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The recollections of a police ride along with Officer Tyler Grigg of the Madison Police Department.
We rolled out. Tyler, somewhere between the Tyler I knew in college and Officer Grigg, rolled up in the squad car and we rolled out down Johnson Street into the Madison night.
Well, after explaining to me the finer points of the AR-15 that would be resting behind my head, then we rolled out.
Summer’s last bout of heat swirled around as the weather forecast predicted… Students, both those of life
and college, begin their high heeled shuffled toward State. Like the salmon returning to spawn to the same halcyon streams of their golden youth, the bedazzled students returned to perform their version of ritualized social interaction. Our night out was on that shiny moment at the close of summer right before the youngest of students begin their annual move to Madison. The air was sweetened with temptation because all knew that everyone that ambled, leaped, rode or hustled their way to State Street was of enough age and ready to enter into the fray of alcohol fueled community. It was half Night Court, half Night Church.
Whiskey Shots at Vespers, Tequila with the Sunrise.
When it rains… “It’s not so bad right now” as we pulled up to grab coffee. “It’s really the calm before the storm.” For me, I couldn’t help be notice the mix of guilt, shame, courage or annoyance on plastered on their (the public’s) faces as we roll by in the cruiser. In a matter of hours these anonymous faces would be the storm. Some would get away by the skin of their teeth. Other with a simple smile and an oath to do penance while reconsidering the amount of Busch Light that has to be on hand in their fridge at any
given time.
Tyler looks at people as I look at clouds.
His ability to divine where it would let out a human rain proved to be stunningly precise. It was an art form. Artisan idiot detection that can only come from a UW Grad turned law enforcement profession. It takes something special to know exactly where the drunks will get punches. And that something is experience.
Up and down State Street until every nook is known; every dark corner patrolled. Every restaurant’s tasty delights tested and approved at the end of each shift… Only through these rights of passage can an officer be sure of where it’s going to rain.
Reflection Before every good battle there comes a moment of reflection. A coffee sipping reminiscence of great moments past and careful oath making that speaks volumes about future plans. These are the moments where trust is extended and then earned in the line of duty. Slow nights are safe nights and moments to reflect are savored like the last drops of coffee from a simple foam cup. The logistics of a pig roast and the details of a houseboat bachelor party are the most pressing matter in the last precious few seconds before the radio crackles to life and 4D12 climbs back into his cruiser, ready to see which one of the masses will decide to destroy a concrete planter with their bare hands or start a fist fight in line for a burrito. And just for good measure we stopped in a Fire Department called. The door have
been bashed down before we got there…
Inspector’s Gadgets. After a cruise around the State Street side of the beat and quick pop by with Officer Slim, it was off to Central to finally see where exactly you go when you go “downtown”.
“It’s kinda like a hospital,” I said. “Why, because people are slow to adopt new technology here too?” I responded to myself. Tyler had a good laugh at that one. Our backgrounds in IT have lead to dramatically different careers but the difficulty of getting organizations to adopt new processes and practices remains as faithful and steadfast as the sunset. However, the systems were just an enhancement to police work. Because police work, in large part, is “hurry up and wait”. Respond. Show force and authority. Diffuse. Calm. Return things to civility. Hurry to the scene, collect the evidence, and wait for the crime lab. It’s not an indictment or call to action for or against funding this program or that. Rather is a reality that rolled over me as I followed Tyler through the maze of State Street or the corridors of central booking. You hurry up and you wait. Stretches of vigilance can ache toward boredom that is punctuated by moments of intense “presence”. In yogic terms these are the seconds in which decisions are made that can either escalate or deescalate. Bringing everyone involved closer and further from a code of human interaction that is livable day to day. What passes for livable day to day in the forensics lab is almost silly. Each room, a holding area for a machine designed to derive the “who dun it” from hair, fingerprints and bodily fluid. Did you know that the oils from the human hand fluoresce (glow) most intensely best under a 500-‐ish nm green light? I didn’t until I put the red tinted glasses on and my world exploded with new colors that some of those on State Street would have panhandled
for a year to get… Next to the video dissectors and the high powered vacuum chambers was a man that was able to better describe the scene of his first homicide better than I was able to describe my breakfast. Which upon his description nearly came back up… It was really only the fact that I had seen impromptu brain surgery in a downtown MLPS Emergency Department that kept me from losing it while Mike described getting forensic samples from a human monster that had only hours before carved his thoughts on the human condition into a poor woman’s legs.
