Walking in the Dairy Aisle
Do you have a most memorable time that you went to buy milk? I do. Buying milk, for me, used to be a fairly ordinary thing. It isn’t today mainly because I don’t really use it anymore. Like most Americans, I had a habit of pouring milk on breakfast cereal. We all grew up with that. As it turns out, that is not the most healthy breakfast, but this isn’t about that. This is about buying milk where you shop, which is usually near where you live.
This particular event of buying milk came to mind in light of recent events in policing around our country, and specifically with some of the events that happened around that time for me.
I had an incident that had many similar elements to the Ma’Khia Bryant incident that occurred here in Ohio last week. The Ma’Khia Bryant incident has become part of the restructuring discussion regarding policing, and for good reason. We are all familiar with the incident, and we have our various thoughts about how restructuring should happen. Those discussions need to continue, because the status quo can not continue the way that it has been going. But, this isn’t going to be about that. This is about my similar incident, and buying milk. So, I’ll start with a important consideration about restructuring, and fade into the incident.
Derek Chauvin, who, by now, needs no introduction, did not live in the jurisdiction that we worked as a police officer. That is part of the restructuring discussion, and it should be. Chauvin was not part of the community that he policed, and that is seen as contributing to the bad way in which he performed his job. That may very well be true. I can’t dispute it. I’m here to say that in my time as a copper, I lived mainly outside of the jurisdiction that I worked. And for about a year, I lived within it. I actually even lived within the division. Here is how that all played out.
Starting out, I lived in Newport Beach, California. It is a rather present place, if you’re not familiar. I lived a fairly short walk from the beach, which is why I chose to live there. I once estimated that I was at the beach 300 out of 365 days on the average. I wasn’t always running in the surf, wearing linen. Some days I was just too exhausted to do anything but sit on a lifeguard station, but those were the most important days. On days/nights when I was nearly catatonic with exhaustion, I could sit on the beach, and listen to the roar of the waves crashing on the shore. Waves are not a piercing loudness. It is more of an enveloping loudness, which is more comforting than disturbing. You would usually not even know how loud it was unless you were trying to hear someone talk while sitting wight next to you. And in addition to the sound was what little humidity existed in Southern California, so you got a bit of a warm massage by the breeze. My description may not quite connect, but trust me when I say, it was relaxing. That described most of my nights at the beach. 20 or 30 minutes would do the trick, and the city was soothed out of my psyche.
Newport Beach was 51 miles from where I worked, so that was a bit of a haul. If I drove into the city early in the morning, I could make it in 46 minutes. With a regular mount of traffic at any other time, it took about an hour and a half. On a day with slightly bad traffic, it took 2 and a half hours. Those did not happen often, but they were not rare either. So, working and living so far apart required a routine, because being late was not an option. If I could plan for it, I’d go in very early and do a variety of things. On the daily, one of those things included picking up and dropping off uniforms at the dry cleaners which was just a couple of blocks from the station. I could workout at the gym in the station, and all sort of other things. I also always kept an overnight bag packed behind my driver seat, just in case a night went long, and the next day was coming too quickly. I slept in the station bunk room plenty of times.
One day, after several years of doing that, I had one of those deals that lands in the lap of so many officers. This involved a really nice building in Hollywood, which couldn’t have been a mile from the station. It was in it bordered West Hollywood, near the Sunset strip. Very nice new building in a very nice area. I was offered a substantial reduction of the price in order to just be an officer who lived in the building. It made the company that owned the building comfortable, and the resident manager as well. This was a fairly common practice, technically against the rules for the LAPD. ANYWAY…the prospect of chopping down that daily routine and eliminating the commute seemed pretty cool. I wasn’t the former Marine, midwestern kid anymore. I was an LAPD veteran, and I could do without 300 days at the beach every year.
My partner at that time was a dude that I didn’t like. He was a very senior officer, and an expert in narcotics, if I remember correctly. He was a genius police officer. He knew things, he knew people, and he was maybe the funniest person I have ever met. The problem was that he was also the biggest asshole I have ever met. He wasn’t like Soldier of Fortune guy that I discussed in another post. This guy, was just the type of reason who liked to express his negative views about people, share them with you, and try to get you to agree with him. He said horrible things constantly that I just had a personal objection to. He’d repeat them unnecessarily. For instance, whenever a reference was made to a patrol team with two women, Gene would say, “tuna boat”. We might hear the RTO call out a car that had two women and Gene would unfailingly say, “tuna boat”.
