning Raquel, but she told me to go ahead as she continued to run interference for me. So goober and I proceeded out to the car at a fast trot. I put him into the back seat (fortunately, we were in a caged vehicle that day anyway), secured him with the seat belt and closed the door. Then I got into the driver's seat, started the car and cut the AC on high as the day was very hot. I also rolled his window down 2-4 inches to aid in the AC's functioning. Then I looked toward the house and saw large girlfriend dodge around Raquel and come storming my way. I got out of the vehicle and blocked her from trying anything to goober as he was now in cuffs and my responsibility. She was cursing at him some more and telling him how low of an individual he was. I was still blocking her and Raquel was hightailing it to the car so we could be gone most ricky-tick. At this point, girlfriend became irate with me and started cursing me and threatening me. Not impressed. I remained calm and tried to tell her to not create a show in the neighborhood or in front of the children. She cared not and continued to threaten me, specifically at this point. Again, not impressed. Raquel hopped into the vehicle and I was still interposing my body between girlfriend and goober. Goober's mother and sister came up and pulled her back just enough for me to judge it safe and I hopped into the vehicle and we pulled away. Goober's girlfriend then took her shoe off and threw it at us. I thought that only happened in movies. And we drove off into the sunset.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Sat, 23 Jun 2007 06:43:06 GMT

Well, changes are afoot Mrs Frobish.
I have a new job, with a decently hefty pay increase coming to me, along with a little more responsibility.
I'll be moving over to the "new" 24/7 Probation & Parole Call Center where I'll be the Lead PPO for the Graveyard Shift, Monday through Thursday. All they've established about the Call Center so far is that the goobers who rank out at a score of "Minimum" on the Risk Need Assessment (ie, they're not viewed as being much of a threat) will be calling in to us. Also, if Law Enforcement has a question about if a goober is on supervision or not, or if they arrest them, they can call us to make that determination.
I won't be getting much in the way of adrenaline, which I shall heartily miss. But, for an extra $2/hour and less headaches than I currently have, I'll put up with it.
I'll still keep this going for now as I might still be getting some good stories. Especially as I'll be trying to find ways to keep myself and my team occupied during the night and might raise a bit of hell.

On Fame & Celebrity

Sat, 09 Jun 2007 01:07:59 GMT

Just a quick note as all the news has turned to Paris Hilton and her violation of her Probation.
I would not expect to be so cursed by [fill in the blank with the god of your appropriate pantheon] as to have a celebrity on my reporting caseload. It's bad enough when I get a famous criminal, with a "high profile case" on it. Or, even though it hasn't happened to me yet, one of my goobers doing something that would get the attention of the news media to the point where it switches over to me...as it would most likely do so.
I don't need those kind of headaches. I don't need rappers or rap music moguls. I don't need actors who beat their wives or do drugs. Stay the hell away from me. It's bad enough getting the gang member out who made the news a couple years back when he did whatever crime he did. Then it's the comments about how wrong the system is in figuring out "good time" or how lax the supervision standards are. I'll, for the most part, leave those alone and just point to how "in line" my goobers are, for the most part.
But there shouldn't be a second set of legal standards for the rich and famous. If they break the law(s), they should do the time. And that's even for those people that I may like.

Dammit Woman, Stop Yer Bawling!

Sat, 02 Jun 2007 08:37:49 GMT

Time for a small exposition on the evils of female goobers. Here anymore, the goobers aren't mine as I keep a tight rein on mine and they fear me mightily. This female goober belonged to another PPO, that we'll call Terrance. And I had just happened to be passing by when I got drawn into the soap opera. I suppose it also helped that I used to be in charge of the electronic monitoring bracelet system.
Let's touch briefly on the electronic monitoring bracelets, as I have tried to avoid discussion in the past as it might only confuse people. The system that we use is based upon the Global Positioning System (GPS) and uses a map to show coordinates, placement and several other bits of data. There is a bracelet that is placed on the goober's ankle and they carry around a box that's a little bit bigger than your average clunky-sized cell phone (not one of the new tiny ones). Now, there are tamper indicators built into the system that we as PPO's look for. One of them is the bracelet tamper. If the goober messes around with the bracelet, we'll get an indication of a tamper and we're supposed to check it out and see if it's still on the ankle, in one piece, no visible damage...that kinda thing. So, of course, that means that all too often, nothing gets done.
So today, I get drawn into a check of an ankle bracelet on a female goober as I had, as noted above, once been in charge of the system...until it became too much for me as PPO's were not doing the job as they were supposed to. So I'm asked to take a look at a bracelet and give my opinion on it. I hunker down and take out my Asp light that I keep on my key ring, along with the cuff key. The Asp light as about the size of a thumb and puts out a strong blue light. So, with the light out, and going back and forth between the unaided eye and the light, I use the ol' Mark I eyeball to scrutinize the bracelet. First thing I notice are the gouges. See, the bracelet is secured with 2 linked pins on each side. Think of them like nails, connected, that are then pushed into the strap that secures the bracelet to the ankle. Make sense? So the gouges were on one side, around the pins. Closer examination showed that the pins themselves were also damaged and the plastic connector between the pins had been sheared off. That was my initial examination indication.
So the scrutinizing of the bracelet began. The female goober denied everything, of course. Then, she started the waterworks. Now, this is one of the problems with female goobers: men are weak. Now hold up, before you crease your forehead trying to figure that out, lemme explain. Female goobers have a tendency to start tearing up, or crying, and their male PPO's will to arrest them shatters in the wind. It's not that they haven't violated their conditions of supervision, it's just that the average male PPO wilts when the female goober cries. And I'm not gonna demean the male PPO's for it, for the most part...it's genetics...it's in-grained and how people are raised for the most part. It's just that the female goobers try and capitalize on it. And sometimes succeed. This particular female goober had turned on the waterworks and had had some success with it in the past. And she was trying it again. Now, let me just add that when I say the bracelet had been tampered with, I can say unequivocally that it had, indeed, been tampered with. Did the female goober knowingly participate in the aforementioned tampering? I'd say a high likelihood of that's gonna be "yes." Someone isn't gonna be jacking around with a bracelet tightly affixed around your ankle without you knowing about it...unless your dead drunk (or high) or drunk and dead.
So the female goober was denying everything and was crying. Now, early on, she had demonstrated the amazing power to shut the waterworks on and off with ease. She could go from sobbing to normal talk in 0.0 seconds flat. Then, she cut on the tears. And it was at this point that the hours of time she spent in front of the mirror with her makeup went to hell. I've mentioned it in the past, a dilemma that occurs when women cry and their mascara, or their non-waterproof mascara, starts to run down their face like a tributary off of the Amazon. The appearance of a raccoon is very apt. So, having received no breaks with her sobs, she went to step 2 of her cunning master plan and released the tears. Which had even less success. I am immune. Call me a cynic, call me a misogynist...whatever your choice. I was not impressed and told her so...which caused her distress and led to more faux histrionics. So she was transported to jail, of course.......looking like a survivor of a makeup factory explosion.
Yea verily, I am a cruel and heartless bastich.

