Mondays aren’t fun for police, either

Monday at the PD is like Monday where you work, unless you’re a lumberjack. Or that beach bum guy who can put you on the fast track to wealth in no time.

[Bob in Toledo tried the new system: “I made two gazillion dollars in just seventeen minutes!! I don’t even have to do the work. My computer does it — selling stuff — I don’t even know what kind of stuff, but stuff on e-Bay and you know — other sites. It’s really cool! I accidentally sold two Philippine hookers to my lawn guy, but heck, mistakes happen.

“Anyway, I’m now this cool dude and I talk like the beach bum guy. I’m so cool. Uh, oh, wait a minute. My bank account just notified me that I made another quadrillion dollars while I was talking to you! Cowabunga!!!”]

No, no, no. Mondays are filled with e-mails and calls about all the tragedies of the weekend. Monday is good for about 100-150 e-mails. They range from neighborhood delinquents to confirmations.

Confirmations range from “my neighbor told me” to “I heard sirens.”

Occasionally I get the “I don’t know what to do with my kid.” I feel your pain. Let me know when you figure it out. I could use the advice.

Like most of you, I hate Mondays. I get up on Monday saying to myself, “Man, I wish it were Saturday again — even Sunday. No, no, Friday night! That was the best!

Ugh, Monday. Well, let’s get on with it then.

There are several expectations for those with police cars that are “take-home” cars. Keep them clean and serviced. Other requirements include not wrecking them, don’t smoke in them, don’t leave chicken wing boxes in the back seat and please don’t speed since your unit number is pasted all over the car (duh). Anyway, I dropped the car for service and walked over to the Starbucks where I pretended to understand the menu.

“I’ll have a small (“tall?”) yes, tall Latte thing on line three there. Whoa, does that say five bucks? Uh, okay, I’ll take a house blend (“Would you like to know what it is sir?”). No, it wouldn’t help. I’ll just wait here in the beginner’s line.

E-mails: Can’t get to them all so I scan for the priorities. The first priority will say “Chief” on the sender line. “Deputy Chief” next, and so on. I do get a lot of “urgent” e-mails that aren’t really urgent.

Urgent to me means blood — or something is on fire. If your e-mail has bloodstains on it, I’m getting back to you very soon.

Phone calls can come later. I get to e-mails faster than calls.

Next is the “pass down.” The pass down is a summary of crime or other events on the watch. Monday pass down for me includes Friday through Sunday. A recent Monday, for example, included a suicide, rape, a bunch of thefts, a couple of burglaries and some guy who rang up a $260 bar tab, then walked out on it. The nerve!

If you look at a Monday pass down, you would think the weekend is full of dysfunctional people doing all that stuff we try to warn folks and our kids not to do. Well, it is but it’s the same in most metro areas. The arrest reports are entertaining and it leaves one to conclude there are two things that get young men (yeah, the older ones, too) in trouble: alcohol and the other thing, which you figure out.

Monday is also the day when people come in to try and unscrew what they screwed up. They come for the paperwork to get a car out of impound, or reports of the arrest they barely remember (“That was me?”) and line up for the preliminary hearings in court. The sad part is some I recognize from before.

By the time we get to the point that most of Monday is behind us and we’re headed home in Georgia 400’s fast lane —HA, HA, HA!!!! Like there is such a thing! — it just feels good to get Monday over with.
There should be a support group for Mondays but, for me, by Tuesday, it seems to go just a little bit faster.

Good luck on your Monday. May we all take comfort in the words of Franklin DeBose III who said: “Mondays suck. I hate Monday. I would rather have my pinkie cut off than face another Monday. Mondays are the work of the devil. I wish I could sleep right through until Tuesday … ”

Okay, we get it.

7 comments Add your comment

BiteMe

June 22nd, 2009
4:39 pm

There is definitely no fast lane on GA 400, but I do laugh everytime I pass by the sign that says it’s the “Hospitality Highway” – I mean, REALLY?!?!?!?!?!

ScottJ

June 22nd, 2009
9:25 pm

Wish Doraville had the same rules for take-home cars. It infuriates me to see a Doraville police car doing 90-100 MPH on I-75 northbound in Cherokee county with apparent impunity.

Chris Broe

June 23rd, 2009
12:31 pm

I didn’t know Starbucks sold donuts.

chiefs fan

June 23rd, 2009
3:00 pm

Hate to remind you, but Mondays are 1/7th of your life.

reader

June 23rd, 2009
6:14 pm

There are two take-home police cars in our n’hood. Drivers see them & automatically slow down, even if a police car is just parked in a driveway. It’s great b/c the n’hood had such an issue with speeders.

t of k

June 23rd, 2009
8:56 pm

You know its kinda funny, I don’t mind Monday, it’s the rest of the week that stinks

The truth about cops

June 26th, 2009
2:54 pm

This was a lovely piece of fiction.

Everybody knows that at this point that the only role police in this area have is to dole out speeding tickets, or right-on-red, or bogus stop sign tickets, in order to generate revenue.

If they could write each other speeding tickets, the recession would be over. In Canton, the city police regularly drive roughly 70 miles an hour over the speeding limit.

Anybody ever see the short, stubby little fellow that drives the drug truck in Canton? Don’t know how much drug work he does, but you can find him camped under a bridge everynight looking to fill that quota.

Our brave, bold police. Their mothers must be so proud of the way they can generate revenue under the guise of law enforcement. What heroes.