I wouldn’t respond. I usually kept my face turned to the window. He knew how I felt about it, which is why he’d keep saying it. When I didn’t respond, he’d say, “right bud? Tuna boat. Heh-heh, tuna boat. Right bud”. He called me “Bud” a lot. I don’t know why. I didn’t care then, and I don’t now. I hope you detect the idiotic way of his manner. I hope he sounds like an idiot. He did sound like an idiot. He wasn’t though. Gene was an extremely smart man. Freaking brilliant.
Anyway, when I mentioned to Gene, in an unguarded moment, that I was moving into the division, I guess I had a human moment and I wanted someone to express some enthusiasm about something that I liked. Gene just went into his moronic voice. “Bad idea, Bud. Don’t do it. Don’t do it, Bud.” Well, I did it. And it wasn’t long after I had moved in that we got called to my new apartment building. It was probably a couple of months later, but still quite new. I remember seeing the address pop up on our MDT (Mobile Digital Terminal). Usually we had 5 calls at any one time on the MDT, prioritized A,B,C,D,E. This call to my building was our top priority and I said, “hey, that’s my building.” Gene said, we’ll sell that call”. That meant sending it back to the RTO, and suggesting another patrol team take it. I insisted. This is what the resident manager wanted me in the building for. Gene overrode me. “Don’t do it, Bud.” I insisted again, and we went.
When we got there, the message said to see the manager, which was standard for a building like that. As it turned out, the incident involved the manager and her daughter. She and her 18 year old daughter had been arguing, and the daughter was on the verge of violence. The mom called the cops. When we got the the manager’s apartment, she was alone. Gene and I stood next to the woman while she told the story, one on either side. Honestly, I don’t recall a single detail of what she said because the incident quickly became about the daughter’s entrance.
While we were talking to mom, the daughter came running in with a kitchen knife. We spun toward the daughter. She had the knife in her right hand. I grabbed her left arm with my left hand, yanked her in the direction that she was running, and grabbed the back of her collar with my right hand…and rode her to the ground. First, my right forearm was parallel with her spine in her upper back. Then I grabbed each wrist and cuffed her. Then we picked her up, and I asked her, “what the fuck were you thinking? You could have been shot”. If that were a larger room, or if we were outdoors, she might have been. We were so close that there was no time to draw.
So, once we cuffed her up, mom wigged out. “Bill, what are you doing?” “I’m taking her to jail.” The rest of the conversation went something like, ‘But I thought…’, and my response was, all bets are off when someone commits a crime.
Gene didn’t say anything until the daughter was booked and put away. “I told you, Bud.” “Those situations never work out right.” “I told you, Bud. Didn’t I tell you?” Gene was right. It didn’t make me hate him any less.
Sometime later I needed to get some milk. I went to a grocery store close by, because that is what you do, right? Nobody drives out of town to buy groceries. Well, I went over some milk the way most people do. I went to the dairy aisle where the milk is kept. Nothing at this point was extraordinary because I have no visual memory of it. My visual memory kicks in right when I reached into a refrigerator for a gallon of milk. I grabbed the handle with my right hand, and I reached with my left. I was looking at a bottle that was just above eye-level. As I am reaching in, and the door is opened to my right, right elbow pointing backwards, cold air from the inside of the fridge blows against my face, then someone lightly grabs my right elbow to get my attention. From the direction of the grab comes the question, “hey, aren’t you that cop?”
In the first split second, I had no idea who the person was. I did not know the voice, and the voice did not know my name. What worse, I didn’t know if this was someone I had fought, or jailed, or found their lost kid. I was prepared for the worst case. I let go of the milk and spun so fast that the person’s eyes popped. My right hand dropped to my waist which held a gun, concealed in a case that looked like it wasn’t for a gun. As it turned out, my interaction was quite innocuous. I think it was something the person wanted to thank me for. Those details are lost to time. What remains is that the incident was incredibly alarming. The situation was understood by the person without much explanation. It was perfectly innocent, and, given the circumstances, badly executed. There was an awkward smile, and then I said…
“Yeah, I’m that cop.”
koshersalaami
04/27/2021 @ 8:15 am
I didn’t think you had a book, but I’m beginning to think that you do.
Jonna Connelly
04/27/2021 @ 9:56 am
This is a thing I admit I just don’t understand, the hair trigger, and, honestly, don’t expect you to explain. It may be an inevitable gap.
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 10:38 am
A hair trigger is a trigger set to go off with a very slight pull. Other than that, I have no clue what you mean.
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 12:02 pm
This story doesn’t have a “hair trigger” element in it, so I am a bit at a loss to understand your meaning. The closest thing I can infer is that you mean me personally, and that does disappoint me greatly. It should be addressed because it is a rather serious insult, if I get your meaning.
