23327 Blog Feed: hairytoad2005 2008-08-05 00:08:39 hairytoad2005 Your e-mail address 133365 2008-08-05 00:13:39 SWORN TO PROTECT
A short story
Introduction

Hello, my name is Christopher McCormick. I'm 26, white, male and I'm a police officer with the New Dover Police Service. That's a small police department that serves the city of New Dover in the Lower Mainland of BC. Many people haven't heard of New Dover. It's not a very large place, although it certainly isn't the smallest city around either, but it tends not to attract too much attention because it lays just outside Vancouver which, naturally, draws the eye away from the smaller municipalities that surround it. We're close enough to Vancouver to have easy access to the big city luxuries, and problems, but still small enough that we retain a certain suburban charm. Or at least that's how I like to describe it.

In this little story I'm going to recount to you several days of my life, on and off the job, that occurred recently. Maybe you'll find it interesting.

1752 hours, Wednesday, June 09

As I arrived for work I was already in a bit of a bad mood. I'd just come straight from a family dinner which I'd had to leave early in order to start my shift on time. It wasn't the fact that I'd had to leave the dinner that annoyed me but rather that I'd had to go in the first place. Most people enjoyed spending time with their families. In my case I found it to be an excruciating experience.

I hit the buzzer on the staff door. After a brief discussion with Tim Mazakowski over the intercom the door unlocked and I made my way into the back hall of the police station. First I went to my locker and picked up my duty belt then to the armoury to sign out my pistol. That accomplished I proceeded to the break room to grab a coffee. I hadn't slept well and I was going to need a lot of caffeine to make it through the night.

To my frustration I found that the break room's coffee pot was nearly empty. Once again I wondered why people didn't refill the thing when they were finished. This didn't bode well for the night. As I was running through the possible ways that the night would irritate me I suddenly heard a voice shout in my ear, “Hello McCormick!”

“God!” I exclaimed, nearly dropping the coffee pot in my hand. Turning to my left I saw it was Corporal Jasbir Sundhu. He bore a mischievous grin on his face, obviously pleased with himself for being able to sneak up and surprise me. “How's it going, paleface?” he asked me jovially.

“I ought to bitch slap you back to Bombay for that,” I laughed, setting the coffee pot back down. The two of us always exchanged racial jokes. I wouldn't dare do that with most people but I happened to know, from experience, that he wasn't offended. So, we would exchange insults every time we ran into each other. It was nice to have that sort of camaraderie.

“I didn't think you were on tonight,” I commented to the corporal.

“Wasn't supposed to be,” Jasbir, or Jas as we normally called him, replied. “Anne called in sick though.” He was referring to Anne Vanderveen, another corporal. She'd just joined the New Dover Police recently. Before that she'd served in Calgary. The rumour was that she'd had to leave that force due to some sort of scandal or problem of some sort but I didn't really know much about that. Wherever possible I tried to avoid the office gossip.

“Anyways, get your coffee and then let's get going. We have a noise complaint to deal with. A loud party. You and I can go to this one. Should be two of us in case there are problems,” said Corporal Sundhu.

“Oh great,” I commented.

1821 hours, Wednesday, June 09

The party was on Begbie Court, in one of New Dover's more upscale residential neighbourhoods. As I drove down the road, following behind Sundhu, all I saw was one miniature mansion after another. Each one was probably easily worth $2000000. I was somewhat surprised that there would be a noisy party out here so early in the evening. My experience was that the really boisterous partying didn't usually start until it got dark.

As we arrived at the end of the cul-de-sac I saw the party in question. Based on the white tents set up on the house's lawn and the people milling about in tuxedos and gaudy bride's maids dresses I was assuming it was a wedding reception. To me the party didn't seem all that bad noise-wise, although, as I stopped my cruiser and got out, I did hear a DJ playing the YMCA song in the distance, probably in the backyard somewhere. That in itself ought to be illegal.

The corporal and myself stood at the edge of the property for a moment, just observing. We caught looks from the party goers as anyone in uniform usually does when they show up at one of these events. Some were probably just curious, others were trying to figure out how to hide evidence of their illegal activities. One guy standing on the front lawn quickly snuffed out whatever it was he was smoking and stuffed the butt in his pocket. Chances are that he was smoking marijuana but that wasn't what I was here to investigate so I just ignored it.

Corporal Sundhu walked up a winding flagstone pathway to the house's front door, which had been left open. I followed behind, scanning the front yard and the people in it. When we arrived at the entrance there was a young man leaning against the door frame speaking to a girl in a red dress adorned with a pink flower of some kind. What struck me most about him is that he had an eyebrow piercing which, in my mind, didn't go well with the black tuxedo he was wearing.

“Hello, I'm Corporal Sundhu from the New Dover police. I'm looking for the homeowners,” my superior informed the man.

At first he didn't respond but continued speaking to the young woman. He was entertaining her with some story about windsurfing which was all very fascinating but it wasn't helping us find the homeowner. Consequently, the corporal tapped him on the shoulder and repeated himself, “We're looking for the homeowners.” The blond youth turned around at this point with a look of surprise on his face as if he hadn't realized anyone was standing there, “Whoa. Who're you?” From the look in his eyes I guessed he was under the influence of something or another, pot or alcohol or both.

“They're in the kitchen,” the girl stated. I appreciated her saying that since if I'd had to try to get information from her half baked companion I was guessing I'd be on this call for at least another hour. Thankfully though the female didn't seem quite as out of it as the male and she went and fetched the couple the owned the house. The corporal and I spoke briefly with them and just asked them to see if they could perhaps turn down the music a bit and make sure that the partying didn't spill into the street because one of the neighbours had made a complaint. The couple were cooperative, which again I appreciated, and assured us they would try to avoid excessive noise. So, with that pledge in hand, we departed.

0214 hours, Thursday, June 10

The street lights were on, casting a dull yellow glow over cracked sidewalks and potholed asphalt. Beleaguered souls loitered in alleyways to avoid even that meager illumination, lest it reveal their various shames – the drunk with his bottle, the working girl with her syringe. Down the block one could hear the hypnotic beat of dance music emanating from one of the night clubs where the young danced the night away, fueled by alcohol, drugs and youthful libidos. A constant stream of people flowed in and out of its doorways, one current headed inwards to imbibe of the hedonism on offer, the other stumbling out in an attempt to find their way home or a place to empty the contents of their bladders.

“G'your handsss offf me, pug.. piig! Youffuckking fag!” slurred one rather large fellow wearing the sports jersey of his favourite hockey team. His nose was bleeding from an earlier altercation with another fan of the entertainment district's nightlife. I was in the process of twisting his arm behind his back and placing him in handcuffs. “Shut your mouth and quit resisting,” I said with more exasperation than anger as I snapped the final cuff around the man's beefy wrists and pushed him into the back of the cruiser. Luckily he was too drunk to put up much of a fight. He had enough difficulty standing on two feet, never mind trying to muster the coordination to take a swing.

Yes, it was 2am or, as I liked to call it, “witching hour”. This is when the bars and clubs flushed out their denizens into the streets. For the next hour or so it would be more or less a series of drunken fights, impaired driving and public disorder calls for the local police department. It's the worst on the weekends but even on weekdays like that night it could be bad. That night it was a Wednesday and cheap drinks night so the fine establishments of the downtown core were packed with inebriated college students. I noticed that one of the clubs near the end of the street seemed to have attracted the most, there were still people lined up on the sidewalk outside, those who had waited all night to get in but just hadn't made it before closing.

My musings were interrupted by the sound of my prisoner retching in the back seat. “God damnit,” I swore to myself. “I hate drunks.” Getting into the driver's seat I started the engine and pulled away from the curb, taking a left onto Andrews and started towards the station to drop off my queasy friend at the drunk tank. After that I'd get to clean out the back of the cruiser. Yes, it was 2am.

0336 hours, Thursday, June 10

There was a light drizzle beginning to fall as I arrived at the intersection of First Avenue and Central Boulevard. The droplets spattered the windshield of my cruiser, glittering slightly as the headlights of oncoming traffic caught them. It made it a little difficult to see so I turned on the wiper blades, taking a look at the scene before me.

There was a white Saturn stopped partway into the intersection, some obvious damage to its front end. The hood was dented and there was an impact crater in the windshield; the glass wasn't broken all the way through but it had come close. The driver's side door was open and a man stood leaning against it. Crumpled on the ground in front of the vehicle was what appeared to be a blood spattered pile of rags, several firefighters and paramedics kneeling next to it. The fire department and ambulance service had arrived before me as they almost always did with motor vehicle collisions. The fire truck and ambulance were parked on the side of First Avenue, their red emergency lights strobing along.

I came to a stop behind the fire truck and put the cruiser into park, threw the switch to activate the roof mounted light bar so nobody would, hopefully, rear end me and then stepped out into the rain. As I approached the Saturn the paramedics were just finishing transferring the pile of rags, actually a teenage boy of perhaps 15 or 16, onto a spine board. He was making some noises but nothing that could be described as intelligible speech. I saw that his shoes were missing, as were a good portion of his pants. Then I eyed his runners, as well as some shreds of denim that had once been a pair of blue jeans, about 50 feet further down the street, behind the Saturn. Most likely that's where the impact had occurred and the vehicle had continued for 50 feet before coming to a stop.

“That's the driver over there,” said one of the paramedics to me as she loaded the boy into the back of the ambulance. I nodded in response. “Thanks. What hospital are you taking him to?” She replied as she closed up the ambulance's rear doors and headed for the driver's seat, “General.” Then the ambulance was gone, bound full speed towards the hospital. I'd have to go there later and try to identify the boy. At the moment though I needed to go speak to this driver.

