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Ride Along

Last night my neighbor picked me up to take me to work.  Not my work, but his work.  He’s a cop.  Here’s a brief list of the pure awesomeness that happened:

Briefing: cops talking about what to expect tonight.

Tour of the jail: nobody in it…yet.

Disturbance at a house: third car on the scene…first to leave.

Drunk Driver: looked good to me, but blew a .099 and failed some field sobriety tests.

Walking in the shadows of an apartment complex looking for a guy with a warrant out for his arrest: couldn’t find him.

Pulling over a lady in a Volvo who ran a red light we were stopped at: no ticket.

Closing time at the bar: why can’t people just use the bathroom before they leave instead of the bushes or the wall.  Also…at what point should friends say, “hey, you know? that’s probably enough.”

There is an amazing amount of reasons to  pull someone over legally.

How many police officers does it take to search an enormous broken into building?: three to walk through and one to watch for people exiting.

Another question: how many license plates get run by a police officer when they are driving around?  Answer: All of them.

Here’s what I gathered: it’s a dangerous job.  I’ve been pretty sheltered.  There is a lot of brokenness in the world.  Waaaaaay too much happens at night.  My Granny was right: “Nothing good happens after 11pm.”  Where are God’s people from 9pm to 6am?

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