Cotton-Eyed Blood

Tue, 29 May 2007 23:44:46 GMT

Ok, so I'm going to assume that any person reading this, by having expressed a desire to come back more than once, is going to have a passing knowledge of some of the bigger gangs. And, of course, one of the more "infamous" gangs are the bloods. Now, the bloods have many, many "subsets" that they take into the family. One of the founding subsets are the kirktown pirus. Yeh, I should be capitalizing some of these words, but leave me alone, it's my own way of showing these punks what I think of them.
Now, there's songs, and music videos, where both the bloods and the crips, do the "shuffle" for their respective gang. And, of course, with technology and the internet being what it is, they're going to take video and post it on the internet. Thusly, if you want to see the originating video: http://www.gofish.com/player.gfp?gfid=30-1017518
Now, having seen this following dubbed video, I can't help but think of it whenever someone talks about one of the "walks" that they do: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOr8K16fJPM&search=blood%20dance

Ok, so now, having giggled at this, yet again.
I got snagged by one of the new PPO's today to help him "talk" to one of his clients (aka goober). So the newbie PPO, let's call him Stefan, had seen on his goober's phone last week where he had proclaimed And I'm gonna put in what he himself had typed, no dancing around the subject: "piru nigga". Now, remember what I mentioned above about the pirus? They're a blood subset, one of the original ones too. So Stefan had asked the goober if he was a gang member, and the goober had replied he was not, that he was born and raised in Alabama and that he was not affiliated with any gang. And red just happened to be his favorite color. Ok, quick mention here...red is the color of the bloods, blue is the color of the crips. So right off the bat, he's bragging about being a "piru" in the screensaver on his phone and he's always wearing red. Yes, we really are that stupid as PPO's.
So, Stefan asks for my assistance in grilling the guy today. I agree and move into Stefan's office to assist. I just come right out and broach the question with the goober and he starts trying to do the "shuffle" around the question by answering my simple yes/no question with a "I'm not even from here." routine. Says he's not on paper for having run with any gang and that he's only from Alabama. I thank him for that and remind him that's not the answer to my question and ask him again if he's a piru. So, you get the idea, we dance around this for about 15-20 minutes with him trying to deny it over and over again...or just redirect me, which ain't working. Says that he hasn't hung around with the pirus where I'm at. Again, not what I'm asking him. It finally comes out that, sure enough, he ran with the pirus in Birmingham almost three years ago. At this point, the beating began. I had gotten tired of his evasive little lies and dancing around the question and was asking him if he thought were were that stupid. I told him he should be very grateful that he had the PPO that he did, because if he had lied to me as much as he had and I was his PPO, that he would've gone into custody for a couple of days. So now, we've gotta enter the info for this little 19 year-old punk who tried to lie, by evasion, to his PPO...and me as well. Yeh, that last part was the one that pissed me off. By the time I'd finished, the goober was well and fully convinced that he was going to jail. And, by all rights, he should've. He was still "representing" for his gang (remember the piru phone, and dressing in red?) and he had lied to several PPO's about his past gang affiliation and history.

He Stuffed What? Where?

Tue, 22 May 2007 22:15:27 GMT

Just a quick update here. One of the guys that got arrested today (not one of mine, I didn't even search him, all I did was transport him) gets out to the jail and the CO's descend upon him. Perhaps a training aid, I dunno. They start grilling him about why he's there (he used Cocaine), about his past history of violations (lots) and other esoterica. So they ask him if he's got Cocaine on him, to which he sagely responds that he doesn't, then they announce they're gonna search him anyways. A good plan.
We find out later that, sure enough, he had "keester'd" [to insert an object or animal into one's anal cavity] some tobacco in a baggie. The bag was the size of a tennis ball. I think that pretty much solves the question of his virginity.

La Migra!!