The driver looked nervous, as was to be expected. He was in his forties with graying black hair, a mustache and glasses. He wore a checkered work shirt and blue jeans. The shirt was a little rumpled looking and wasn't fully tucked into the waistline. I immediately noticed that his eyes appeared red and a little watery and his cheeks also seemed flushed.

“What's your name, sir?”

“Jon Wing,” he replied.

“And you were driving this vehicle here?” I asked pointing at the Saturn.

“Yeah. He ran right out in front of me as I was making a right onto Central.”

Looking down at the pavement I observed that it wasn't really wet yet. It had just started drizzling a few minutes ago so wet pavement wouldn't have been a factor in the incident. Also, there were no skid marks so either the driver hadn't applied the brakes or he'd been traveling slowly enough that the tires wouldn't leave marks. To me the fact that the victim's shoes and clothing had been thrown clear suggested some speed was involved. I turned back to the driver who was watching me anxiously.

“Driver's licence and registration please, sir.”

Jon Wing pulled out his wallet from his back pocket and began fumbling to remove his driver's licence. It took him a couple of tries before he managed to pull it out. His lack of coordination, combined with the watery eyes and red cheeks, was making me strongly suspect he was intoxicated. Once he had handed over the licence I gave it a quick once over and confirmed that his name was in fact Jon Wing, meanwhile he had turned around and was leaning into the vehicle to retrieve his registration from the glove box. As he turned back to face me, holding out the papers, I stepped in a little closer to him and detected the distinctive scent of alcohol.

“So, how much have you had to drink tonight, Jon?”

Instantly the man's face tensed up. His jaw clenched and his eyes hardened. In less than a second, his back was towards me again and he was diving for the driver's seat. I jumped after him, grabbing a hold of his left arm, attempting to simultaneously pull him away from the vehicle and get his arm behind his back. However, with his right hand he had now gripped the steering wheel and was clinging to it for dear life. As well, around this point he began kicking backwards at me and one of his feet caught my right knee, causing me to stumble and lose my grip on his arm.

When I had recovered my footing Jon had gotten himself behind the wheel and was trying to pull the door shut. Whether it was the result of intoxication, nerves or just bad luck I don't know but, as he made a grab for the door to pull it closed, he missed. He must've thrown a lot of his bodyweight behind the attempt as well because not only did he miss the door but he actually fell partially out of the car in the process, having to catch himself from falling onto his face by bracing his left hand against the pavement.

Taking advantage of his misfortune I seized his left wrist and began to pull him out of the vehicle. He attempted to resist the dislodgement by once again hanging onto the steering wheel. Tired of him playing hard to get I reached down my free hand and pulled the cannister of OC spray (more commonly known as pepper spray) from its holster on my belt. I then administered Jon a liberal dose in the face.

Apparently Jon wasn't a fan of pepper because he began screaming at this point. There was a lot of swearing involved. I'm not sure if it was directed at the pain or at me. Probably both. Coincidentally he also took his right hand off the steering wheel in order to rub at his eyes which allowed me to fully yank him free of the car and, with a foot to his back, I pressed him face first down onto the street. I still had hold of his left wrist so I pulled that behind his back and snapped it into one of the handcuffs. He didn't resist when I pulled his right hand away from his eyes and around to join his left, maybe because I was sitting on top of his back at this point.

“You shouldn't rub your eyes anyways,” I advised him. “It just makes it worse.”

0549 hours, Thursday, June 10

“Done and done,” I announced triumphantly as I finished typing up my report and saved it to the computer. “It's funny how it takes an hour to write up a report for something that only took 5 minutes to happen.” I had just been completing the necessary paperwork for my arrest of Jon Wing. Now the Report to Crown Counsel could be forwarded and it would be up to him or her whether or not to charge Wing with the crime of impaired driving causing bodily harm. Apparently the victim had some serious injuries to his neck and head and it was still unclear whether he'd be able to walk again.

“Tell me about it,” muttered Tim Mazakowski, the tired looking officer sitting at the computer next to mine. “I'm still not done and the shift is over in 10 minutes.”

“Well, on the positive side that means overtime,” I grinned at him.

“Yeah right,” he snorted as he rubbed the back of his neck and then returned to his task.

I stood up and stretched a little then looked at the digital clock that hung on the wall. Ten minutes until my shift was over. Ten minutes until I could go home and relax, or at least try to relax, and then in twelve hours' time I would be back. That was the standard arrangement for most in the service. Twelve hour shifts, four days on, four days off. The first two days would be day shifts and the last two would be night shifts. This was my first night shift so I had one more to go and then I'd have my days off, which I was looking forward to.

Walking by the break room's open doorway I saw that Ted Woods was pouring himself a coffee as he spoke with William Edgemont. I inwardly grimaced somewhat at the sight of Woods. He'd always rubbed me the wrong way. He was the typical overconfident, muscular jock type that I'd always disliked ever since my high school days. Having been a geek I'd borne the brunt of my share of social exclusion and wedgies and I guess I still held a grudge.

“Yeah, you should've seen her. It looked like her shirt was made out of kleenex. You could see her nipples. Little cocktease.” Woods grinned as he regaled Edgemont with the story of some pretty young thing he'd encountered sometime earlier in the night during his shift.

Edgemont laughed, “Did you get her number?”

I decided to skip the coffee I had been considering. I really didn't want to sit in the break room and listen to these two engage in their banter. Woods was married and yet he was always talking about the women he met and how he was picking them up. Plus the way he talked about women didn't sit well with me either – he was always discussing them like they were pieces of meat. Personally I found that offensive and I was never able to quite hide the disapproval on my face when he talked about such things. It wasn't that I was against dirty jokes but Woods, well, his attitude was just too much that of the “player” bragging about his sexual conquests. Better for me just to avoid him. Instead I headed for my locker to start putting my gear away.

0638 hours, Thursday, June 10

The sun was already above the horizon as I got back to my apartment. I stepped inside, closed the door and headed for the fridge, claiming one of the beers that lay inside. As I popped the cap off and took a sip I wondered if it was inappropriate for someone to be drinking at 630 in the morning. To hell with it. It was my “night” now since I'd just finished my shift, regardless of what the clock said. However, it was somewhat ironic that I'd spent the entire night being annoyed and frustrated by various people who had been drinking too much and now, once I got home, one of the first things I did was to have a beer.

Beer in hand I walked out to my balcony. My place was on the fourth floor and perched on a bit of a hill so it had a good view of New Dover and, across the river, of Vancouver. I took a seat on one of the deck chairs and watched the early morning unfold. There was a jogger going for her early morning run, men and women pulling out into the street in their cars to begin their commute to stores and offices, a garbage truck beeping its way through an alley as it emptied dumpsters. Just another day I thought to myself as I finished my beer and turned in for bed.

Opening my balcony doors I reentered my apartment. On stepping inside I started for the bedroom but felt a stabbing pain in my left foot. Cursing I looked down to see that I had stepped on the sharp edge of a paperweight. It was laying on its side next to my coffee table where it normally sat. “How the hell did this get here?” I muttered to myself as I picked it up.

Before I set it back down in its rightful place on the table I glanced at it. I had received it earlier this year as a reward for five years of service with the police department. It was made of glass, in the shape of a diamond. On its surface was displayed the emblem of the New Dover Police Service. Now there was a little smear of blood on the tip where my foot had been sliced open by it. I didn't feel like cleaning it up right at that moment, or my hardwood floor either for that matter, which also now had some drops of blood soiling it. Instead I grabbed a band-aid for my foot from a drawer in the washroom and went to bed.

1411 hours, Thursday, June 10

When I awoke it was the afternoon and a hot afternoon at that, which was somewhat unusual for the Lower Mainland. What really bothered me about it was that it was so humid. I had been laying with my cheek against the pillow on my bed and when I rose up I found that both my cheek and the pillow were damp with sweat. It seems I had forgotten to turn on the air conditioning.

I began my “morning” by turning off the alarm clock. It was set for 230pm and I was already up. Then I adjusted the thermostat in order to have the AC kick in and took a shower. After that I checked out my fridge and, seeing that I didn't have much of anything, decided to head out for a meal. There was a diner only a few blocks away from my apartment building that I liked so that's where I went, walking instead of taking the car. Part of the reason for that was that, since I was going to eat some greasy, unhealthy diner fixings I could at least try to convince myself that I'd burn off the calories during the walk.

By the time I reached the diner I was starting to wish I had driven. For one thing it was uncomfortably hot and sticky out and my clothes were starting to cling to me. Secondly, my knee was beginning to hurt. It was the one that the drunk driver had kicked last night. It wasn't too bad, just a bit sore. Earlier I hadn't thought anything of it but now I thought maybe he had damaged something. I'd leave it for now but resolved that, if it was still bothering me in a few days, I would see the doctor about it.

Upon entering the diner I seated myself at my usual table in the back corner, next to the window. There was a sign that read “Please wait to be seated” but that didn't apply to me. I'd been in the place so many times, so often, that the staff let me seat myself. They even gave me a 15% discount on everything. At first I'd refused this discount, worried that they were giving it to me just because I was a police officer, which would be a violation of professional conduct regulations, but I had been assured that it was a discount they extended to several regular customers and it was being extended to me based on the frequency of my business rather than my occupation. So, I had relented and accepted the discount. I guess being a fast food addict had some benefits.

