You know what your problem is Bill….
I got told this today by one of the other guys after I let a driver off because he was seeing his sick mother (I saw the ambulance, waved it in and saw the blood on the floor – this was no trivial matter). I related the story at afternoon tea break to a couple of the other guys.
“I’d have booked him.” Said one of them.
“You would.” I responded.
“You know what Bill? You’re a fucking Boy Scout, that’s your problem.” He jibed.
“Fuck off.” I responded in kind. I don’t swear much, but sometimes profanity is essential. “Pull that shit on my beat and we’ll deal with it off duty.” I told him. He shut up. When Mister Sticker gets defensive, the gloves come off with the rest of the Uniform, if you catch my drift.
Thinking about it, maybe I lack the offensive ruthlessness that seems to come so easily to others in this job. Sometimes the general dyslexic manages to pull the wool over my eyes and notwithstanding I’m a sucker for lost children, kittens and puppies etcetera. I want to do my job for the right reasons, that’s why I’m not up there with the ‘Top hitters’, nor will I ever be. If someone is honest with me – okay, I’ll cut them some slack – why not? Who will it hurt?
Because I think that you get better response from the general public if you dress smartly and wash regularly – that’s what I do. My kit is kept clean, but not obsessively so. I stand up straight and when addressed by someone, pay attention to what they are saying (Just in case I need to write it down later) and look them in the eyes out of sheer politeness. Not mutter “’snot my job.” Or “Dunno.” And shamble off like some neo-neanderthal moron. If I can help when someone is in genuine difficulties – then that’s what I’ll do. If someone is taking the piss then I’ll book them – it’s what I do. I like to think that whatever I do, I do to the best of my often suspect ability. No matter what anybody else thinks.
Maybe the guy is right – I am a Boy Scout at heart. I’ll take a little pride in that then.
“I’d have booked him.” Said one of them.
“You would.” I responded.
“You know what Bill? You’re a fucking Boy Scout, that’s your problem.” He jibed.
“Fuck off.” I responded in kind. I don’t swear much, but sometimes profanity is essential. “Pull that shit on my beat and we’ll deal with it off duty.” I told him. He shut up. When Mister Sticker gets defensive, the gloves come off with the rest of the Uniform, if you catch my drift.
Thinking about it, maybe I lack the offensive ruthlessness that seems to come so easily to others in this job. Sometimes the general dyslexic manages to pull the wool over my eyes and notwithstanding I’m a sucker for lost children, kittens and puppies etcetera. I want to do my job for the right reasons, that’s why I’m not up there with the ‘Top hitters’, nor will I ever be. If someone is honest with me – okay, I’ll cut them some slack – why not? Who will it hurt?
Because I think that you get better response from the general public if you dress smartly and wash regularly – that’s what I do. My kit is kept clean, but not obsessively so. I stand up straight and when addressed by someone, pay attention to what they are saying (Just in case I need to write it down later) and look them in the eyes out of sheer politeness. Not mutter “’snot my job.” Or “Dunno.” And shamble off like some neo-neanderthal moron. If I can help when someone is in genuine difficulties – then that’s what I’ll do. If someone is taking the piss then I’ll book them – it’s what I do. I like to think that whatever I do, I do to the best of my often suspect ability. No matter what anybody else thinks.
Maybe the guy is right – I am a Boy Scout at heart. I’ll take a little pride in that then.
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