Crazy Is As Crazy Does
06.16.10
If there’s one thing that you’ll learn in the course of a typical day as a police officer, it’s that people are fucking crazy. I spent a full shift with a friend of mine in what proved to be quite the experience. Though it wasn’t our call, it started with a man in business attire attacking a place of business by wielding an ax meant to do some serious business on somebody. Over and over, I witnessed the serious gulf between sanity and insanity.
One of the first calls was to a schizophrenic situation, where a brother was trying to commit his mis-medicated sibling who obviously refused, resulting in a conflagration outside of a strip mall. The cops had already handled the combative brother by the time we showed up. As my buddy walked past him and his possessions, piled on the parking lot surface, he caught a serious whiff of l’eau de toilette, the homeless blend.
After searching through the possessions, it was discovered that the multiple canisters of dip were actually repositories for fecal matter. I felt awful for the officer who had to make that discovery. She was able to shirk it off with a laugh and it was undeniably apparent to everyone just how mad this man was without his meds.
Soon afterward, we were called to visit a potential witness of the would-be ax murderer. She was just about as crazy as the last person, who had been involuntarily admitted to the local mental institution. Her home was beyond decrepit. The front porch literally bowed under the weight of my buddy’s footsteps. I had no idea wood could become so flexible from such excessive weathering.
A bug-eyed dog without any desire but to bark incessantly darted back and forth across the main window. It appeared as if no one was home and a neighbor clued us in to the woman’s concern over the ax murderer, who was nowhere near their vicinity. When she finally appeared from her other neighbor’s house and divulged her information, it was clear she hadn’t seen the man in question. Apparently, these are typical occasions, lonely and irrational witnesses who wish to speak to an officer as long as they can.
When we finally extricated ourselves from the situation, we got another call to attend to an assault between students at a school for psychologically disturbed teenagers. We embarked upon one of the saddest experiences I’ve ever witnessed in regards to how mental health is regarded in our country. The school was in lockdown when we arrived and the teachers or taskmasters were milling about with a look of fear in their eyes.
Apparently, an older student was frustrated that a younger student was being disobedient. The teachers were unable to get him under control so the student grabbed the resister, put him in a head lock and proceeded to take matters into his own hands. Technically, it was assault. If the parents wished to press charges, this student was to be hauled off to jail. Without knowing his mental issues, I was outraged that a team of mental professionals were so inept that they created conflicts through their lack of ability and then used the city’s resources to address them.
The head of the school, the only one to question my presence, gave me the impression of the worst type of businessman. He’s the kind that deserves an ax to the head, milking the system for whatever profit he can, using the city’s resources to circumvent his own responsibility and wasting a child’s chance at health and education through mismanagement. I hated him the instant my eyes fell upon him and before I knew the back story behind it all, just based upon my intuition.
When we left, we started doing routine traffic checks, pulling over minor offenders until we came across a woman with an outstanding trespass warrant. I didn’t realize such women existed in this world. She could go from docile to insanely irate, yelling at the top of her lungs for brief outbursts of complaint. It was like watching a caricature drawn from the Simpsons. With hesitation and verbal assaults, she finally submitted to arrest and imprisonment.
The remainder of the day was fairly calm in comparison. However, I’d been lucky to have seen so much in the course of one ride-along. At least that was what I was told by my buddy. If you hadn’t pieced it together, this is the one and same buddy who’ve I’d had the pleasure of other, more sexual adventures in the past with him and his partner. It was interesting that it wasn’t until the end of the day that any sexual tension arose, but I’m not at liberty to divulge any details out of respect for his professional integrity and the fact that it was primarily just tension without any proper release.
I did receive release of another sort though. For this is the same couple with whom I’d have entertained a throuple. I never heard a response from that post and I’d figured it was out of the question. I did learn though that they’d aligned with another couple to create a frouple of sorts. I wouldn’t normally assign such a designation to two couples that fuck around on occasion, but there’s more than just sex there. There’s a level of trust and intimacy I was jealous to discover, by accident of course.
But it was before that discovery that I questioned my buddy point blank. I simply asked if it would ever be a possibility, the illusive throuple. He assured me that it wouldn’t and I sighed in relief. I knew it wasn’t but I had to hear it from him. I just wanted that affirmation of closure, that yes, my fantasy was indeed crazy.
Though they might enjoy sexual encounters with me as well as a friendship, there’s no interest on their part in anything beyond it. I wasn’t hurt in the least. Not until I later found out that this couple had yielded an intimacy I didn’t think attainable to that other couple. It was only then that I felt a pang of jealousy, remorse and insecurity.
If it happens to work out, I might be able to join in the frouple for a frolic, but there’s no way it’d become a pouple, if such a thing even exists. Regardless, the entire day made me realize just how sane I am. Despite being open to a fault and fearless of sharing intimate information, I’ve no desire for affirmation and no compulsion to write. I choose it all of my own free will whereas these others seemed incapable of controlling themselves. Crazy is as crazy does but being verbose isn’t a crime.