Tag: Police

Humor, Secretary, Weird

Who Guards the Guardians?

“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”
– Juvenal

Several times a week, background investigators come into the office to collect information on former students who have applied for government or high profile jobs.  Most of the investigators are pretty normal and businesslike, but one or two of them make my eyebrows climb.

Perhaps. But not quite yet, it would seem.

One of the, according to the police grapevine, once had a normal 9-5 job and seemed perfectly ordinary, until the day he had a “divine revelation” that there was going to be a massive earthquake that would destroy everything – or something to that effect.  I misremember if this was supposed to be connected to an end-times scenario.  Anyway, based on this “revelation” he quit his job, packed up his wife, food, and probably guns and moved to a cabin in the mountains.  (Sidenote – the mountains?  Usually located on fault lines of tectonic plates?  Really?)  Sadly the appointed day for this catastrophic event came…and went.  Years ago.  So, chalking it up to experience, he moved back to civilization.  He’s a very nice man, very professional, and privately I consider him a harmless sort of lunatic.

Slightly more creepy is Fetish Guy.  One day, wanting to look grown up, I piled my hair on my head and threw on a pearl set me father gave me and felt very country gentry and pretty…until a regular background investigator came in for a check.  He handed me the paperwork and, catching a full look at me, stopped in his tracks.

Um, ok. Back here in reality...

“You’re wearing pearls,” he said slowly.
“Uh, yes,” I said, a bit stupidly.
“I love it when women wear those.”
“Oh.  Thank you.”  Backed away slowly.
Now, every time he comes in he always gives me an uncomfortable glance over and asks where my pearls are because he “really likes seeing me wear them.”

Ulp.

Who, exactly, did the background check on the background checkers?

Humor, School, University, Work

The Freshman’s Lot

“Of course there’s a lot of knowledge in universities: the freshman bring a little in, the seniors don’t take much away, so knowledge sort of accumulates.”
– Abbott Lawrence Lowell

It's alright, dears. This feeling of being overwhelmed is entirely normal. And here's a tip, it doesn't really ever go away.

I swear, every year the Freshmen get younger!  It’s orientation time/first week of school so herds of these infants are roaming across campus with dazed and confused looks on their faces, prodded along by overbearing parents.

These parents are walking their “children” (who are usually 18 and above) to classes, arguing that their little darlings should be able to park in the Provost’s parking space because it’s closer and widdle babykins can’t possibly be expected to walk all the way from the dorms to class, and if they are out of state, calling us in a state of panic because they their kids didn’t answer the phone when they called, and can we send out a search party now?!

We at the University Police department, hate such parents.  We hate even more explaining to them, that if their child has been robbed, accosted, or got a splinter, we actually have to work with the child (who again, is over 18) and not the parents themselves, as said child is a legal adult.  Ooh, they hate that.

All I’m saying is, my parents dropped me in middle America somewhere and bunked off to Belgium.  I got myself to school, into a dorm, registered for classes, text books and supplies , and off to classes in two days, requiring only a ride from Fairy from the airport to campus.

Fail, Humor, Office, Secretary, Sexism, Work

Insult, Injury, and Comeuppance

“Sweet is revenge – especially to women.”
– Lord Byron

Good morning, minions.  Where can I get the best real-looking plastic snakes money can buy?

Oh, I'm sorry. I thought work ended at 5.

Last week, after doing the laundry run, I returned the key to Lt. Colossus as per usual.  Then J. and I headed up to the City for the evening.  I’d left my phone at home because it needed to charge, and when we came back I had about half a dozen messages on it that proceeded thus:

“C. this is —- from work, Lt. Colossus asked me to call you and find out where you left the key to the van.  Could you call me back?  Thanks.”

“C. this is —- again, we really need that key.”

“This is Officer —-, I’m not happy.  You know that you’re supposed to turn that key into Colossus when you’re done, it’s not your car.  We need to use it.”

“C., Colossus.  Where the hell is that key?  You know better than to keep it, damn it!  We need it!”

“C.!  Where is it?!”

“C.  Hi…sorry…this is Colossus…I found the key…see you tomorrow.”

The blasted man, after having told all the officers on duty who needed the van that I had absconded with their blessed key,  had accidentally taken it home with him in his pants pocket.  Jupiter Ammon, what is it with men and pants in this office?!

But to add insult to injury, this morning he found Lt. Citrus pressing a uniform in the supply room and cracked, “Shouldn’t you have to wear a skirt to do that?”
Wise heard him and let him have it with both barrels.
“But you girls weren’t supposed to hear that,” he protested.
“It’s sexist whether we hear it or not,” I retorted.
“You just have not sense of humor,” he tried to tease.

See, my my bite far, far worse than my bark.

Foolish, foolish man. I’ve officially lost patience with your mild but all-pervading sexism and your tendency to blame things on me.  And unlike most women you seem to know, I am not of the ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away persuasion.   Also I know three very important things about you.  1 – that you scream like a girl,  2 – that you are terrified of snakes,  3 – your locker combination.