“Hey there, Chris,” said the waitress as she approached. “Iced tea right?”

“Yep,” I smiled at her.

The waitress this afternoon was Nancy. She was a middle aged lady, fairly tall with hair that frequently changed colours and a tattoo on her wrist. It depicted what appeared to be a rose stem that wound around her wrist with a number of thorns but, interestingly, it didn't have a bloom on it anywhere. I'd asked her about it once and she'd responded with a throaty laugh and informed me that it was because she was all thorns and no flower. Today her hair was blond.

It didn't take long for Nancy to return with my drink and I'd already decided on what I was having by then so I ordered a cheeseburger and fries. You couldn't go wrong with a classic. Well, perhaps a nutritionist wouldn't agree with that view but, as far as taste was concerned, you couldn't go wrong with that. Nancy took my order and departed back into the kitchen, leaving me to amuse myself until the food arrived so I ended up aimlessly looking out the window.

My window looked out on the parking lot at the rear of the diner. There was a scraggly willow tree growing at the edge of the lot and I saw a figure seated on the ground next to it. After a few moments of observation I determined that it was a woman. She looked to be native, in her twenties and had messy, long brown hair and was wearing a tight black top and a short black miniskirt. Presumably it was supposed to make her look sexy and maybe it would've if she hadn't been so skinny. However, as it was she reminded me of a telephone pole wearing a dress.

Based on the way she was dressed, her bedraggled look and her gaunt frame I was betting she was a prostitute. A drug addicted prostitute to be more precise. In the past I hadn't usually seen working girls in this neighbourhood but, lately, there'd been more activity in both the sex and drug trades in this area. It'd had actually been a topic of discussion and debate in the local media with the usual back and forth arguments. Conservatives were on one side calling for more law enforcement and harsher penalties, liberals on the other calling for decriminalization and rehabilitation. Both were probably right, in their own ways.

Once my food was delivered I turned away from the window and concentrated on my plate. It was funny how one could tune out the suffering of people nearby and just continue with one's life. Outside a woman was living through another day of what I could only assume was a painful life and here I was enjoying my dinner. How many such people would I, and others, pass on a daily basis and not stop to take the time to actually think about. We might smile and nod at our coworkers, our neighbours, even perhaps randomly encountered strangers of our own social status, make small talk, ask about their day, but we were careful to avoid those who were in need. Those who would ask for change or perhaps look towards us with desperation in their eyes.

It was a defence mechanism. People didn't know how to deal with these forgotten souls. They were in need but there were so many you felt you couldn't help them all, didn't know how to help them. Just giving them money didn't seem to be the answer, although many asked for it. So many of them had addictions that would eat up any money they laid hands on that you felt like you might just be flushing dollars away if you gave them a donation. Yet, refusing to give them anything felt heartless. Ah, but then that is life, full of choices, often none of them all that palatable.

About an half hour later I had finished my supper and was settling the bill at the diner's front counter. Behind me I heard some screaming and, turning about, I saw that the prostitute I'd noticed earlier was now standing at the entrance to the diner and shouting obscenities at a gray haired couple. They hurried inside to avoid her tirade while she began pacing back and forth, speaking, or to be more accurate, shouting, to herself.

“What's the problem there?” I asked the elderly couple as they came inside.

The woman looked rather rattled and was casting glances back over her shoulder at the disturbance outside. The man was a little calmer and placed his arm around his wife's shoulders to calm her. “She's crazy. She told my wife not to look at her and then she just started screaming,” the husband told me as he continued to reassure the woman in his right arm.

“Ok, well just stay inside here,” I told the two and then looked over at Nancy who was standing behind the counter. “Nancy, I'll see if I can move her along.” That said I pushed open the swinging doors of the diner and exited into the parking lot where the agitated woman was still stalking back and forth, talking and gesturing with her hands in what appeared to be a conversation with someone unseen. Her volume had decreased somewhat but she still didn't seem to be “all there”. I wasn't sure if her behaviour was the result of drugs or a mental illness or both.

“Hello there,” I said as I approached her. I stood a few paces away to keep clear of her in case she decided to lunge at me. She didn't look like she had much muscle on her (as I'd observed earlier she resembled a telephone pole) but people under the influence of certain narcotics can be unusually strong. Plus, even if she wasn't all that strong, she could still have a syringe on her and I didn't particularly feel like contracting HIV.

She didn't respond to my greeting but continued to walk back and forth, speaking with her phantom conversational partner. “Hi there,” I repeated. “I'm Chris.” Then to make sure I got her attention I pulled out my badge wallet from my rear pocket and flipped it open to reveal the shield and ID that identified me as a constable with the New Dover Police. “I was just wondering if you were having some problems because you were talking a bit loud out here.”

“Just step off!” she said angrily. “I didn't take anything! I didn't do anything!” Her volume was definitely rising again.

“No, I didn't say that you did,” I replied, in a calm tone of voice. “I just said that you were rather loud and I wondered if you had a problem maybe. The noise was worrying some of the people inside.”

“You mean that bitch?” she screamed, nodding her head in the direction of the couple who were inside the restaurant. “Staring at me like I'm some kind of freak show! I'm sick of you fucking people!” That said she quickly flipped her head back and spat a stream of spittle at me. It was done rather quickly but I did manage to raise my arm slightly which caught most of the spit. The remainder landed on my chest, thankfully missing my face.

I'll admit I was angry. Here I was trying to be calm and polite with someone who was causing a scene and she had the nerve to spit on me. It was times like that this that tested one's professionalism. However, I restrained my temper and resisted the urge to tackle her to the ground and place her in handcuffs. Technically she'd just committed an assault so I could arrest her but I didn't have my cuffs on me and it probably wasn't worth the time and effort. I suspected she wouldn't get much of a sentence for such a minor assault or if the Crown Attorney would even bother to prosecute it. They turned down lots of cases simply because they didn't have the resources to pursue matters that weren't considered serious and this probably wouldn't make the cut.

“You've got five seconds to leave this property on your own. After that you'll be leaving in the back of a police cruiser.” I said it calmly but firmly. Ironically it was at this point that a police cruiser pulled up in the parking lot. Driving it was Gina Marino, better known as Guttermouth Gina for her tendency towards colourful phrases. She was a tiny thing, only a couple of inches over five feet and quite attractive. She probably would look at home working in a modeling agency or as the trophy wife of some rich entrepreneur. However, looks were deceiving, because her language and drinking habits always reminded me more of a dockworker or rig pig as opposed to that of the stereotypical “girly girl”.

Gina parked next to the two of us and stepped out. “What're you doing here, Chris?” she asked me. Before I had an opportunity to answer her the prostitute interjected, “Oh, so here's your backup! Come on you little bitch! I'll gouge both your eyes out!”

“That's enough!” I told her, trying to interrupt her stream of profanities.

Gina responded a little differently. First she opened the door of her cruiser and then swung about rapidly and grabbed a hold of the angry prostitute. Shoving her into the cruiser she said, “Who're you calling a bitch you damn squaw?” Then she slammed the cruiser door shut.

I couldn't help but frown as I watched this unfold. Firstly, I was disappointed that the encounter had ended in such a confrontational manner when I'd hoped to resolve things more peacefully. Secondly, I disapproved of the slur. Gina was a redneck and I didn't enjoy her company too much. I could make a complaint against her for unprofessional conduct but I had to take into consideration the fact that I still had to work with her and I didn't want to anger her too much. Plus, she had friends in the officers' ranks so I had my doubts that much would come of it.

“Can we do without the racist remarks?” I asked with annoyance.

“What?” Gina asked, giving me a puzzled look. It was if she seemed surprised that I'd objected. “Hey, she started it,” she argued. The rebuttal would've been amusing if offered up by a child. Coming from an adult it lacked charm.

“I don't know if I'd bother arresting her,” I said, changing the topic. “It's probably not worth the paperwork.” Then I asked with curiousity, “What brought you here anyhow? I didn't call this in.”

Gina didn't look at me as she spoke, instead climbing back into her cruiser. “Don't worry about the paperwork. And I was responding to a disturbance call. Someone in the restaurant called 911.”

As she drove off I returned to the diner to finish paying for my meal as I'd been interrupted before being able to sign the credit card slip. Signing off on the dotted line I took my copy from Nancy. She grinned at me, “Good to see you guys cleaning up the trash out there.” I smiled half heartedly in return. I didn't consider the woman who'd been arrested “trash” but there was no point arguing I figured.

1927 hours, Thursday, June 10

 see yThe night shift for Thursday had been going pretty well for me. I was in a decent mood because I knew I had four days off coming up and there hadn't been a lot of calls so far. This had allowed me the time to stop for a coffee at Tim Horton's and the caffeine and sugar they retailed there had been good for my spirits. Unfortunately this changed as my radio squawked out that there was a 10-45 downtown. That was the radio code for a fatality so I listened more carefully. “DB found in dumpster behind the Paramount Theatre. Found by staff,” the dispatcher continued. “1109 Central Boulevard.”

Leaving Timmy's behind I drove towards the old Paramount Theatre. It was relatively close so it didn't take me too long to get there. When I did I saw that there were already two other officers who had gotten there ahead of me. A DB (short for dead body) was bound to attract that sort of attention so I wasn't really surprised. Corporal Sundhu was on the sidewalk in front of the building speaking to a teenage boy wearing the red and black uniform of a theatre employee and Tim Mazakowski was carrying a roll of police tape towards an alley that ran behind the structure. I followed along behind.

