Even in the Shade, the Wind Feels Like a Blow Dryer!

              Even in the shade, the wind feels like a blow dryer hitting you right in the face. Black pants and a black shirt covering a Kevlar oven that's supposed to protect me from bullets. But might kill me by a heat stroke, I pull the vest away from my chest and the moist hot air rises and hits me in the chin. If that wasn't enough, throw on the twenty-five-pound duty belt, and a ten plus hour shift sounds like a recipe for fun to me.

           
             Coming to work in the summer in the Moapa district is not a good time. Normally without the wind the shade is bearable and night is tolerable. It is amazing the difference between 110 degrees and 96 degrees; you wouldn't think the difference would be that noticeable. So let's get out there and write some tickets to justify our existence. And just in case you don’t recognize me by the red and blue lights, or the dark uniform and shiny badge. Just look for the guy with the sunburned shaved head and tanned left arm.

               Now that I've found the guy or girl that thinks it's okay to drive up my butt doing ninety-five miles per hour. Let's get out in the heat and have some fun. Here is how it tends to go "license and registration please, I stopped you for going 95 mph in a 75 mph zone". So you didn't notice my police car huh? Was it because you were on your phone, texting, messing with your radio slash iPod or in the case of a Tesla just sleeping while your car was driving? Or one of many other possible distractions that you were focusing on other than driving before almost rear ending my marked patrol unit.

 Now as I'm standing in this 110-degree heat in my oven, they call a uniform. And you continue to peruse the giant stack of papers in your glove box handing me registration papers from 2011. Don't let the sweat running down my face give you cause for concern because any thought of you getting a break on the speed or even a warning is disappearing with every drop of sweat rolling down my face. So, by all means, take your time, I'm getting paid by the hour and hopefully your license is suspended.

Once back in my patrol car enjoying the air conditioning that had better work or this whole scenario would be fiction. I wait for my turn on the radio, and relish the opportunity to speak with dispatchers, who sound just as elated to be speaking to me. I'm sure I'm interrupting their DVD or video games. I would love to run the douche bag in the car and hear dispatch say 11-10 Mary. I do not want to arrest said douche bag, and have to spend the next three to five hours with that person driving to CCDC in Las Vegas. Because any arrest I make outside the cesspool they call Las Vegas has to be driven to the cesspool. The ultimate misery in my life has to take a drunk to CCDC, the long ride with a piece of crap that either can't stop crying, yelling or threatening me is brutal. But back to the douche bag that had the audacity to speed.

I write the ticket and prepare my speech and reenter the heat. Of course, the first thing I hear is a plea for a warning, after I already wrote the ticket. I often wonder about the stupidity of people, why would I take the time to write the ticket and then walk up to you only to decide to tear the citation up? Your only hope for a warning is at our first encounter and believe me first impressions matter! So as I was standing in the heat as you searched through the garbage bin, you call a glove box for the information you should keep handy; your citation was secured. So here is the skinny, I've highlighted the applicable boxes, and you have three months to contact the court. Here comes the part where I act like I care, do you have any questions sir or mam? If not, then please drive safe and be careful pulling back out into traffic. Then I give the all clear to dispatch, H6248 24 Charles Ida.

Now it's back to driving, and driving and driving some more. I know every stretch of the interstate and state routes and highways by the mile markers, the landmarks and of course the previous accidents. I can see the skid marks or tire marks on the road and tell you what happened most times even if it's not mine. These roads are mine, and I've driven them for thousands of miles. Sometimes I cruise them very fast, and sometimes very slow, sometimes I'm relaxed, and sometimes I'm cursing up a storm. But you can be assured the chances are beyond good; I'll be driving and driving a lot. There are times I will be out of my car or should I say my office, my home away from home. But if I'm not driving the highway I will probably be standing on it. Most likely directing idiots on which way to go, or taking pictures of an accident scene hoping not to get hit by every driver who fails to move over or even slow down while using their knees to drive because their hands are texting.

In fact, I have driven these roads so many times that I will plan my routes by the bathroom spots I like to stop at to stretch my legs and take a leak. Many times I ‘am unfortunately interrupted by dispatch with a report from some very concerned citizen that a vehicle that they don't know the make and are unsure of the plate number and the color is usually white is speeding, just speeding. Again I wonder about the stupidity of people and if it is magnified while driving. I think if someone took the time to do a study on that there might be something to it.

It's late, and my shift is about to end, I think about going home and taking off my belt and boom. The ever present bearer of bad news I call dispatch is calling me. Unfortunately when I'm at work I ‘am required to answer the radio and my cell phone even if I know it's those people on the other end.  So I say hello and try to sound like I'm not cursing them under my breath. What adventure are they attempting to send me on now? Hey, trooper Sonnenberg we have a motorist assist about twenty – five miles in the opposite direction of home. A couple of fat ladies don't know, or more precisely are too lazy to change their flat tire. Well, that isn't quite how they presented it to me, but if they were honest, that's what they would say. Oh, I forgot to mention I was in the middle of finishing a couple of accident reports, but that's a story I'll get to later.

I ‘am not getting home on time so let's milk it for all it's worth. Upon my arrival, I note a Good Samaritan has stopped to lend a hand. So I walk up with my flashlight and prepare to offer my flashlights services and give some advice if needed. That theory went bye, bye quickly. The Good Samaritan was almost as clueless as the ladies; I began having doubts when he tried to put the jack that was not designed for the car under the muffler. I offered some advice and him immediately asked if I would do it. So while holding my flashlight, I changed the tire it what I would say was a near record time. And of course the spare was almost flat; seriously people take a little time to make sure you are (a boy scout) prepared. It blows my mind how many people (Idiots) don't have a spare tire or a jack. I've seen it quite a few times where guys put expensive after market rims and then lose the key for the lugs (eyes rolling). I told the ladies to lose some weight, no I'm just kidding I told them to drive with their hazards on and stay on the shoulder till they get to Loves. Then I let my good friends in dispatch know I’m 10-24 Mary Adam and back in business.