There are many ways to cure sexism and undesirable behavior.  I choose psychological warfare.

Humor, Office

I Saw A Sign (Part II)

Like I said, I am a great fan of signs.  I made this sign for Marie because she needed something appropriately British and pink to pick her up post-surgery.  I found this sign to be of great comfort to me moving towards a new fall semester.  I post signs when I have to take lunch at my desk, so that people know I’m unavailable.  I post a sign when I run to the laundry so people know where I am.  Signs are meant to be read, and more importantly heeded.

Now, would someone please explain to me how this one ended up in Lt. South’s office?  And is anyone else wondering what on earth goes on in this office over the weekends?

More importantly, can anyone explain where the stuffed raccoon came from?
Humor, Office, Stupid People, University, Work

Mob. Mentality.

“People are a problem.”
– Douglas Adams

As if we were not already desperately busy, especially with Fall semester looming, this is also when the University hosts a conference open to the public.  For a mere $44 dollars, you can come spend week going to classes about academic topics, theology, personal development, and probably basket weaving for all I know.  This wouldn’t be so bad if it were not for the people.

And we're not leaving without our commemorative mugs!

It is impossible to convey how boorish these invaders are.  You’d think they owned the place!  Office supplies go missing, we have to lock classrooms so that they can’t get in, they knock people down rushing to classes, they yell at everyone…genuine menaces to society.  However, it’s their propensity to complain about everything, usually consequences they’ve brought on themselves by their rude behavior, that really bleaches us of all sympathy.  Some favorite complaints:

I couldn’t find a parking space so I had to park in the road against oncoming traffic.
No.  You didn’t.  That’s like saying, “There were no cigarettes so I had to smoke crack.”  Not at all.  The circumstances are probably aggravating and cause withdrawals and make you irritable (not unlike frustration with parking), but the solution you propose is still illegal.

We paid good money to come to this conference, get out of our way!
We pay much, much more money to go to school here for four years.  Full time.  And do you think any of us get our way?

We paid good money to come here [again, please note $44], so we should be able to park wherever we want.
Hm…not really.  This is, in fact, a fully functioning university 365 days a year.  Which means that we have anywhere between 20,000 and 60,000 people here on a daily basis who are actually working and taking classes who need to park.  To put it simply, we trump you.  You are visitors, we are permanent.

We can’t find anything on this campus of yours.  Don’t you label anything? And where are we supposed to park?
Yes.  You will find them on those handy maps you were given on your first day.  And you can park in any one of the half-of-the-entire-campus-lots we took away from those mentioned in the complaint above this one and gave them to you to use.  For a week.  For free.  Ingrates.

The bishop encouraged us to come so, since the bishop sent us, you should give us food for free, because of the bishop.
This is not the parish potluck!

We drove a long way to come here, why can’t we leave our car in a handicapped stall?
I don’t care if the Vatican called you personally and declared all your sins would be forgiven if you invaded campus.  I don’t care if we get an email from Mecca declaring this the site of this year’s pilgrimage.  I don’t care if St. Thomas a Becket re-capitates himself and orders Chaucer resurrected to write another masterpiece about our humble university town.  You do not, under any circumstances, get to get away with such unpardonable behavior!

(Cutting in front of whole lines of people, including one in a wheelchair, to buy things at the campus store and then snapping at the people who ask you to move to the back of the queue, “We’re with the conference!”)
Who raised you?!

Humor, Office, Secretary, Stupid People, Work

Things You Say That Will Make Me Doubt You

**Don’t forget to enter the Shabby Apple giveaway!  Winner announced tomorrow!**

Now, while some people come into our office and say things that are just plain silly, other people say things that are, literally, unbelievable.  From this week (and it’s only Wednesday morning):

“I have a doctor’s note.  Uh…from…um…a doctor!”  *

“I’ve, uh, locked myself out of my car.  Don’t have my keys.  Could you guys open it for me?”
“Can you prove ownership of the car?”
“Um, no.  Can’t you just shoot the trunk lock open for me?” **

“You don’t understand, you are going to do what I tell you.  Don’t you know who I am?” ***

* I am a rhinoceros.  One of us is lying.
** I’ll bet lunch someone finds a body.  Any takers?
*** No.  I don’t.  And since it’s my job to be painstakingly aware of all requisite movers and shakers, that ought to tell you something.

Humor, Office, Secretary, Work

For Your Saftey…

We are rather busy and terribly grumpy.  We are hiring nearly 30 people, firing about 20, and processing paperwork for all of them, along with giving all our 200 employees an individual raise.  Your complaints about not being able to buy more targets to vaporize in shooting practice, bafflement on how to use the fax machine, repeats of questions we’ve answered dozens of times, or excuses of why your work is late will not be acknowledged, much less tolerated.

Go away.