Sun, 20 May 2007 11:39:50 GMT

Ok, so remember a bit earlier me mentioning the coward who took off after I caught him in a curfew violation on Cinco de Mayo?
Well, I'd requested the aid of the special ops fellows and they'd coordinated a time for me to go with and hit the home. The goober was a real mommy's boy and was likely still living at home with her. So, I wanted to hit it to cement the emotional scene that the mother and I shared. She wasn't real fond of me, and I, being the nice sort that I am, reciprocated fully. She had tried to claim that I was a racist, having left a diatribe of racist spew on her son's voicemail, which he subsequently could not retrieve. Amazing eh?
So we go to the home and set up to monitor it, while we request the aid of the city police. Remember earlier when I praised them? This wasn't one of the praise times. An hour goes by and nothing from them. At about this time, it was fully light in the AM and kids were gone to school, breakfast was still being eaten by those who had to go into work, all that kinda stuff. And still, no cops. So now we had started trying to find anyone that could hit the home with us. The goober was also suspected to be an illegal. His Social Security Number had been issued in a state where snow fell and the wind blew, and I didn't think this goober would have survived long in that kind of weather. He, while still reporting, had maintained that he had been born in town, yet could not produce a birth certificate. So I had already been coordinating with ICE for them to come interview him.
So on the morning in question, we're still trying to get some assistance. Finally, about 80-90 minutes after we'd requested assistance in serving a felony-level warrant, we get two police cars show up. By then, we'd also made contact with ICE and garnered an agent who would be there within 10-15 minutes after we called. Say what you want about the Feds, but if you get the right sort of guys, they're there for ya.
So, with PD walking along, we go up to the house, where two unidentified males are hanging out. Now, I'd had earlier encounters with both mom and her boyfriend. But these two jokers in front of the home were neither of them familiar. So we had them stand off to the side while the inside was checked for my goober and, unfortunately, not found.
The ICE agent shows up about then and aids in the interrogation of both goobers. One of them, the mother's new, or second, boyfriend, is placed in cuffs as he is illegal and scheduled for deportation. The other guy is only semi-legal but can't be deported.
Final tally is ICE getting one and me pissing off mommy even moreso. Not because her boyfriend was deported, but because we came into the neighborhood and went into the home while all the neighbors watched.
Go me!

...All I've got is this touch-tone phone, so I guess I'll give you a call

Sun, 20 May 2007 07:26:06 GMT

One of the little joys that I take is enforcement of curfew. Yea, verily, enforcement of the curfew with an iron fist and a lead-pipe efficiency reminiscent of a Leon Trotsky death-scene.
I love to go out after night falls and to check on curfew. And if I can't go out on Field Calls, I'll call them on the phone. And this has garnered me a great many arrests recently.
Got one guy who wasn't at home on the night of Cinco de Mayo. He called me about half and hour later to report he had been working. Arrested him when he came in on Monday.
Got another guy that I tagged that night too, but this coward took off. He tried to say he was "at the store" when I called. He's been in my unit almost as long as I have, if you count his time in the jail into the equation. He took off and went on the run instead of coming in for his medicine. I'll cover that situation in another entry (lots of updating going on for now folks, enjoy it whilst you can).
Just recently, I was by the home of one of my goobers maybe 2 minutes before his curfew kicked in. Left a business card telling him to call me immediately upon his return home. Also tried his home phone but it rang unanswered. So about an hour after his curfew, he calls me trying to say that he just saw my note, that he must not have been able to hear me but that he was home. I cut him off, told him to stop lying to me and admit to me that he'd just gotten home. Yea, verily, I was brusque with him. He admits it that he'd just gotten home, I tell him to report on the next day.
Called another one of my goobers as the night was drawing to a close. He had supplied me with an incorrect home phone number, so I called him on his cell phone. Heard a couple voices in the background and a low music number. Told him to call me back from his home number immediately and hung up and continued with a couple other curfew verifications. After about 7-8 minutes, goober hadn't called me back, so I called him. Told him, perhaps you didn't understand the word "immediately" so I will supply you with the definition free-of-charge, which I then proceeded to do. Gave him one minute to call me back from the landline. Which, of course, he didn't make. So I just continue to wait. He finally calls after about another 5 minutes. I confront him with his violation of curfew. No, he's adamant, he's been home. Said that he was "in the bathroom" taking care of business and couldn't call me on the landline. Says that he takes his cell phone with him in the bathroom to talk to his girlfriend in case she calls him while he's on the can. I personally think his lie is a very disturbing one. I advise him not to lie to me, and he continues to try and lie to me...for a good 2 minutes. It was at this point that I got mean with him and suggested that he not try to lie to me ever again as he is very bad at it and give him one final chance to be truthful with me, whereupon he admits that he was at the store after curfew. I tell him to report the next day and we'll talk about the situation.
The next goober had been staying at a halfway house here in town, and not one that I'm especially fond of. We're by maybe 30 minutes before his curfew and tell the onsite manager to have the goober call me when he returns. Goober calls me....90 minutes after his curfew. I'll admit on this one that it might have been a miscommunication. But I'm still quizzing him on where he was, what he was doing. He says he was at a motel. I query about what he was doing and he gets quiet, sounds embarrassed. When I press, he says he was with a female. Him I'm probably just gonna rip a new one and give some more community service.