The alley was narrow and cluttered with a lot of trash. It seemed like the theatre staff weren't too particular where they threw out their waste because there were quite a few bags of stale popcorn and empty cardboard boxes strew about. Or perhaps they originally had been deposited in dumpsters but street people had removed them to scavenge through them. It was hard to say. Either way the alley was messy, smelled of decomposing food and there were sticky patches on the pavement that I hoped were puddles of soda pop that had leaked out of garbage bags.

Mazakowski began cordoning off the alley's two entrances, running a line of yellow tape across each to keep the public out until the investigation could be completed. “She's in that one there,” he said, waving a hand towards a dented green dumpster near the middle of the alley. It had its lid open. “The kid from the theatre was tossing a bag of garbage and he found her.” I walked over to take a quick look before Sundhu arrived and took over the scene.

What I saw would ruin my night. Not only was the body a mess to look at it but I knew her. The face was bloody and beaten but I definitely recognized her. This was the same prostitute I'd been dealing with outside the diner just hours before. I stopped and just stared for a moment, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Yeah, not a pretty sight,” noted Mazakowski as he came up to join me. He'd mistaken my wordless stare for shock of a different kind. He thought I was taken aback at the woman's pulverized face. “Someone took the boots to her.”

I wasn't really listening to what he was saying. In my mind I was running through the possibilities. If Marino had arrested this women around 230pm that afternoon then she must've spent at least an hour or two in lockup while the paperwork was processed. That meant she could only have been on the streets for two or three hours tops before she was killed. That dramatically narrowed the time frame for when the homicide could've occurred and was very important information for the investigator to know. I knew that I had to inform Sundhu so, ignoring Mazakowski, I turned to go find the corporal, only to find he was already entering the alley himself.

“Corporal,” I said. “I know this woman. She's a prostitute that Marino arrested just a few hours ago for causing a disturbance. You should check with her to see when she was released.”

“Really? Do you know her name?” asked Sundhu.

“Sorry, I don't. Ask Marino. She should have all that.”

“Hold on,” Sundhu said and keyed his shoulder mic to speak to dispatch. “Dispatch from Sundhu. Can you give me Constable Marino's home number please. I need to get a hold of her.”

I waited while the corporal got the telephone number and then dialed Marino's home on his cellphone. He walked down the alley a ways as he spoke to her for a few moments. When he returned he had a quizzical look on his face. “Marino says she didn't arrest any prostitute today, McCormick. What's going on here?”

“I don't know. I saw her take this woman away...” I said.

“You're sure it is this woman here?” he questioned me. “I mean, her face is pretty beat up.”

“It was her,” I replied definitively.

“Well then something doesn't add up here. You say that Marino arrested her. She says she didn't and now she's dead in a trash bin.” Sundhu was sounding frustrated. I couldn't really blame him. I was confused and frustrated too. Looking at the body in the dumpster my mind went back to what the waitress at the diner had said 'Good to see you guys cleaning up the trash'. I didn't like where my thoughts were going on this.

2035 hours, Thursday, June 10

“McCormick is 10-61,” I radioed in, informing dispatch that I was going on break. The corporal had given me permission to take an extended one. I was using it so I could drive out to Gina Marino's place. I needed to speak to her to find out why she was saying she hadn't arrested this woman.

Marino lived in a house in one of the middle to upper middle class areas of town. The streets weren't lined with the mansions of Begbie Crescent but they were nice nonetheless. Two car garages, nicely manicured lawns and rock gardens. As I pulled into her driveway I saw that she had a shiny new Mazda sitting out front.

Gina answered her door with an expression on her face that clearly indicated to me that I was an unwelcome presence. Her brows were furrowed, her lips were tight and it looked like she was clenching her jaw slightly. “Come in,” she said tersely. She didn't bother to ask me why I was here. She knew.

Surprisingly she did offer me a drink. I took a coffee and she had a tea. Then we sat down at her kitchen table. “I know why you're here, Chris,” she said. Her facial expression was in the process of changing now. She actually started to look depressed as she cast her gaze down at the glass tabletop and nervously rubbed the handle of her coffee mug.

“I figured you would,” I said. I didn't say anything else but just waited to see what she would say next.

She looked up at me. “I couldn't tell Sundhu I'd seen her before. It would just be too difficult to explain. He wouldn't understand.”

“Understand what?” I questioned her.

“You know what it's like out there,” she said, looking me in the eyes almost desperately. “Having to deal with those idiots all the time. Hookers and pimps and crackheads.” She was searching my face as she spoke, examining me to determine my reaction.

“Yes, I know but why did you say you hadn't arrested her?” I asked.

She sighed long and hard. “I didn't arrest her. Not really. All I did was drive her downtown and drop her off. Just was getting her away from the diner so there wouldn't be another disturbance complaint.”

That was not the proper procedure. You didn't just grab a hold of someone, drive them across town and dump them. If you took custody of someone you had to document it and follow the rules set down by the law and policy. However, I had heard of some officers doing this before so I wasn't totally shocked by it.

“OK, well, that's not too bad, Gina. You still should've told the corporal that you'd seen her. It's important to the investigation.”

She was silent for a time, looking down at her coffee. Then she looked over at me and said, “It's more complicated though.. I.. there was..” She stopped.

“Yes?” I waited, being as patient as I could be.

Smiling almost shyly she reached over and put her hand on my right arm. “Chris, like I said, you know what it's like.. Well, the hooker she was swearing at me the whole damn ride and then I saw her pimp so I ... I pulled over and let her out.. and she's still swearing at me and screaming..” She paused here and bit her lip slightly, “So, I dropped her off with her pimp and I told them that if she caused any more problems for the police I'd arrest them both. I'd find something to charge them with and I'd arrest them.”

I resisted the urge to frown. I wasn't liking what I was hearing. For one thing making those kinds of threats was very unprofessional, possibly even criminal. For another, I felt I still wasn't getting the whole story. However, I did my best to keep an open and receptive look on my face, afraid that if Gina sensed I wasn't sympathetic to her point of view she would clam up.

“I'm sorry, Gina but I still don't understand... you still could've said you'd seen her and just left that part out... if that's what you're afraid of..”

“Chris, I..” she paused and gave my arm a little squeeze and smiled. Her head was tilted slightly as she spoke to me. These were all indications to me that she was trying her hardest to get me to empathize with her. She wanted me to like her and hopefully see things the way she wanted me to see them. “Well, the pimp.. I think he was high or something.. when I drove off I saw, in my mirror, that he was beating her... I guess maybe he was angry that she'd brought the heat down on him or something..”

This was huge. If the pimp had been assaulting her only a short while before she was found dead, apparently beaten to death, then he was a prime suspect. Corporal Sundhu had to be told this. Obviously Marino was afraid of being disciplined for arresting someone and not doing the paperwork and ignoring an assault in progress that had, possibly, progressed to a homicide. Her fears were not a good enough reason to avoid the truth though. Something like this couldn't just be swept under the rug.

“I know what you're saying, Gina,” I told her. “I understand but you have to tell the corporal about this. That you saw the victim being assaulted just before she died... that's vital.”

Gina quickly snatched her hand away from my arm and her face took on an angry expression. I guessed since her ploy to gain my sympathy had failed she saw no reason to continue the act. “I'm not telling him anything, McCormick,” she snapped. “I'm not flushing my career down the toilet.”

“This is a homicide investigation, Gina. You can't just withhold stuff like this.. not for a homicide.”

She stood up and pointed a finger at me. “What the hell is with you, McCormick? You've always got such a stick up your ass! With your holier than thou, by the book attitude! Why do you care so much about this hooker? This is the same woman that just spat on you today!”

I was somewhat surprised by the last remark as I hadn't known that Gina had seen her spit on me. I'd thought that she'd arrived just after that but I guess she'd observed the incident as she drove up in her cruiser. “Yes, Gina, that's right, the same woman, as in human being, as in person. A person who is now dead and we're police and it's our job to investigate her death. Remember that? Remember your job?”

“Get out of my house,” she said.

2149 hours, Thursday, June 10

Corporal Sundhu and I were seated in one of the interview rooms at the station. In the old days they would've called them interrogation rooms. Use of the word interrogation was now considered too aggressive and politically incorrect so now the preferred term was 'interview'. At the moment, I was being interviewed by the corporal for the homicide investigation into the dead woman in the dumpster. Her name was Harriet George I'd found out.

I signed off on my statement that I'd just completed. In it I detailed everything that had transpired involving Ms. George that I was aware of, from first encountering her at the diner, to Marino taking her away to finding her in the dumpster. I also had related, word for word, or as close I could get, my conversation with Constable Marino. It had taken me a while to write it all out and I had developed something of a cramp in my hand.

“I guess that's it,” Sundhu said. He eyed me, “You know that she's the niece of the Chief, right?”

I made a noise that was half laugh, half grunt. “I knew she was some sort of relative. Didn't know she was his niece though. Guess I shouldn't apply for any promotions anytime soon.”

Sundhu laughed, “I don't think so. I'll forward this to Professional Standards. They'll have to start an investigation into her.”

I nodded then stood up, “Well, I'm going to get back out there.”

Exiting out into the hall I saw Mazakowski and Woods. They were just leaving the break room, styrofoam coffee cups in hand. Both cast suspicious looks in my direction, then quickly headed the other way without saying anything. I guess word had already spread that I'd reported Marino for her misconduct. Woods' reaction didn't really surprise me but Mazakowski's snub bothered me. I had hoped that he would understand. With nothing else to do I proceeded back to my cruiser and got back to patrol.