Humor, Office, Work

Postive. Identification.

“Regrets are as personal as fingerprints.”
– Margaret Culkin Banning

Occasionally one of my jobs at the front desk is to help with fingerprinting customers.  Usually Officer Lampost does this but if he’s running security somewhere on campus, sick, or on vacation, I’m your girl.  Fingerprinting is one of those standard services a police department offers, we do them digitally, but I’m convinced that the customers we get are no where close to standard issue.

You get the averages weirdos, the people with really sweaty hands, the older men who lean against you and sniff your hair, and such.  But then, you get the even more bizarre types.

Like the girl who came in, said she needed her fingerprints taken, paid, and then sat down and opened up a book.
“Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me so I can fingerprint you.”
“Oh, can’t you just go get them?”  she asked in surprise.
I blinked.  “Excuse me?”
“Can’t you just go print them off for me?”
“Have you had your fingerprints taken here before?”
“No.  Why, don’t you have them ready?”
“Um…we have to prepare them – ”
“Well, do you need me for that?” she asked, with perfect sincerity.

Then there was the gentleman, about my own age, who needed fingerprints done for a job application.  I’d typed all his information into the program and then said that I needed his right hand to start the process.  His lips compressed but he allowed me to direct his hands and then fingers one at a time to the scanner.  When I was done he shook himself like I was a rodent and turned a religious, baleful eye on me.

Dear, dear. You're assuming WAY too much.

“Do you think what happened just now was appropriate?”
Pen poised above the line for my signature on the form, I froze.  “I’m sorry?”
“You hitting on me like that?  In a place of business?”
“Sir, I’m afraid – ”
“Really, it’s disgusting.  I’m married.”
“So am I, sir.  And I promise that under no circumstances would I ever hit on you,” I said, meaning it with all my heart.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath before snatching his prints and stalking out.

Like I said…weird.

Angst, Humor, Office, Secretary, University, Work

That Time Again

“No supervisor becomes the quarterback in this situation.”
– Richard Hirsch

About this time last year, we organized a meeting in which to hold student supervisor’s feet to the fire about their negligent hiring practices.  The Great Uprising of the Secretaries had some effect since the University complimented our department on having no hiring errors since then.  HA!

However, seeing as it’s been a whole year, and what with some people being raised to the position of student without being trained how to do the job, the fact that some supervisors don’t like to read forms, and that the same supervisors have developed the habit of letting the University auto-terminate their students instead of doing the work themselves (actually, telling us to do the work) and not telling us students have quit…we must again go over the same information we did last year.  And none of the information has changed.

I am imagining throwing this phone at you.

I long to be able to shake a stack of paperwork, uniforms, and gear in their faces and say, “We do all of this.  We get them hired, outfitted, in compliance with state and federal laws, and keep them that way.  We keep track of the last time you, their supervisor, with whom they have contact every day, gave them a raise.  We get them access to all secured areas, programs, and even sometimes personally hand them pepper spray (at great personal risk).  We do this, for 150 of them a year.  Literally all we ask of you is to have this form filled out so we know what timetable to do all this on…please explain to me, WHY IS THAT SO HARD?”

Fail, Humor, Office, Secretary, Stupid People, University, Work

Things You Say That Will Make Me Laugh at You

“If idiots could fly, this place would be an airport.”
– Sign on Lauper’s desk

I am constantly amazed at some of the conversations that we, as a police department, get to be a part of.  Read on for a sampling of THIS week’s pearls of wisdom:

“My child’s backpack went missing at your university over the weekend.  I’ve checked the Lost and Found, all the custodial departments, and with his camp counselors.  What do you think happened to it?”
“Honestly, ma’am, I think it very likely it was stolen.”
“(Gasp!) Would someone do that?!” *

“I just thought that if I didn’t pay these tickets they would just go away.”
“Sorry, sir, that’s not correct.  If you don’t pay tickets they go to collections after a certain number of months.  That information is found both on our website and printed on the ticket you recieved.”
“Well, I still wasn’t going to pay them.  It was the principle of the thing.” **

“I’ve been driving around for an hour looking for your pink parking lots.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The pink parking lots!  They’re pink on your map, but I haven’t found any parking lots painted pink.”
“Ma’am, we only depict them in pink on the maps to distinguish visitor parking lots from all the other lots on campus, they are really just normal parking lots.”
“What do you mean?  This is false information!” ***

“So, on Craigslist we found a listing for a scooter that we’re interested in, but I wanted a police opinion first.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it’s listed for $50, the guy says he doesn’t have paperwork for it, and doesn’t even have a key for it.  Does that sound normal to you?”
“…?” ****

* Yes, ma’am, they would.  Which is why we have police departments.
** Congratulations.  Your principles, which apparently do not include being a law abiding citizen, have just ruined your credit score.
*** I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you.
**** Let me guess, the owner is Mr. Jean Boogaloo from Nigeria.