A “hair trigger” involves going off. This story had no going off in it. This is quite literally the opposite of a “hair trigger”. This is a story about being immersed in a potentially dangerous situation and not choosing to use the maximum force available. It would seem that this would be intuitive. I can’t understand why it is not.
https://www.policemag.com/363559/lapd-officer-stacey-lims-lethal-force-encounter
Above is a link about an officer named Stacy Lim. Stacy Lim was a recruit in the academy a month or two ahead of me. This incident occurred after she had been on the department for about a year. The written portion of the account is a bit sparse with details.
As I recall it, she was driving home and pulled into the front of her residence. When she got out, something like 4 assailants attacked her. Started shooting at her. I remember she was shot and hospitalized for some time. Lim managed to return fire and kill one of them…if I am not mistaken. The person who shot her was a kid.
Los Angeles, at the time, was a war zone. That was during World War Crack. I can’t speak for how it was elsewhere in the country, but there were street gangs which made war with each other for territory, and with the police for a variety of reasons. One of the common occurrences in the divisions was members of the public informing the divisions, and specific officers within divisions that they were targeted for murder. One of the common ways that was done was to spray paint the officer’s name on a wall within the division, often on the division building itself, with a line through it. That meant the individuals would be killed. This information was usually shared in roll call. You could get a Polaroid of your name with a line through it, and then there might be speculation about which gang intended to murder you, although that was not generally clear. This did happen to me several times. It usually went like, “oh, Beck, you’ve been tagged.” Then you get your Polaroid. You might even go outside and look at it in your own time. (How was it that you handled it when a hit was placed on you? It would be interesting to compare notes on how different professions handled it.)
Now, our enemy didn’t have uniforms or badges. We were in a war zone against an enemy that could be anyone. Like I said about Stacy Lim, the person who shot her was 15. How did this happen? Why would a 15 year old have that sort of a grudge against the police? In her specific case, I don’t know, but I can say where that generally came from. Kids as young as 15, 14, even 11 and 12 would join these gangs which were usually controlled by young adults on the streets, and middle aged inmates in the prisons. One of the common tasks to gain entry to a particular gang was to shoot someone. Sometimes that was an unsuspecting civilian on the street. More often it was a cop as the main target, and the civilian was a bystander.
So, as an officer in a city like that, you dont wear t-shirts that say who you work for. Because people are looking. You dont have a license plate frame, because people are looking. You dont even see another officer you know in public and greet them…because of who might be looking. Officers had signals that they gave to one another when eyes met, and they wanted to acknowledge your awareness covertly.
You live and work in a war zone. Anonymity is an important level of protection that you don’t deny yourself, or take from a colleague. Without exaggeration, that is the level of awareness one needed on that job to buy milk, or go get their mail, or go home from a softball game. Real officers are real targets for real assassination.
Tell me how you handled it when you were targeted for assassination.
Jonna Connelly
04/27/2021 @ 1:51 pm
This is what I reacted to: “I was prepared for the worst case. I let go of the milk and spun so fast that the person’s eyes popped. My right hand dropped to my waist which held a gun, concealed in a case that looked like it wasn’t for a gun.” My wording, obviously, was inaccurate.
This is what I wasn’t aware of: “You live and work in a war zone. Anonymity is an important level of protection that you don’t deny yourself, or take from a colleague. Without exaggeration, that is the level of awareness one needed on that job to buy milk, or go get their mail, or go home from a softball game. Real officers are real targets for real assassination.”
Certainly no intent on my part to insult you and no need to insult me.
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 3:10 pm
Currently there are 59,204 positive tests for Covid within the last 7 days. There were 954,907 tests given. That makes for a 6.2% 7-day daily average. From those 59,204 positive cases, roughly 1% may die. 59,204 people out of 332,000,000 equals .01783%. Stated differently, your chances of running into a person with Covid from the cases registered in the last week is almost 12/10,000.
Would it be a hair trigger to wear a mask?
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 2:48 pm
No, there is more that you’re not aware of. Nowhere in that story does it say that someone got shot, slapped, grabbed, stabbed, or anything of the sort. A hair trigger is a metaphor that means applied force with slight provocation. This was threat assessment. Accurate threat assessment. Threats in that environment were available. I was surrounded by them, and by perfectly friendly, innocent people, with no way to tell the difference between them.
We have an amygdala to power our reaction in the event of threat. We have a prefrontal cortex to assess whether what the brain stem is telling us requires any action, and if so, what action is required. Mine worked just fine. A “hair trigger” can only apply when the application of force is incorrect. If the application of force is correct, it is merely fast. In this story, there was no force at all. Correct answers are not wrong.
ArtWStone
04/27/2021 @ 4:17 pm
Had your hand not dropped towards the concealed gun I would question my understanding of your discipline.