...Or I'll Huff and I'll Puff and I'll Blow the Door Down

Sun, 20 May 2007 06:50:05 GMT

Ok, so this one was a transfer, yet another one, that I got from the Regular Supervision folks. This character had never reported for any consistent period of time and, after his last apprehension, had been referred to my unit...of course. I mean, the number of times that he'd been into the Probation Office could be counted on one hand, and he'd been on Supervision for over 4 years. So I had gone by the home and spoke to his wife/girlfriend and she had agreed to all the conditions. She'd also demonstrated a "problem" while we were there. She said that she had gotten bitten by a Brown Recluse spider on her legs. Now, "bitten by a spider" is kind of a code phrase amongst LE now. When we hear that, we get very cautious and get out the surgical gloves and waterless hand cleaner. See, that phrase is something that felons, homeless people and others in that area are using to describe "Homeless Staph," or a staphylococcus infection. Very contagious and very nasty. So when we had gone by and she said that, I had zero interest in continuing the inspection of her home, but it wasn't something that I could deny the goober for. I just resolved to keep lots of alcohol cleanser on me when I was around the home.
So, I had talked to the public defender on a Thursday about the goober being released. Now, normally, when you talk to the PD about someone getting out of jail, it's gonna be at least 4 days before the paperwork gets done, out to the jail, and the goober is released. So it was about on Thursday of the next week when I checked the jail's web site to see if the goober had been released, as he hadn't reported in yet. Sure enough, he'd been released on Thursday of the week prior, the same day I spoke to the PD. So I get an Arrest & Hold into the system, to be placed into NCIC and request assistance from the special ops guys to pick the goober up. And, since I was out on Field Calls, I took out a piece of paper that I planned on putting on the door with orders to report immediately. The Absconder Check is one of those important things we do, so we can get "Absconder Time" on the goober. Well, Raquel and I were out in the Field, we go by and I knock on the door. I was halfway to sticking the note on the door when we both heard movement inside and saw someone look out at us through the blinds on the window. Now, at this point, we had to take it to the next level. If they hadn't done that, I could have left the note and gone. But with them having announced they're home, we have to stay and try to get them to open the door. Otherwise, if goober goes out and hurts someone while on the run, then it's on me. K? Now, we got another Field team over to us and we requested the city police to come. In the past, I have spoken ill of them due to the long wait. Not this time, we had 6 units on scene in about 15 minutes. A record without shots having been fired. Now, while we were waiting, we did carry on a conversation with the wife/girlfriend inside, who relayed that she was using the bathroom. She didn't sound happy to see me. But, alas, the door remained closed. PD is on scene and carrying on the conversation while I sit back and wait. It doesn't take too long before the door is opened up and "spider bite lady" comes out along with her sister. Remaining in the residence is, yep, my goober. He finally comes out, I have a brief conference with him, culminating in me placing him in cuffs. He's trying to say that he didn't have any probation and he was set loose. At this point, I'm thinking he has "splinters in the windmill of his mind" and that he's never going to get it. I finally tell him to shut it and go stand over next to another PPO while we go in and pillage the residence.
And we only did a half-hearted pillage. It was just too nasty inside for us to do much of anything else. But, we did find: 1) used crack pipe; 2) beer; 3) THC in a small dime bag; 4) drug paraphernalia consistent with heroin use; 5) realistic looking toy gun and a folding knife. All of it was confiscated to add to the profuse amount of violation data that I had already collected.
So we transport goober and he's still acting like a goober. Oh and the girlfriend/wife's sister? She went with the cops too, seems she had a traffic ticket (misdemeanor) warrant.
Course, now I've got to contact the Immigrations & Customs Enforcement folks. See, this goober is illegal as hell. How do I know this you ask? Could it be that one of the two listed Social Security Numbers for him in the system is registered a lady who is five years older than him? Maybe. Could it be that his second Social Security Number was given 26 years after the goober was born? Maybe. Could it be that his listed birthplace in the computer system is in another country? Maybe. Could be all three of them truth be told. So, now I've got to contact ICE and have them get paperwork ready to deport this stain on the American community. Especially since his Judge is one that is an idiot and doesn't like to send away those who have violated their Probation Orders multiple times.
More stories to follow, but in a different entry as they don't fit with the subject heading.

The Bathroom and You

Fri, 18 May 2007 03:19:20 GMT

Most of this week's stories center upon the bathroom, as indicated by the title.
Goober #1 wasn't one of mine, although the PPO did try and foist him off on me. His PPO needs a UA on the goober and Cap'n Igor is called upon to render aid. Goober asserts he's ready and we go into the toilet, whereupon I give the goober the cup, the directions and step back to grab a surgical glove. There's a problem when I notice that goober is shaking. Usually that's a sign of fear, or drug use, or both. With this guy, per the conversation I had with the PPO afterwards, it's a mild form of palsy. But I digress. Guy's standing there and trying to piss into the cup. He can't go. Again, not a surprise. Sometimes that's an attempt by the goober to put off pissing cuz he's gonna be dirty. Goober requests I run the water, to which I agree, for a short period of time. Water runs for 15 seconds, nothing. So I'm about to give him the spiel about sitting in the lobby and goober looks over at me and says, "Can I rub it?" I'm pretty sure I stared at him for at least ten seconds before the frontal cortex kicked in and I said, quite brightly, "What?" while shaking my head in an attempt to clear out the flood of earwax I must've gotten in order to mishear that. He looks at me, and serious as can be, says "If I rub it, that might help me go." Grabbing the cup and slowly backing out of the bathroom, I suggest that he "just wait" as I'm not sure that the product of him "rubbing 'it'" would test in the cup.
Goober #2 was one of mine but wound up not making it very long due to a problem of driving without a license. Oh and he "played for the other team." Not an issue really, but it will help explain the situation when you complete the paragraph. See, on like his second UA, I'm having him piss in the cup. Now, I know I've mentioned, in the past, exactly the amount of joy that I get from watching other men piss into a cup. Effusive joy, yea verily. So this guy looks over at me as I'm preparing to observe the UA and says that he wishes he had my job. I look at him confused and say, "What?" He says, and I'll paraphrase here, that he wishes part of his job allowed him to go into the bathroom and watch other men whip out their equipment to piss into a cup. Y'know, that's just not amongst the top 10 things you want to hear whilst in the bathroom. Giving him a UA was ever after a joy.
Goober #3 was one of those disconcerting situations where he starts talking to his "equipment" while trying to coax urine out. I was wondering if he was going to start taking it to the next level wherein he threatened the equipment with consequences.