Beginning of the end We both knew it. After he almost dumped the motorcycle on East Wash. We knew it. The fear was going to be realized. We had to deal with an intoxicated driver. Tyler had already expounded on how OWI are just the worst. And we both knew when Tyler flipped the lights on that, while doing the right thing; our little ride along had taken a turn for the worse… No community policing. No visible deterrent. No student interactions. No Officer Slim, K9 PD. Nope. Just a pissed off drunk guy that is dumb enough to get on that bike.
“I knew I was fucked the moment you turned on the lights.”
“I knew I was fucked the moment you turned on the lights.” You’d think with such a statement that someone suddenly appears to toss this person into prison until they realize the need for reform. That their burden self inflicted. No one forced them to take that drink. To get in that car. No, to someone intoxicated with that classic Friday night mélange of drugs and alcohol, none of that makes a lick of goddamn sense. All that comes out is: “You (Tyler, Officer Grigg) kinda fucked me bro.”
While sitting, watching, note taking it’s hard not to great some great quotes from the interactions of the sober and the drunk. Here’s a few that sum up the progression of the breathalization and booking process:
• “Try to make me not look like a Dick, that’d be great.” Sorry, no essayist is that talented… dick.
• “An eye for an eye leaves the world blind.” Strangely that what that monster carved in that poor woman’s leg back in ’97. Interesting the circular nature of a shift on a Friday night in Madison… The symmetry is not surprising though.
• “That’s the booze talking.” FAIL. • “This is my kinda of karma.” Ahhhhh grass hopper, there is still hope for you. • “Put yourself in my position.” No thanks, I’m fine without handcuffs. • “I blew the shit outta that thing.” 8 times apparently is not the charm. You can only
kill so much time trying to fake out the machine before it sends you to jail… • “What’s your name?” Badge Number 4368 • “I’m not fucking around. Sit down.” When you are in cuffs, don’t try to stand back up.
It will not end well. Accept that you are restrained.
Everyone just ends up tired after dealing with an intoxicated individual. It’s an emotionally exhaustion ordeal to be antagonized by someone with all of the filters removed. It’s painful not to be listened to and restrained. It’s extensive; the process of reading some their rights is brutal, even with implied consent. It’s not a knock on democracy. It’s not Patriot Act freedom robbing. It’s not a police state. It’s the reality that when people remove their mind via drugs and alcohol, they become the worst version of themselves. Gone is compassion. Humor is only used to undermine. Smart wit turns into smartass.
Paperwork.
It all ended ingloriously. In a blue Madison jail jumpsuit. Tired eyes. Collection, documentation and deposition of possessions. A long walk back across the street with a moment to reflect with the assisting officer. It went from expectation to knowing. From Funny to scary, like in a tiny elevator when he decided to size up Tyler and give him the stare down. The potential for violence subsides replaced with a detailed recollection of the events. Every word and action that implied intoxication, scribed into the allotted section of the Police Report. The death of excitement is the beginning of the administration of the law. We could hear the others over the radio. Those on state street that were doing more herding than arresting. Moving the masses safely home. Chasing after those that threatened. It sounded like excitement; fun. In Short: After the driver was committed into the jail’s custody it felt like we were grounded. Have to split up the check and do the math after a wonderful meal. Wrangling forms and providing accurate accounts and issuing appropriate citations isn’t exactly a foot chase ending in the use of nonlethal force. Our paths finally broke as he saddled up to a computer and I got a ride home from my new friend the Inspector in the most well armed taxi in the city.