0617 hours, Friday, June 11

I was glad when the night was over. Not only because I now had four days off but because every time I ran into a fellow officer for the rest of my shift I felt I was being treated differently. They all seemed to be looking at me strangely, as if I had changed into an exotic creature of some kind. The conversations I had with them also seemed somehow more formal and tentative, as if they were carefully weighing each word before saying it, afraid to talk openly around me. Maybe I was just paranoid but it seemed like I was now not as trusted as I once had been.

Once I had finished my shift I headed for my car as rapidly as I could manage. I didn't even consider going in the break room. I'd just had enough for one night and wanted to get home. My hope was that I could cocoon myself in my little Honda for my drive home, then cocoon myself in my apartment for the weekend, isolated from the troubles and worries of the world. At least for a little while.

When I got out to the parking lot where the staff vehicles were parked though I found that my Civic wasn't quite as I'd left it. Someone had taken a black felt marker to it. Across the hood and the driver's door were written the words “Rat” and “Fink” and then, on the trunk, to sum it all up, was “Traitor”. Seeing this I alternated between anger and depression. Part of me wanted to find the perpetrator and tear a strip off him, or her, and the other part was just saddened that someone, presumably a fellow police officer, would do this.

I resolved not to lose my cool here. Instead I just got into the car and drove home, probably a little faster than I should've. Tomorrow I would see about cleaning off the graffiti that adorned my hatchback. Maybe I could clean them off myself. Maybe I would have to get a new paint job. For the time being though I didn't want to worry about it, I just wanted to get home.

After I'd parked my redecorated car in my building's underground parkade I made my way up in the elevator to the fourth floor where my apartment was. Shutting the door behind me I threw my keys on the kitchen counter and opened up the fridge. Grabbing hold of a beer, I twisted the cap off and then fell back onto the couch in the living room. Then I just sat there for a while.

Rubbing my forehead I thought about the last couple of days. It was amazing how much could happen in such a short while. I wondered if I'd done the right thing. I wondered if I really was a traitor. But how can you just ignore evidence in a homicide, even if it is harmful to a brother, or sister, officer?

I leaned further back into the couch and took a swig from the beer bottle. On the coffee table in front of me I saw my paperweight. It was the same one I'd cut my foot on the day before. There was the brownish stain of dried blood on the tip and, beneath it, etched in the glass the motto of the New Dover Police Service. It read Sworn To Protect. Somehow reading that helped.
]]> 102016 2008-05-28 00:46:15 I've been feeling a little overwhelmed lately.  Sometimes I just feel like I would like the world to stop so I can get off and have a breather.  I've been working a lot with not much time off and I'm getting burnt out.  Plus, soon I have to start applying for my student loan in order to pay for the fall and I'm kind of worried about it.  Actually I'm worried about school in general.  I'm a pretty obsessive person.  I like to have everything planned out in advance, to know exactly what I'm getting into and know the lay of the land in advance.  However, although I know I'm intelligent and academically inclined, there is so much about university that I am not familiar with that it makes me nervous.. I have to do scheduling, pick electives, apply for loans, apply for grants, etc. etc.  And the fact that I'm going to be so much older than the other students also makes me feel rather self conscious.

Additionally, because the diploma program I'm entering is in police and justice studies it will have physical components.  I know I am not in the best of shape and that makes me nervous too.  I'm working on that though.  As I mentioned before I started a program of walking and have lost some weight.  Well, yesterday I went to a private training studio for the first time and had a session with a personal trainer.  I purchased a package of 12 sessions for $700 and will be going twice a week for 6 weeks, plus doing some exercise on my own time too.

My first session was not too much fun.  First of all I had to work a night shift the night before and I had only managed to get a few hours sleep.  Also, I had been in a hurry to get there once I woke up so I skipped breakfast.  After an hour of working out I was getting pretty warm and had some water which evidently wasn't a good idea because I immediately became nauseous and had to vomit.  It was over quickly and wasn't too painful but still... I'm guessing that's an indicator I'm not in very good shape.

On the positive side I learned that I'm an inch taller than I thought I was.  To start off the training program the trainer measured my height, weight, blood pressure, etc.  I'm 6'1" apparently whereas I always thought I was just 6 feet.  I guess the last time I bothered to measure my height was when I was 19 or 20.  I figured I would've been done growing by then ... but either I grew an inch or she measured me incorrectly.

It's almost time for me to start working another night shift at the casino.  Actually the union at the casino held a vote yesterday on whether to accept a new collective agreement or not.  I am not sure what the result is; I haven't heard.  I'm thinking that it might've been rejected though because the last contract offer was rejected by over 80%.  If it has been rejected it means that I will be going on strike soon.

Not sure how I feel about going on strike.  On the one hand, I wouldn't mind having some time free from work because I have been working a lot and I still do have a second job (although it doesn't pay as much and the hours are not reliable).  However, on the other hand, I need money and if we go on strike I suspect that my income may be dropping... I've heard it said that I would be eligible for strike pay if I did picket duty but I'm not sure how picket duty works... does it go by seniority??  I'm one of the most junior members in the union since I just joined so, if they assign picket duty by seniority, I might not get any time on the picket line and then I wouldn't earn any strike pay.

Oh well, I guess time will tell.  At least it's summer now.  Longer days, warmer weather and, best of all, no more snow.

]]> 99313 2008-05-21 06:47:38 It seems that more and more my blog entries are sort of journal entries relating trivia about my life.  I used to try to write about more substantial things.  Previously I wrote essays on various topics that interested me (politics, law, etc.) but lately I've just been recording events from daily life.  I think I'd like to write another essay sometime but if I do it I want to take the time to do it justice and I just don't seem to have the time or energy lately to produce something worthwhile so it will have to wait.  For the time being I'll just ramble on about the various unimportant occurrences that make up my day to day routine.

So, I've been working at the casino for about two weeks now.  I actually like it pretty well.  I've worked security in a lot of different environments and for various employers and  the casino takes security more seriously than most places do.  It's a highly regulated environment with lots of rules, both for the customers and for the staff, which is fine by me because I'm pretty "anal" you could say - I like rules.  It's the job of the Security Department to watch for money laundering, loan sharking, intoxicated customers, theft, etc.  We watch for minors, watch for customers who may try to bring weapons into the casino, perform safety escorts for people who have won large sums of money, etc.

Probably the most entertaining incidents occur when you have to remove someone from the premises.  They always claim you are being unfair and unust and go on about how you don't have the authority to do this, etc.  However, under BC's Gaming Control Act the casino (and hence the security) has quite a lot of legal authority to refuse service to people.  Under the Act we have the authority to order people to leave if we have reasonable grounds to believe they are legally prohibited from being in the casino (i.e. they are banned) or if they are doing anything illegal in the casino or even if they intend to do anything illegal in the casino but haven't done so yet.  They are then legally required to immediately leave once we request they do so and if, they fail to do so, or if they come back within 24 hours of being requested to leave, they are subject to a fine of up to $5000 and we are entitled to use force to eject them.  We can also ban them for longer than 24 hours but that is a more complicated process that requires approval from more senior staff but any security officer can issue a 24 hour "ban" in the circumstances previously mentioned.

I have already taken the training courses for private security required by law in BC but apparently there is some additional training for casino security that I will need to take soon.  It's a two week program that goes into further detail into the laws and regulations governing gaming and also involves more in depth use of force training.  Also, there is word that casino security will be issued with handcuffs at some point in the future.  This is fairly rare for private security in BC.  Actually, the regulations currently prohibit private contract security in the province from using or carrying any weapons or handcuffs (the exception being armoured car guards who are permitted to carry firearms).  However, the regulations are in the process of being changed.

Actually I wouldn't mind if we could be issued with some sort of weapon as well, in addition to the handcuffs.  I don't think a firearm would be necessary (although I understand that some casino security in the USA have these).  OC spray (a.k.a. pepper spray) and/or a baton would probably be sufficient.  However, I am not going to hold my breath because in Canada the use of weapons is a very touchy subject, even for public law enforcement, and they are especially leary of allowing private security to carry weaponry.  On the one hand I can understand this but, on the other, I've either personally experienced, or heard of, enough situations where you are a lone security guard faced with 3 or 4 hostile individuals, or an individual armed with a knife or some other makeshift weapon, that I would definitely appreciate being able to carry some sort of weapon for self-defence purposes.

]]> 97984 2008-05-17 19:36:01
In my case though I will be working through this long weekend.  Actually, between the two jobs I'm doing right now, I now have worked just shy of two weeks without having a day off.  That's good because I can use the money but it's also bad because I'm starting to get a little burnt out.  My feet are especially killing me.  Working in security involves spending a lot of time on your feet, either doing foot patrols or standing at attention.  If you're on duty it is generally frowned upon for you to be seen sitting down because people associate a security guard who is sitting down as being lazy and not working.  So, you really only can sit down if you're on break and away from the public eye.  Plus, I'm expected to wear dress shoes at most places because runners do not look professional. 

Dress shoes however just aren't designed to support your feet like runners do.  I've even purchased inserts for them but, after 8 hours a day of walking or standing in them, my feet are always hurting.  It's such a relief at the end of my shift to get them off.  I've noticed that the pain in my feet has translated somewhat into my lower back as well.

On the positive side my attempts at getting into better shape seem to be having some success.  I've lost another 2 lbs. since last week and my pants have become so loose I've had to bring them into the tailor to have the waist taken in.  The walking and reduction in junk food seems to be having some effect.  I think I need to kick it up a notch though and start working with weights.  I know nothing about that sort of thing though so I expect I'll have to see a trainer which is going to be expensive.  Oh well, I suppose I should just look at it as an investment.  It is necessary for me in order to meet my career goals and it will be good for my health as well.