The Taco Bell Raid

Sun, 29 Apr 2007 08:31:07 GMT

Ok, so I had (note the past tense usage here as it will become evident later in the story) a young idiot on my caseload. Real moron and a punk gang member to boot. I had already bonded with his mother and brother when I first got the transfer. He had demonstrated a very extreme reluctance to get a job, only doing so when I gave him a deadline of "get a job in 3 days or I arrest you." So, he got a job...at Taco Bell. Hey, it's employment.
So, I had found out that goober had gotten a ticket for driving without a license and speeding 20mph above the limit, and had failed to notify me of that police contact. So, I had been planning on taking him into custody but wanted to wait until I was in the office to do it as people (other PPO's who are worthless) had begun to complain about having to arrest other PPO's clients. Not that that's their job or anything? (Note: insert sarcasm here) So I was out in the Field on a Friday and we swing by the goober's residence, where he lives with his sister and her hubby. So we're knocking on the door and I catch a vehicle coming down the street out of the corner of my eye. I turn, lock onto it and recognize my goober driving. Remember earlier when I said he didn't have a license? Still didn't have a license. And shortly after I saw him, he had begun to turn into the driveway of the home, then saw me, then made a fatally tactical error and turned the vehicle back onto the street and kept on driving. So, later on that night, I called him and "expressed my displeasure" with him. Ripped him several new ones and directed him to report on Monday. You can see where this is going right? He didn't report on Monday.
Ok, so on Tuesday, I happened to be out in the Field again and contacted the STIU (Special Ops) guys about doing an Absconder check. Now, the electronic monitoring equipment had already been returned on Monday from his sister's home. But I figured he'd either run to mommy or hang out with his girlfriend. So I requested that STIU and several local PD go with me to mom's house. They all bonded with mom too. She was trying to block entry, saying we needed a search warrant. We didn't. But we searched the house really good, didn't find him and left after about 15 minutes.
Wednesday rolls around and I'm writing up the Probation Violation Report, getting info, to include talking to his job (Taco Bell? Remember?) and finding out when he'd quit. I spoke to the manager at TB and requested that, should goober come in to pick up his last check, which they still had, that the manager contact me. Sure enough, 90 minutes later, I get a call from the manager saying that he's going to come in between 1300 and 1500 to pick up the check. I start trying to contact the STIU folks about snagging him there and am having "Zero" luck. So I shanghai another PPO and the Transport Officer, who's armed, and we take a vehicle to go "stake out" the Taco Bell and watch for my goober to arrive.
Now, during the stake out, we were fully aware that we stuck out like a sore thumb. We're all dressed in the ranger vests, duty belts, etc...parked in a caged vehicle with 3 antennas on the trunk and a spotlight on the driver's side. Yes indeed folks, we gave new meaning to the word "undercover." We glowed, and we knew it. So I parked us a distance away, put in a call to the manager and, as we didn't have a 100% vision lock on the Taco Bell, requested that he call me when goober came in to get his check. During out surveillance of Taco Bell, we used our binoculars to ogle females who were passing by, especially as the weather had gotten warmer and, consequently, people were wearing less clothing, especially the females in question. We were joined by another vehicle, same "undercover" cloaking ability as possessed by ours, with an STIU officer and a PPO from Regular Supervision inside it. Shortly following that, I got the call from the manager that my goober was there, on the north side of the building.
The chase, as they are wont to note, was afoot. I peeled around to the north side of the Taco Bell with the Transport Officer in the back calling the other vehicle to notify them. I pull in behind the vehicle that my goober had ridden there in, driven by the girlfriend, and block her from taking off. I'm out and running through the doors, trying to get a visual on my goober. Failing that, I'm thinking he ran out through the south doors and a foot chase is on. "No" says the manager, "He's in the bathroom." I wheel around, skirting several curious customers and myself and the other PPO station ourselves outside the bathroom door. I send the Transport Officer to corral the girlfriend as she's trying to make a phone call, to her boyfriend goober who's currently in the bathroom. No, I did not want to be on the news with the headline of "Probationer gets into SWAT standoff in the Taco Bell bathroom." The door to the bathroom opens and my goober comes walking out, and he's saying "Hello? Hello?" into his phone as the girlfriend's phone had just been yanked away from her. So whilst he's still confused at the empty-air phone, I reach forward (I had tactically placed myself around a corner) and grab both of his arms and pull back sharply. His phone goes flying and winds up in about 4 pieces on the floor. The other PPO I'm there with slaps the cuffs on his hands like we'd practiced this move for days. My goober is so stoned that he actually says, "Oh wow, like, how'd you know I was here?" Yes, he actually was stoned. And, in searching him, we find about 4 grams of THC on him, and a scale in the vehicle. Not enough for us to even call out PD on, not that they'd have come anyways.
So my goober winds up in custody, tons of information for the write-up and life is good.

Yes, Yes, I STILL Know!

Fri, 20 Apr 2007 04:49:08 GMT

Ok, so it's been awhile. And yes, the "non-gruntled-ness" still ensues.
But, the record that I helped in attaining for "Arrests Resulting from Field Calls" has been broken. I and another PPO had held the record at 7, although it could have gone higher had my field partner been more Darth Vadian. Well, the new record is now 8, and yes, it's "Go Time" boys and girls.
I'm also looking into training for what I'm calling "High Tech Research" so that I can look into filling a niche in the Department and making myself nigh-indispensible. This would entail pillaging computers, cell phones and doing internet research on specific individuals. Any assist, throw me a bone, but I've already got some sites picked, now if I can just convince the Department to send me to the training.