Awareness of surroundings to the extent that self-defense is innate, but able to be quickly harnessed is likely a major component in your being here, telling the stories you have lived through.
I was taken hostage at gun point once, by a pair whom I assumed to be addicts, when the man got the drop on me from behind. The result that day and my survival was based on my wits and staying calm, however it frightened me to know I was that vulnerable.
I trained for years to overcome that lackadaisical approach to being in public and would hope that another such incident would unfold quicker to my favor, as that time it got dangerously close to tragedy.
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 4:59 pm
Yeah. First, I’m glad that situation worked out well. It’s frightening years after the fact that you were taken hostage. Disturbing.
In the space of two, maybe three days I have been involved with conversations that were built upon the premise that military service contributed to whatever fueled the insurrection. It’s flatly illogical, but there it was. And then, “hair trigger”. God knows why. I see a trend.
Once upon a time, I went to a cookout at my girlfriend’s family’s house. I met several generations there. The oldest included her Grandfather who was a WWII veteran. I was instructed not to talk to him about WWII because he would not talk to anybody about it. After I made my way through cousins, siblings, aunts and uncles, and parents, I eventually made it to the kitchen table where Grand-dad was sitting. He asked me about me, and then he started talking about himself…and WWII. People stood outside and listened. They invited me over the next week to hear about what Grand-dad told me. He had never spoken to them about WWII before.
Since I can remember, I have never understood why I have been the one to get these stories from people. I waited tables in college and used to have these customers who were prison camp survivors from Nazi Germany. Most I worked with never got a peep out of “Slippery-D”, which is what they called him because his dentures slipped. He and his wife talked to me for hours and came back several times to see me. I even used to show my grandmother, my Baptist grandmother, my magic set. Dad insisted. She spoke openly about the evil of such things, even the dice in a Monopoly game, but she never had a word about me doing magic for her.
For the life of me, I have never understood why I got these things out of people that others around them could not. I got my first clue today. When I listen to people, I don’t tell them that their experience is fucked up based upon my ignorant prejudices. I just listened for what I could learn, and tended to enjoy the experience. It occurred to me today that a shit ton of people don’t do that.
Jonna Connelly
04/27/2021 @ 6:40 pm
I wasn’t aware of a very precise definition of “hair trigger.” I should probably be overwhelmed by my ignorant prejudice but somehow I’m not.
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 7:24 pm
I suspected that type of response.
Here’s the thing. You might as well have called me a Volkswagen…with having already demonstrated a dislike of Volkswagens. It isn’t a precision issue. Not responding to what in one instant is thought could be a threat, to the next instant being determined to not be a threat, is as far as it ever gets from a “hair trigger”. It is the worlds longest trigger. It was never triggered. It has no trigger.
So…what exactly is the thought? There is a judgement rendered, but for what? What we know for certain is that it is not about quickly applied force. So, what is it?
My theory is that it is about a general feeling about police. (That is the bigotry). And it involved rendering a judgement in terms that were not understood by the one judging. (That’s the ignorance). And the third part of it is, I determine that I am justified in responding in that manner because I was the one who got the personal judgment about my emotional state, based upon nothing I ever did, or failed to do.
Jonna Connelly
04/27/2021 @ 8:32 pm
Still seems like you’re seeking offense where none exists.
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 8:45 pm
Newt Gingrich once referred to Obama as a “Mau-mau anti colonial.” He wasn’t referring to his race. He was just saying…
Trump still has a habit of referring to Obama as Barak “Hussein” Obama…which is his actual name. Anyone assuming Trump means offense is looking where none exists.
Really? You dont think context matters at all?
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 8:39 pm
You don’t think it is possible to say something really offensive by accident? You don’t think in a time where cops are receiving absurd over reactions to incidents, including one mentioned in the post, and with that context that an inference can not be drawn about speedy use of excessive violence? You don’t think a post written for the purpose of showing the inside of why some cops may choose to live away from where they work does not create the context where that inference might be easily drawn? You really see no responsibility for that at all? “Hair trigger”? Really?
Jonna Connelly
04/27/2021 @ 9:25 pm
A hair trigger can just mean a really quick reaction. You read in context that only you understand. I could paste a bunch of quotes from dictionary sites but you can look them up if you’re so inclined.
As to Gingrich and Trump. I can’t even. Not seriously.
Bitey
04/27/2021 @ 9:41 pm
Say you’re talking to a priest. And you are discussing an essay that you just read that says that not all Catholic youth ministers are pedophiles. And this priest is a youth minister. And you say to the priest, I don’t get the attraction to children. You don’t see, given the context, that it is easy to draw the inference that you might be implying that he abuses children? All you have to do is see where the inference might be drawn given the context.