Taking a detour from my previous line of thought for a moment... I think I'm going to ignore the forums on here for a while.  I haven't had as much time for reading through and posting to them lately because of all the shifts I've been working.  Additionally, I've found that some of the discussions and debates on there are not all that productive and I'm not sure I should bother with them.  I'm not saying that all of them are useless but some people seem to go on them simply for the purpose of getting into arguments and spewing emotionally charged and provocative statements.  I'm not againt a debate on issues but I dislike it when things devolve into name calling and tit for tat exchanges.  If you want to have an exchange of ideas and perhaps test your theories through logical debate then that's one thing but simply going on there and stating what your position is and then closing your mind to any criticism, or worse yet, resorting to petty insults against those who disagree with you, is .. to me... a waste of time. ]]> 93995 2008-05-07 00:25:49
I'm suffering from a bit of a sunburn right now.  Today I worked a shift as a security guard at the university campus (actually the same university I will be attending this fall) and it was a nice sunny day so I ended up getting a sunburn.  I burn very easily because I have such pale skin.  Once I joked that if I fell into a snowbank in winter I might never be found.  Basically I'm as pale as you can be without being albino.  Well, except for my freckles.  Tomorrow I'll have to see if the boss can lend me a cap or something.

In an effort to get in better shape I've been walking on a daily basis.  There's a 4 km loop I take.  Actually sometimes I extend it to 6 or 7 kms if I feel particularly energetic.  Right now I'm just walking it but I'm planning on starting to jog parts of it and, hopefully, eventually I will be able to jog the entire 4kms.  I think it is paying off because I seem to have lost some weight.  My waist size has shrunk by 1 inch and I'm now at 203 lbs.  I'm not entirely sure but I think I was roughly 10 lbs heavier than that a month or so ago.  Just need to keep to the program.  I've started exercising before and given up on it when my willpower waned.  However, knowin that I need to be fit for university this fall will hopefully keep me motivated through the summer.

Oh, one more thing.  My mp3 player is ticking me off.  I have a Sony Walkman mp3 player that I bought back in January and it worked just fine... until Sony decided to shut down their online store where I bought my songs.  Now I've been looking for another place to buy songs but all the places I tried .. well their songs don't transfer to my mp3 player.  Itunes doesn't work because its songs only play on Ipods (I should've known that but I'm not too technologically savy).  Yahoo and MSN's sites didn't work for me either because, apparently, this Walkman won't play songs that have DRM which seems to be pretty much everybody.... so, I'm rather frustrated.  I'm wondering if I am going to have to get a whole new mp3 player now. ]]> 93584 2008-05-06 00:04:02 Hold fast!
There is hope yet.
The night is dark but the sun shall rise,
The winter is long but spring shall come,
The injustice is grave but wrongs shall be righted,
The tears are bitter but your eyes shall smile again.

Do not let go!
When the void comes to claim you do not go willingly.
Shout and scream your defiance,
Claim the future that is yours,
Kick and punch and bite and struggle for truth and justice and liberty,
Do not fear the dark forces that oppose your destiny,
They have already lost the war,
Because you have staked your claim in tomorrow,
And you did not let go. ]]> 92940 2008-05-03 22:07:24
I'm not sure of the causes but I can see the effects readily enough.  In a word: dissatisfaction.  I am always dissatisfied with what I have.  Even when things are going relatively well my mind tends to gravitate towards what I wish was there and is not.  I've always wanted what was just out of my grasp.

For example, I'm not satisfied with my current job situation.  I'm working and I'm managing to make ends meet but I'm not satisfied with it.  I'm not able to afford to operate a car or even a place of my own (at 28 I'm living with my retired parents - yes, go ahead and laugh, I would too if I weren't in the situation myself).  Now, I am taking steps to remedy this by going to university this fall so that, hopefully, with a higher education under my belt I can get a job that pays better and afford things like a home, or at least apartment, of my own.  Still, in the meantime I'm not too happy about things.. but is it really healthy to focus just on what I don't have and what I am unhappy with?  Nope, absolutely not.  I should be happy that I have an income and I'm not on welfare (because I was years ago and good luck trying to live on that) but instead I am just really frustrated that I can't afford to do the things I want and that, at 28, I still haven't found myself a career that really suits me.  I've done a little bit of everything - door to door salesman, security guard, process server, front desk clerk, telephone sales (for a couple of days before I quit), bellboy - but nothing that I can really call a career.

Or turning to social life. As I've admitted before, I'm a pretty "stand offish" kind of person.  I don't have a lot of friends.  Not that I don't want friends but I'm cautious and it takes time for me to develop friendships.  Some people are naturally sociable and can make friends at the snap of their fingers.  I definitely am not like that.
 
For one thing, I am somewhat picky about who I am friends with.  I expect them to share certain moral values .. I don't like people who are dishonest or cheats (if you like to gossip about people behind their back or you cheat on your girlfriend or like to shoplift, etc. then I am not interested in your company).  Nor do I like bullies or arrogant people (if you like to put other people down or pick on those who are weaker than you then I also am not interested in your friendship).  I also am not fond of lawbreakers... I realize that it is basically impossible to go through life without breaking some laws but I don't like people who make a habit of breaking the law or are disrespectful of the law... drunk drivers especially piss me off.  It is selfish, shortsighted and disgusting and I won't associate with someone who does it and I have no compunction about reporting such a person or even making a citizen's arrest myself.

Anyways, back to what I was saying.. I expect a certain moral standard from people who I intend to call "friend".  I have found that quite a few people don't meet this standard.  Some people have told me I'm too anal about this "right and wrong" thing and I shouldn't be so judgmental.  They may have a point to some degree and, over time, I actually have become a little less picky and let things go in my friends that, years earlier, probably would have led me to disassociate myself but, still, I would say it is fair to say that I am fairly "picky" about who I associate with.

On top of that "pickiness" I am a rather introverted person.  The old fashioned word would be "shy".  Through working in fields that involve a lot of public interaction I learned to lose some of this shyness.  It's hard to work years as a security guard or a front desk clerk, interacting with people for hours a day, days a week, without learning how to be at least somewhat sociable.  However, this ability for me to smile, nod and carry on small talk is a "work skill".  It is something that I can do when I am working but, when I'm on my own time, I don't seem to know how to do it.  I need to have a purpose for my socializing, a goal, an objective... if I am simply socializing for the sake of socializing I lose my nerve it seems.

When I see extroverted people and how they make friends easily and always seem to be having such a good time I must admit I am jealous.  They go to parties and enjoy themselves whereas, if I go to a party, I am always very uncomfortable because I am bound to not know lots of people and that means I have to meet them for the first time which is stressful for me.  They can meet someone and strike up a conversation easily and make a connection quickly but that just ain't likely to happen for me.  Again, the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, right?

As for romantic relationships .. well, my shyness and the "grass is greener" syndrome carries over into that arena as well.  As one might imagine a shy person doesn't forge relationships very easily.  On top of that, I am, as I just admitted, picky.  I also seem to suffer from what I think is a commonplace disease of the mind that I refer to as the "nerd fantasy".  Watching movies or TV, reading various books, one encounters again and again the scenario whereby, somehow, the geeky, nerdy guy wins the beautiful, socially popular girl.  I think that got ingrained into my nerdy brain somewhere in my youth and, although I am older and wiser now, I haven't been able to shake it.  Consequently, I always seem to fall for some woman I can't ever hope to be with, usually stunningly beautiful and very extroverted, outgoing and easygoing - all the things that I am not.

The relationships I have had I have not been satisfied with because they don't match this image I have in my head.  And that's stupid.  I know it..  But my inner geek is still waiting for some supermodel to fall for him. Lol.  Again, the grass is greener...

So, there it is.. my life story.  I'm actually kind of embarassed to admit some of the things I wrote about here but.. what the hell, gotta vent somewhere.  Perhaps they could make my life into an after school special on the dangers of always thinking the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. ]]> 92685 2008-05-02 23:48:55
I don't think that I'm totally selfish though.  Honestly, I do want to help people.  When I see others in need I genuinely want to help them because I empathize with their plights.  I can imagine myself in their situation and know that I would want someone to help me if I were in that spot.  Still, I'm not completely altruistic because part of me hopes that someone is watching and will give me a pat on the back afterwards.

Perhaps it goes back to childhood.  Many things do. I suppose  I was always rather an insecure child, never sure of my worth and I guess that has carried over into adult life.  I still feel the need to prove myself worthy of people's affection and approval.  Strangely enough, even though part of me wants people's approval, I tend to be "stand offish" with most people and some would even call me cold.  That is a self defence mechanism I think.  You can't be rejected and fail to meet people's expectations if you don't get close to them.  Of course, it also means that life can be rather lonely sometimes.

As I get older I get wiser at least.  Things that I didn't understand about myself when I was younger I do understand now.  I'm more in tune with my inner workings, able to understand where my feelings come from, how they ebb and flow, etc.  Understanding is half the battle.  The other half is to take your understanding and act on it, to work on those flaws and weaknesses you find in yourself.  Now that is a scary and formidable task.  To delve into your mind's dark recesses, shining the light of reason upon your thoughts and feelings and then rooting out those things that make you sick and tired.  Perhaps that takes a little bit of heroism of sorts. ]]> 90875 2008-04-27 15:19:39 Normally I like to write essays on various topics rather than diary entries on my blog but I can't think of anything particularly fascinating in the realm of philosophy or politics to wax on about at this moment.  Plus, I do have some developments in my life that are preoccupying my mind.  Therefore, I guess I might as well write a little blurb about what's going on with me personally.