Smells Like Felon Arrest

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 23:18:55 GMT

Ok, so the "Subject" heading can cover both of these. As strange as it sounds. One of them was a Parole Plan coming out to me and one of them was a transfer from Regular Supervision coming to a field partner of mine.
Let's talk about the Parole Plan first. In a great many of these stories now, I'm going to start "assuming" that people have at least read back through my blog and know some of the definitions. Maybe a brief definition: Parole Plan is when the goober is scheduled to get out of the prison and I have to go check out the residence. Right? Right. So the goober's got his daughter's residence as the primary. A trailer park that I have a passing familiarity with as I've been there a couple dozen times. Trailer parks can be somewhat of a "hit or miss" on if they allow felons to live there, so I decided to check with management first and also see if the goober daughter was in good standing with them for rent. Turned out the manager wasn't there but I did get a chance to speak to the maintenance guy, who can know more than the manager. Turns out that goober daughter was renowned for two things with the trailer park staff: 1) Having the messiest yard in the park and 2) Having a "beat-down looking" pit bull in the home, which they hadn't received authorization for. Now, just with those two bits of info, coupled with the fact that the maintenance guy said they "usually" didn't allow felons, I had enough to deny the plan. But, being an inquisitive sort, I decided to wander over to the trailer and check out this "messiest" yard award. When I rolled up, sure enough, they had it hands down. Disgustingly feel-thy. It looked like someone had taken three full garbage bags and proceeded to strew it around the yard. This mish-mash of trash included alcohol containers (ie, not just "beer" but whiskey and other) and old, dirty diapers. Yummy!! So, through this biological-waste of a landmine field I tip-toed. Gingerly and cautiously I knocked on the front door. Male Chunk of Human Excrement (MCHE) answers the door without a shirt on. The only six-pack this rocket scientist had was the one in his hand......literally here folks. So I ask to speak to goober daughter and he tries to shuffle the six-pack behind his back and semi-closes the door...on my boot. I don't like doors getting closed on me, I wanna hear what's going on at least. So goober daughter, hereafter referred to as Female Chunk of Human Excrement (FCHE) comes to the door. Well fed young lady who had last seen water in bath/shower format in the far distant past. I introduced myself and advised her what I was there for. She brazenly asked if I could come back. Said the home was "dirty" and she wanted to "clean up." I advised that, no, that was not feasible and I would just deny it straightway or I could come in and speak to her. My field partner for this jaunt into the town dump was Sharon, whom I've mentioned in the past. Sharon was standing back on the ground (as I was standing on the trailer steps) looking around in awe at the waste storage area for the city that had been relocated to a trailer park. So, FCHE opens the door and lets me in. Two steps in, I realize what an error in judgment I'd made. If they allow the outside of their home to look bad, what would they concern themselves with about the interior? Yep. Just as bad. Tons and tons of alcohol containers, some empty, some partly full (empty?). Dirty diapers and dog excrement strewn around on the floor and furniture. MCHE is just coming back and getting a shirt on that espouses his love of Metallica. Whee! I stop at the "two step" point. And hold my breath. And turn my head slowly around the waste dump that was inside the trailer. When I turn back to look at FCHE, she does have the temerity to look somewhat ashamed, I'll give her that. MCHE kicks the pit bull out of the way, literally, and locks it up in another room as it was desperately trying to escape the home via the exit we had introduced by our visit. I look around, MCHE, FCHE, a female teenager who didn't look too bad (I mean, c'mon, she was a teen, maybe 15 or so...she had to look good in school right? She wants a husband to escape the cess pool) and two small babies. I'm a poor judge of ages when it comes to babies, so I'll go with Sharon's estimate of 9 months and 18 months. Do ya think that FCHE was due to "pop" again sometime? Yeh, me too. I slowly take a business card out of my vest and look at her. She starts to leak moisture from her eyes (I'd say "cry" but if I did, then that would indicate that I think she actually felt bad about the state of her home) and apologizes, saying they'd had a party last night. She's holding the youngest baby and the other one is navigating its way around one of her own dirty diapers. Clothing on all except the teen looks despicable (said in my best Daffy Duck impersonation). I nod my head and introduce myself and why I'm there. She apologizes again. I shake my head, give her the business card and tell her that the conditions are unsuitable for human habitation, much less the habitation of a multiple conviction felon. The moisture starts to leak fully out of her eyes now, mascara streaming down her face. Congratulations FCHE! You now look like a raccoon. I back slowly out of the home, taking small breaths and being careful to step where I stepped upon gaining entry. The door closes and I proceed back through the biological landmine field, shaking my head. Sharon is so angry she's actually vibrating. I can see steam coming from her ears. We get into the car, close the doors and, safely ensconced within the protection of our vehicle, she vents on the entire family and how they've endangered the children's lives, along with the dog. I did wind up making a report to the Child Protective Services people. It got accepted at a high priority I do believe.

Second story. This one is the transfer from Regular Supervision. The goober is currently on the jail's house arrest program. They've got what's called a "tracker" to monitor him and ensure he's compliant with conditions, which are almost the same as his Probation ones. So we'd already been by the home once before, maybe a week or two back, and was convinced that it was the incorrect address. Nobody there knew the goober we were looking for. Turns out, he's got a different name that they know him by. Oh, and the home? It's a residential care program for mentally disabled adults. The goober's charges? Forgery. Amazing that the company hired him to work in the home huh? We thought so too. The field partner who had this worthless bum? Raquel, I believe I've mentioned her in the past. So Raquel and I gain entry and go through the kitchen, nodding to the adults in the care of a co-worker of goober. Goober ain't home right now they says. So we go into his room. Now, it started off as just a friendly little peek through his room and then a conversation and the leaving of a business card. We had walked into the room and I stopped, and, even with allergies wreaking havoc through my system, looked over at Raquel and said in a quiet voice, "Someone got 'some' in this bedroom in the not too distant past." Now, let me clarify that. By "some," I want to amend that a male had either copulated with a willing participant or himself. There's a definitive odeur to that type of thing. So, again, we're just being friendly-like up to this point. I open a drawer, find porn, chuckle, close the drawer. I open another drawer, find 3-4 empty bottles of viagra, chuckle again, close the drawer. That kind of thing. I mean, we're not the Sex Offender Unit here folks. I may think it inappropriate for goober to have this kind of thing when he's a homecare aide, but hey, I may be a prude in some people's eyes. It was after I opened a drawer and found three full Corona beers that the "pillaging in earnest" began. Yes folks, this was where Igor pulled out his knife, clenched it between his teeth, cried out "Arrrr!!" and began his own re-enactment of "Pirates of the Caribbean." We thoroughly tossed that room. We found two "smallish" knives, a couple of drug-type cigarette lighters, a bowl used for smoking meth, the items that can be used to "flush out" your urine of a drug, the drug tests themselves so you can make sure you're clean, some empty Corona beer bottles and a "Whizzinator" that men can strap across their "package" and fill with a clean sample of urine to dispense into a handy urine test cup, so that they can ensure they're clean, completely. We snagged all of it and back out of the home, then try and contact the goober's "tracker" so that they can take him into custody. No such luck, but he did come and report the next business day, as directed, and was taken into custody. And, yes, a report was filed with the Adult Protective Services people with regards to this incident.

Ah Fresh Meat

Sat, 10 Mar 2007 03:58:24 GMT

Well, let's try and get a couple of stories into this one, with the first, IMO, being the best.
1) Had a transfer coming in from Regular Supervision. This goober has already had 2 Probation numbers revoked because he picked up new charges, and still hasn't been to the state pen yet. He's also what is loving referred to as a gang member. The gang is primarily a "taggin' crew" in that they "tag" buildings and other items with their monikers and gang id. So, he's coming to me and I go out and see him the other day. Quickly, I'm getting annoyed as I'm knocking on the door for a couple minutes. So I prepare a card to leave on the door and then bail, calling it good. 3/4 of the way through the card, the door opens. It's goober gang boy's "fiance." Now, I don't wanna look back and see if I've mentioned this in the past, but felons always tend to have a fiance...not a wife, not a girlfriend. Nope, they're making the commitment to a "fiance." Cute huh? Fiance opens the door, I intro myself and query why the hell it took so long to answer the door. She says she was asleep. Mm-hmm. And there's 3 kids running around with a tv on. I think not. So I give her the card and a quick brief and wander in to take a look around. Then I have her take me back to the bedroom so I can check it out. I get into the bedroom, maybe a foot or two, and I see gang wear. So, I just step forward, snag it and say, "This is gang paraphernalia, so I'll be taking this. He runs with the [fillintheblankwiththegangname] right?" She says, "I guess...so you say." Uh-huh, so I snag two or three hats and open up the closet door. Smorgasbord in there. My field partner told me later that I did say it, which I believe, but I was grabbing gang t-shirts and thinking, "It must be Christmas!" Total take wound up being a bandana, 5 baseball hats and 6 t-shirts. What made it even funnier was that there were a couple of kids, barely into the "walk&talk" stage of life. As soon as we started taking stuff, the kids were right there asking us what we were doing. I told 'em we were taking gang stuff. Then the kids started pointing stuff out to us asking if it was gang stuff. These kids went feral on finding stuff. I mean, they pointed out other hats and shirts in the dirty clothes. The fiance finally told them to shut up but by then, I was thinking about giving them a lollipop. I told the fiance to have goober give me a call when he gets home and we'll schedule an appointment. So we're in the car and within 5 minutes, my phone rings. Sure enough, it's goober. Convo goes like this:
Me: So you knew you're coming to my unit right?
Goober: Yeh, I just didn't think it'd be so soon.
Me: Uh-huh, cuz if you had, you'd have hid all that gang wear right?
Goober: Yeh, I'd have put it somewhere else.

So now, I've got a good take of clothing that's going to be passed along for destruction. Or maybe used in a gang instructional class.

2) Another transfer from Regular Supervision. This one likes to beat up his girlfriends. A lot. I had even staffed transferring him to the Sex Offender Unit because his initial charge, one of them at least, had been Criminal Sexual Penetration, ie, he had also raped her. Now I don't know if it didn't stick or was dropped with a plea deal or whatever, but he wasn't convicted of it. So it's to a nice and orderly apartment complex. One that, I'm pretty sure, wouldn't allow convicted felons to reside there. So we go in and chat with one of his roomies. Seems he's living with a friend and her husband, along with their children. He's sleeping on the couch and keeping a hamper of his clothes and property next to the couch for easy access. I go over the standard conditions and stress the "no alcohol" rule to her. She kinda pauses and goes a little pale, then says that she and her husband stopped drinking when goober moved in. So right about then, I'm thinking that there's gonna be a keg in the kitchen and more hidden elsewhere in the home. So, to demonstrate to her what is usually done on field calls, I go awandering into the kitchen and open the fridge. Sure enough, I find a 36-pack of beer with only about 2 or 3 remaining. A garbage bag is full of cans and I can see pizza boxes and other indicators of a party in the bag. So I bring up the alcohol to her and ask her again, how long ago it was that she stopped drinking. She says that, well, goober was out of town last night, went up to the capital to do some work and they figured they could have a party. I latch onto that point and ask her to clarify, that the goober went out of town, out of county to work. I asked if he had gotten a travel permit from his PPO in Regular, she stated she thought so. I warned her that alcohol would not be tolerated in the home in the future and then gave her a business card to have goober contact me immediately. Time has passed and goober hasn't yet contacted me. So I'm thinking he's absconded, I'm not gonna haveta worry about him cuz I'll be denying the transfer and his PPO in Regular will write the violation report. Whoopee!