As I mentioned in my last blog I quit my job and then went on a little vacation.  Thanks for the kind words on that front, Pita.

Now I am back home and have been searching for full time work.  Currently I'm working on-call as a security guard and this has, lately, been amounting to about 20-30 hours per week.  However, there is no guarantee that the hours won't drop and also the pay is pretty low.  So, I've been looking around for something better paying and with more hours.

To that end I sent in applications to various businesses, including a casino and an armoured car company.  I got responses from both but decided to withdraw my application from the armoured car company because their office is too far away from me.  It's in another town and it's not practical for me to commute anymore since I no longer have a car.  So, I'm just focusing on the casino job for now.  I've had one interview and submitted a bunch of paperwork to get my government licence and now I need to go in for a second interview with the General Manager.  Hopefully that goes well.

Also, I got some really good news the other day.  Back in March I applied to go to university.  I've never been to university even though I'm 28.  When I was younger I dropped out of high school due to depression and anxiety.  When I was 22 I did go back and finish it but I never have gone to university (well, besides some correspondence courses I've taken).  So, I finally decided it was time to give it a try and I applied for the Police & Justice Diploma program but I never heard back, and the deadline for applications is at the end of April, so I sort of relegated my hopes of getting in to the back burner and tried to forget about it.  Then this last week I got a letter saying I've been accepted so I'm pretty happy about that.

That's not the end of the story though.  It's going to cost about $6000 or so a year to go and I don't have enough money so I need to apply for a student loan now.  Also, I need to work on my physical fitness because there are physical components to the program and I must admit to being out of shape and a bit of a couch potato.  So, it's not guaranteed that I'll reach my goal yet but it's a start and I'm pretty happy about it.

]]> 89451 2008-04-23 01:07:07
Anyways, now my little trip is over and it's time to get back to reality.  First things first, I need to obtain full time work.  I still have some part time employment working for a security company.  They have me on call and every now and then ask me to fill shifts, guard a shopping mall here, guard a college campus, etc.  So, I am getting a few hours from them but not really enough. 

Had a bit of a nibble the other day that might lead to a possible job.  I had an interview with a casino and he said he was possibly interested in hiring me as a security officer there.  It would just be on-call to start out because the union contract specifies all employees start off on-call but it might turn into full time.  Of course the job offer isn'[t firm yet but I'm cautiously optimistc. ]]> 87435 2008-04-16 22:31:08 The flash of teeth,
The curve of lips;
Let me pause a while,
Until this heartache does cease,
When I can brush her smile with fingertips. ]]> 84932 2008-04-09 13:26:09
1. Intelligence: A good leader must be smart enough to understand what needs to be done and come up with a plan to do it.  They should understand themselves, those that they lead and the wider world.

2. Wisdom: A good leader must be able to learn from experience.  Intelligence is the raw talent necessary for good decision making but the ability to learn from one's successes, and failures, and those of others, is what wisdom is made of.

3. Honesty: A person must be honest, with themselves and with others.  Nobody wants to follow someone they don't trust and how can you trust someone who is dishonest?  There may be some situations where it is acceptable to be deceptive, such as telling a "white lie" to spare someone's feelings or when you need to deceive an enemy in an adversarial situation (i.e. making an enemy soldier think you're going to move left when you're going to move right) but honesty is, in most situations, the best policy.

4. Fariness: In order to be a worthy leader one needs to be fair.  Good leaders are not soft on those they like and hard on those they dislike.  They reward people for doing well, even if they personally dislike them, and they punish those who do wrong, even if they may personally feel affection for them.

5. Loyalty: Leaders care about and feel loyalty towards those that they lead.  They want to, as much as they can, protect them from harm and provide them opportunities for advancement and will not betray the trust that is placed in them.

6. Dedication: A valuable leader is someone who believes in, and is dedicated to, what they're doing.  When faced with adversity they will draw deep from within themselves, and from the teams they lead, to find the strength they need to accomplish their goals.

7. Courage: In order to be a good leader you must be courageous.  You need to have the strength of character to do things that are intimidating and threatening.  A leader does what is right and necessary even when it is inconvenient or dangerous. ]]> 84506 2008-04-08 13:34:56
The idea that sometimes it is justified to intervene in the domestic affairs of another country on the basis of moral outrage provoked by that country's actions is not exactly new.  The Nazis systematic genocide during World War Two led many people afterwards to declare "Never again" and there were a number of international treaties aimed at preventing future genocides and other human rights abuses of extreme severity.  Yet, despite the desire to do something about war crimes and crimes against humanity committed against a country's population by, or with the acquiescence of, its own government there has always been reluctance for states to intervene for a number of reasons.

First of all countries guard their independence jealously and attempts to intervene in a country without the consent of its government always will bring about complaints that the intervenor is trampling on the independence and sovereignty of the state in question so potential intervenors often are not willing to face this criticism.   As well, many countries are afraid of setting a precedent that could possibly be used against them.  They may have questionable human rights practices in their own homelands and, if they were to intervene in another country on humanitarian grounds, could someone do the same to them in the future?  After all, people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, right?  Finally, countries that would contemplate intervening are mindful that, if they intervene in a country without the consent of its government, this is quite likely to result in war and they are fearful of spending time, money, effort and lives in a war that is purely for humanitarian reasons.  It is hard to convince a government to put their military at risk when they have no poltical or economic interest in a country, only a humanitarian one.

Taking a look at the first of these concerns - national sovereignty - this is the one I think that has the most validity.  Countries should, for the most part, be left in peace without unwanted interference from other nations.  However, in my mind, sovereignty should not be considered absolute.  I have my doubts that the ideals of the Peace of Westphalia, whereby states were considered fully autonomous from one another without even a hint of interference, ever existed in reality and, if they did, I don't think they have a place any longer in today's world.

It is my position that governments are there to serve their populations.  They have sovereignty over their territories yes but this sovereignty is derived from their respective peoples, it does not belong to the government itself.  They have power but with power comes responsibility and the foremost responsibility of any country's government is to protect its people - the Responsibility to Protect.  If a government is unable or unwilling to exercise this duty and instead commits, or allows, grave and serious human rights violations against its own citizenry then I believe they have surrendered their right to be left in peace.  They are failing to live up to their implied bargain with their people - they are exercising their powers of government but they are not fulfilling the related responsibility to protect.  They have ceased to be a legitimate government and are not entitled to immunity from interference from outside powers.  In essence, since the country's government has failed to live up to its obligations to its people these duties have fallen on the international community as a whole and they have the duty to intervene and help the oppressed population.

Does this responsibility to protect mean that the international community must invade every dictatorship in the world?  In a word - no.  Military intervention should be considered the last resort, as the International Commission stated in its report.  First diplomatic efforts should be attempted, then perhaps sanctions that fall short of invasion (i.e. embargos, etc.) and only if all these efforts are failures should the use of force be contemplated.  It should also be noted that intervention is only warranted where the abuses being perpetrated are severe.  Not every undemocratic or oppressive practice that a country engages in or permits would justify interference from the international community.  Only evils such as genocide, ethnic cleansing, slavery, or other human rights abuses of equal severity, would warrant overriding the principle of national sovereignty.

I would also like to note that I believe that the Responsibility to Protect should be exercised in a multilateral manner wherever possible.  No one nation should take it upon themselves to be the "police of the world" for I believe that this would lead to possible abuse of the doctrine for political reasons, lessen the credibility of the nation in question and of the doctrine as a whole.  Preferably an international organization, such as the UN, would authorize the intervention, thereby granting it legitimacy.  However, since the UN often cannot come to decisions on controversial matters due to the structure of the UN Security Council, it may be necessary that other organizations be utilized. ]]> 83408 2008-04-05 15:03:50 I like Homer Simpson.  His quotes have got to be some of the funniest around.  To me he epitomizes the silliness and ignorance of humanity.  Sometimes his stupidity is innocent in nature, sometimes not so much but either way he always cracks me up.  I know I've listed some of these quotes before but I'm going to again 'cuz they make me laugh:

Well excuse me for having enormous flaws that I don't work on!

We'll hide at my place, I have beer.

Nothing is too romantic for you... now have some more liquor.

First scream like a girl until they turn away in disgust, then kick them in the back.

If I don't hear you it's not illegal.

]]> 83341 2008-04-05 07:30:08 It has seen much violence,
It has drunk up the blood of thousands of men, women and children,
And it has not yet had its fill;

Men create empires,
They build palaces and parliaments,
They spill blood,
And the earth drinks it and becomes sick;

We sit in our homes and fear,
We think of our neighbours and our thoughts turn dark,
Our hearts lay in the shadows of ignorance and mistrust,
We plot the downfall of those we hate,
We plan to spill blood;

I am right!
He is wrong!
My empire is greater!
My religion is wiser!

These are the ramblings of fools,
Fools who have bloody hands.
Wake up!
Wake up from your dimwitted slumber,
Shake off the scales that cover your eyes!

The fool thinks he knows everything,
He is certain of the righteousness of his cause,
He is indignant at being questioned,
He strikes out at those who oppose him.

A wise man knows that you cannot be all knowing,
The more you learn of the world the more that you realize that there is much you don't know. ]]> 83321 2008-04-05 03:34:24
Personally I find this feud between TheAmandaChronicles and his opponents to be a rather disturbing example of harassment.  It seems to me to be a case of online bullying.  That's the only word I can think for it.  Some of have defended it as just being in good fun, just humour but just because something is amusing doesn't mean it's not bullying.

One individual is mocking another individual with the intent of humiliating them.  If that were to happen on the playground we would call it bullying and just because it's done online makes it no different.  If someone came up to you and started cracking jokes about you, or your friend, being fat, stupid or perverted wouldn't you consider that a personal attack?  Any reasonable person would admit that it is.

Now, I'll admit that I don't personally like the blogs of TheAmandaChronicle myself.  I read a few and found them a little disturbing.  Some of the things that he's said and done concern me somewhat.  However, what I have seen does not constitute sufficient cause for anyone to launch a campaign of harassment against him.  As far as I know I haven't seen any proof that he's breaking any rules or laws so people really have no right to harass him.  Vigilante justice is rarely justice at all. ]]> 82991 2008-04-04 06:49:29
This area of international law is controversial.  The most widely recognized authority on the ability of nation states to lay claim to areas of the ocean is the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea.  It declares that, in most cases, countries can only extend their legal authority out to a maximum distance of 200 nautical miles from their coast.  However, it didn't rule out the possibility that countries could, in exceptional circumstances, extend their authority beyond this limit but it required that, if a country wished to do this, they would have to make their case within 10 years of ratifying the Convention.  As a consequence many countries who have eyes on Arctic sovereignty have delayed their ratification of the Convention so as to not close off the possibility of laying claim to the North Pole.  Canada only ratified the treaty in 2003, Denmark in 2004 and the USA still hasn't ratified it.

Why does it matter who has control over the Arctic anyways?  Well, for a long period of time most people considered that it didn't really matter too much and that's why there wasn't too much conflict regarding the issue.  Countries had competing claims but, since the Arctic was difficult to travel in and get at, they agreed to disagree.  What's the point of fighting over territory that you can't exploit anyways?

Now it's starting to matter though because global climate change is making the Arctic more easily accessible.  The ice is melting and the sea is opening up.  Areas of the Arctic Ocean that once were covered by impenetrable year round ice are either now clear of the ice for part of the year or, at the least, are covered by much thinner ice.  This creates lots of economic opportunities for those that are willing to seize upon them.

Beneath the waters of the Arctic it is speculated that the are large deposits of various natural resources, including petroleum which, in today's world, is of ever increasing value.  Additionally, since it is now possible for more and more ships to navigate through the Arctic for longer and longer periods of the year people are starting to take notice of the Northwest Passage.  This is a network of straits and channels through Canada's Arctic islands that can be taken as an alternative route by transport vessels wishing to travel from Europe to Asia or vice versa.  Transport companies are excited by this prospect because it could be quicker and more cost effective than passing through the Panama Canal.

Now, as the Arctic is starting to look financially lucrative, countries are renewing their efforts to lay claim to it.  The USA has sent several commercial vessels through the Northwest Passage, despite complaints by Canada that they were travelling through Canadian territory without permission, and also has reportedly been sending US submarines into Arctic waters on patrols, without requesting Canadian permission or notifying the Canadian government.  In August 2007 a Russian submarine travelled to the North Pole, took water and soil samples and then planted a Russian flag on the seabed.  As well, on the tiny speck of land known as Hans Island, which lays midway between Greenland (controlled by Denmark) and Ellesmere Island (controlled by Canada), the Canadians and the Danish have landed military personnel on the island and raised their flags in symbolic displays of ownership.

Canada is attempting to back up its claims to the Arctic through increased military presence in the region.  Since the 1940's the Canadian Forces have had a program known as the Canadian Rangers.  This is a force of 4000 or so military reservists, mostly Inuit from northern Canada, who conduct patrols through the Arctic to ensure Canadian sovereignty.  Now Canada plans to increase this force to 5000 and to supply them with new and improved military equipment.  In addition, Canada has announced plans to build an Arctic Training Centre at Resolute Bay to train Canadian troops in Arctic operations and also a deep water port for Canadian naval forces at the entrance to the Northwest Passage.  Finally, Canada is in the process of acquiring six to eight new armed patrol vessels for the Canadian navy that would have hulls strengthened to resist Arctic ice (although they would not be full icebreakers and therefore would not be able to break through the Arctic ice when it is at its thickest in winter). ]]> 82285 2008-04-02 08:00:00
Hi there.  What's your name?
Batman!

Who did that?
Batman!

What do you want to have for dinner?
Batman!

How much does that cost?
Batman!

What do you want to name your firstborn?
Batman!
]]> 82271 2008-04-02 07:15:00
Number One

While working as a security guard at a gun show I heard a knock on one of the fire exits.  Curious as to what was going on outside I opened it and looked outside to find a man and a young boy (his son I presume).  He wanted to be let in through the fire exit.  However, this was prohibited as people had to enter through the main doors and pay an entrance fee.  He claimed that he had paid already but wanted back in through the fire exit.  I declined.  He responded with, "To hell with you, you guys are assholes!"

Number Two

I was working as a guard and performing a patrol of some buildings downtown late at night when I found a guy standing up close to the back door of a bank doing something I couldn't make out.  So, I stopped the patrol car and shone the spotlights on him and got out to check on what he was up to.  It turned out that he was urinating on the door, most likely having imbibed a little too much that night at some downtown watering hole.  I told him that I didn't appreciate him taking a leak on the bank's door.  Then a police cruiser pulled up and an officer got out at which point the intoxicated man said, "Oh here comes a real cop! Your backup is here!" or something like that.  The police officer began to question him as to how much he'd been drinking but he ignored the question and demanded the police officer just write him a ticket so he could go home.  I guess the police officer didn't like his attitude because, instead of a ticket, he arrested him for public intoxication and took him to the drunk tank.

Number Three

While I was working as a trainee loss prevention officer (better known as a store detective) my trainer and I observed a woman steal over $100 worth of meat and stuff it in her backpack.  When we apprehended her outside she resisted and we had to force her into handcuffs.  While doing this she complained we were being too rough with her and that she was pregnant and if her child died as a result of our "rough" handling she would have us charged with manslaughter.  Then her mother showed up from nowhere and started to demand we release her offspring.  She was pulling at my arm and tried to get in the way of the arrest so I held her back while my trainer took the suspect back to the security office.  Oh yeah, and the suspect complained the handcuffs were too tight.

Number Four

I was working as the night clerk for a hotel in a downtown area of my city where there were a lot of bars and night clubs. After they closed it was common for intoxicated persons to come and want entry into the hotel to use the washroom or have me call them a cab. However, the building was off limits to anyone except guests at night so I had to turn them away. One gentleman didn't like this and decided to pound on the front doors and scream various obscenities at me including "Penis face" and "Fag". I personally like the "Penis face" one; A for originality!

Number Five

Working at the same hotel I heard a commotion outside and went out to check.  There was a very intoxicated blonde woman walking down the street with her friends.  When she saw that I was looking at them she retaliated against my unprovoked interest by referring to me as "Beef jerky".  To be honest, I don't know what that means but I presume I'm just out of touch with today's modern insults.

Number Six

Again, at the same hotel, I was once again working the night shift.  Some young men came by and wanted to go up to visit their friends who were staying in the hotel.  At first I was going to allow them to but, as they were headed upstairs, I heard one of them state that he was going to trash the hotel so I told them they had to leave.  One of the duo was fairly polite and was trying to negotiate with me but the other became loud and profane and started yelling such things as, "It must be nice to have so much power, eh?" and "I bet you think you can kick my ass, huh?"  After I told him that they had about 5 seconds to leave the building or they'd be leaving in the back of a police cruiser his friend subdued Mr. Angry by hitting him in the head with a bag of potato chips and telling him to be quiet, however before he left he threw one final "Fag!" at me.

Number Seven

Working at a hotel (a different one this time) I had one guest try to check in and receive the discounted government rate.  However, his wife had booked the room and she was the government employee, not him, so I told him that she'd have to come in and present government ID before I could check him in.  She was only outside unloading the vehicle so this would only take a moment or so.  He became very angry and demanded to be checked in right away and then shredded the registration card with his pen and yelled something like, "Here!  I'll sign it!"

Here ends my random sampling. ]]> 81020 2008-03-30 03:35:00
If you're lucky you can sleep, if you're not you stay awake and wonder and think.  You think about the failures of your life, of the many missteps you have made.  You get angry at yourself for feeling the way you do, for not having accomplished more, for not living up to your potential, for not living up to the expectations you or others held for yourself.  You try to distract yourself, find some alternative to sleep that will allow you to turn your mind into a void so you don't have to think.. perhaps TV, after all it is an idiot box a lot of the time... but no, even that mindsucking device can't distract you for too long.

When you're depressed your stuck in this sort of no man's land between introversion and extroversion, leaning first in one direction than the other.  Part of you wants to draw inwards and leave the world behind.  You're a failure and others will surely see that if they encounter you so why would you want to see other people?  And if you see other people they will be able to tell you are depressed and will pity you for being weak and defective and you don't want pity.  That just reminds you that you're not normal, a reject, a failure.  Then again, you want to talk to someone and offload all the crap that tumbles through your mind and weighs down your heart like a tonne of bricks.  You want someone to understand, to tell you that it's alright, you're not a failure, you're normal... although chances are you won't believe it even if they do say that.

Depression is a deep dark pit and it seems that no matter how many times you claw your way up and out of it you always seem to hang around nearby for some reason and every once in a while you end up slipping and falling back in for another visit. ]]>