Let's see, that's all I can remember right now...I'll try and get some more up later on.

Mmm...Tastes Like Chinese Food

Wed, 21 Feb 2007 23:38:38 GMT

Lemme get this one entered in before I forget about it...not that I could for at least a couple of days but.......
So this morning was a regular ol' report-day Wednesday. I'm just sitting back and watching my caseload spiral into the pit, seeing one of my "OG's" around 0800. Now, my OG here is, yes, one of the "Original Gangsters" from way back. A bit older than me and fully tatt'd and sleeved. But he's trying to do what he's supposed to and get off supervision and I've actually built up a pretty good rapport with him. Amazing huh? Anyways, I'm seeing him and I've heard some loud-ish noises from somewhere in the building, but I can't pin it down, nobody's called me for assistance and, as I've said recently, or maybe not, I'm just trying to stay in my office and stay out of trouble as my "militant and aggressive way of thinking" has gotten my ass chewed too many times.
So I'm almost done with my OG and I can suddenly hear a few more words, curse words, some loud yelling but only from one person. I snag the secretary right outside my door and have her watch my cooperating OG while I go investigate. When I come out of my office and see about 2 other male PPO's standing in the hallway way down at the end, I change it to a run. Seems a goober belonging to another PPO has "allegedly" been calling up his mother and threatening her. PPO responded accordingly and put an Arrest & Hold in the system for him to be taken into custody pending investigation, standard protocol. Goober starts ranting. He's cursing and yelling and, when I get there, trying to stand up and get into the face of the supervisor. Now, I may think the supervisor is, well, pretty much useless as teats on a bull, but I'm gonna be all over any kind of fracas in the office. So I step past worthless PPO 1&2 and grab goober by the shoulder, get his attention and say in my calm and quiet voice, "Sit down son." Warning Signal He looks at me and blows me off and tries to step forward. I just push down and back on his shoulder and, as he's in cuffs, he plops back down in the chair. Warning Signal This happened a couple of times where he tried to stand up and I had to quell his urge and explain to him that this was bad. Ok, so we go through this dance a couple of times and, finally, the paperwork is done and we're moving goober to the caged vehicle. He's got leg shackles on and ain't moving fast. He's been jittery the entire time and his pupils are visibly resizing themselves every 15 seconds. Yes, that's a Warning Signal too.
So, we put goober in the cage and buckle the seat belt and close the door. Right away, goober unbuckles the belt and starts thrashing around in the back, headbutting the wire mesh separating the front of the car from the back, headbutting the window and generally screaming himself hoarse. Warning Signal? Yes indeed. But we're letting him vent, trying to tell him to calm down, but all muttering under our breath how we hope he knocks himself unconscious or just brains himself completely. Finally, ALL of the paperwork is done and we're ready to go. Goober has been warned by our nice Transport Officer (TO) that if he doesn't calm down, that the OC will be deployed. OC = Pepper Spray in case you've forgotten. I'll briefly mention again that the OC we're issued is for seasoning your food, which leads to the subject, which is the whole point of this update. So we've got all the stuff ready and the transport team for psycho goober are ready to go, and we decide that we really need to put the seat belt on the goober again. So the TO positions himself on the left of the vehicle to help secure the belt and I'm on the right. I open the door and tell psycho boy to turn his head away so I can lean across him to secure the belt. I ain't taking a chance with him going all freakin' Dracula on me when I'm trying to do him a good deed. Just to check, visualize all this ok? He's in the back right of the vehicle. I'm on the right side, about to belt him in, the TO is on the left to assist with securing the belt if I need it, but he's also got his OC can out. So goober refuses my oh-so gentle offers for him to turn his head to the left by telling me to "go fuck [my]self." After entreating him in a calm manner thrice more, at that point, I sighed heavily and said, "So be it." and took my left forearm, laid it along his right jawbone and turned his head to the left for him. He was not amused and began thrashing in the seat. I leaned in quick and secured the seat belt, but as I'm pulling out of the doorframe, he turns his head into my arm and, with mouth open like a baby leaning in for momma's tit, is "going" for my forearm. I don't know if he was trying to bite, maybe headbutt me or maybe just gonna start screaming again. None of it matters because the TO, quick as hell, hit him with the OC from about 6 inches in front of his eyes. Maybe about a two-second burst. It fountained off his neandertal brow-ridge and splashed my left forearm, chin, lips, left neck and cheek and eyes. It also bounced back into the eyes of the TO, who got it mainly in his left one. I backpedaled quick and slammed the door while goober screams like a little girl. Or, my favorite but can-be-confusing saying, "like a Japanese school girl watching Gojira rise out of the Pacific." Now, my face tingled a bit, and I got a few drops in my mouth, but I was fine. I grabbed a couple of paper towels, wet them and dabbed at the remnants on my body and was hunky-dory, although I did, in all honesty here, smack my lips, run my tongue over my lips and go, "Yummy, Kung Pao Beef." Goober screamed for, maybe, 30 seconds to a minute and then was back to yelling at us. TO decon'd his face and was actually doing pretty good. A few PPO's know that I have the "good stuff" for OC in my office and asked me what goober'd be doing if I had sprayed him with mine. I looked at the goober, smiled and said, "Screaming with much more convincing behavior for another hour at least."
So, PD came and transported goober with a hobble, after EMT's came and decon'd him, which allowed us to hear him scream again. He wanted water put on his face, which only reactivated the oil-based OC spray, but it amused us.
He's going to at least get charged with Attempted Felony Assault on a Peace Officer, I think. I hope? Maybe?
The OC reactivated on me just recently when I took my contacts out and tossed them, but that's expected. Feh...our OC should be used as a salsa for a grade school children's picnic.