Post by Zach Staples on Apr 7, 2015 17:55:42 GMT
I sat across from Marv, my evaluator, without a worry in the world. I had already finished the physical and written exam, the psychological evaluation is just checking off boxes. Marv looked at me and then down at his clipboard. This was going to be as boring for him as it was for me. It's just a dog and pony show for the public. If there are two things I know about LEOs... sorry, if there are two things that I know about Law Enforcement Officers, it's that you have to be crazy to take this job... and that a legacy like me is a sure thing.
Marv: So, kid, you're sure that this is what you want to do?
Marv knew my dad well. He had known me since I was born. I knew I was going to be a police officer when I turned 8 years old, but Marv had probably known for much longer.
Zach: I'm sure.
It wasn't really something that I wanted to do. It's something that I was.
Marv: Fair enough. Most of these questions on this clipboard, you've probably already answered. We just need to get them down in writing, ya know... in case some criminal's family gets their panties in a bunch after you're forced to discharge your weapon.
Zach: I understand.
Marv: Alright Zach, about how many hours of sleep do you get a night?
Zach: I'd say around 6 or 7.
Marv: And can you tell me about a time when you've had to function on less sleep?
Would you count the weeks after mom died when dad drank, cried, and screamed through the night?
Zach: When me and pops go camping it usually involves waking up at 3 AM or so. I usually just need some coffee to get going, but other than that it's no big deal.
Marv continued to scribble on his clipboard. I knew these questions are coming, and I knew what answers they wanted to hear. Officers have to be able to work long hours without much sleep - some people can't handle that. It's not a problem for me.
Marv: And, have you ever had suicidal thoughts?
Zach: No.
Marv: How about homicidal? You ever wanted to kill anyone, ya know, besides your dad?
Zach: Ha, no.
I don't like to lie when I can avoid it. I've found the best way to avoid it is to keep answers short and vague. That 'no' wasn't a lie. Though if I told him how seriously I had considered killing my father....
Marv: Okay. So as you know, there was an extensive background check done prior to this meeting. Again, this is just a formality, but some major events in your life did trigger our filters. It's not a problem, but we do need to get your feelings down in writing.
Zach: Alright, shoot.
I knew where this was going. I still don't know what happened with my mom 8 years ago. No one will believe me, but I'm not lying. He wouldn't press me on it - no one ever did.
Marv: So - you were suspended in high school for fighting.
Oh, right. That little shit had it coming. I don't regret a thing.
Zach: It was a momentary lapse in judgement. I was provoked and regretfully, I didn't walk away when I should have. In my defense he threw the first punch and I was only defending myself.
Again, not entirely a lie. He did throw the first punch. Of course, I don't need to throw punches to win fights. That kid was in a cast for a month and missed baseball season for it.
Marv: Self defense is an important part of what we do. I know that schools now-a-days have a 'no tolerance policy' and suspend anyone involved in any physical altercation. It's understandable - though we may have to work on your de-escalation techniques.
Marv turned back to his clipboard to scribble down the correct answer. He knew how that really went down, but he wasn't going to keep me off the force for something so trivial. Like I said, just checking off boxes. Maybe I wouldn't even have to talk about my mom today...
Marv: Next we gotta talk about your mom.
Fuck.
Zach: Marv... you already know...
Marv: I know that I know. But I need something on record about this - and it needs to come from you.
Zach: I don't know what happened.
Marv looked up from the clipboard into my eyes. I had gotten used to that look. Pity mixed with disbelief mixed with trepidation. Every time I got that look, it meant the conversation is over. I didn't give him anything, and he would accept it - because there are some things you don't want to talk about. No one wants to talk to a man about his mothers death.
Marv: Listen, I know how hard this is for you. But I need you to try to remember.
Cue a long, uncomfortable pause. I looked out the window into the parking lot. This guy wanted me to try to remember the day that I found my mother at the bottom of the stairs. He wanted me to think about just how much blood could come from one head wound...
Marv: Zach. I don't need much. I just need something, bud.
Tears started to involuntarily well up in my eyes. God, I didn't want to talk about this. I didn't want to think about this. I didn't want to lie about this.
Zach: I....There...
Just trying to get out the feint memories I had was impossible. It was impossible to say it without seeing it, and I never wanted to see it again. I wouldn't.
Zach: I don't know what happened.
Marv brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and scribbled on his clipboard. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, glad to have avoided a major meltdown.
Marv: I can't just let this one go, bud. I want to, lord knows I want to. I know how hard it is for you...
I snapped a bit.
Zach: You don't know.
Marv didn't even flinch at the interruption.
Marv: You're right, I don't know - because you won't tell anyone anything.
There was another long, awkward pause. He looked at me pleadingly, and I looked back at him, completely helpless.
Marv: Look - I'm not here to judge you. I just need you to tell me what to write in this box. And it can't be "I don't know what happened". Just tell me what you remember.
Zach: There was...
The flash at the top of the stairs. Then nothing, completely blank. And then so much blood at the bottom of the stairs. So much blood. Then moaning. Then nothing. Then 911, and then nothing for a very long time. No way that was going in Marv's box.
Zach: I don't remember. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I can't.
Marv flicked the back of his pen against his clipboard a few times, agonizing over whether or not to jeopardize his job over my mommy issues.
Marv: If you can't - then I can't. I'm sorry, Zach.
There was more scribbling, followed by some lip service about me attending some counseling and getting help. Then there was some patronizing talk about next time... But I knew there wouldn't be a next time. I knew that when I got out of that chair and walked out of that door - I was leaving my future as a Police Officer behind me.
For the first time since I was 8, I no longer knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Marv: So, kid, you're sure that this is what you want to do?
Marv knew my dad well. He had known me since I was born. I knew I was going to be a police officer when I turned 8 years old, but Marv had probably known for much longer.
Zach: I'm sure.
It wasn't really something that I wanted to do. It's something that I was.
Marv: Fair enough. Most of these questions on this clipboard, you've probably already answered. We just need to get them down in writing, ya know... in case some criminal's family gets their panties in a bunch after you're forced to discharge your weapon.
Zach: I understand.
Marv: Alright Zach, about how many hours of sleep do you get a night?
Zach: I'd say around 6 or 7.
Marv: And can you tell me about a time when you've had to function on less sleep?
Would you count the weeks after mom died when dad drank, cried, and screamed through the night?
Zach: When me and pops go camping it usually involves waking up at 3 AM or so. I usually just need some coffee to get going, but other than that it's no big deal.
Marv continued to scribble on his clipboard. I knew these questions are coming, and I knew what answers they wanted to hear. Officers have to be able to work long hours without much sleep - some people can't handle that. It's not a problem for me.
Marv: And, have you ever had suicidal thoughts?
Zach: No.
Marv: How about homicidal? You ever wanted to kill anyone, ya know, besides your dad?
Zach: Ha, no.
I don't like to lie when I can avoid it. I've found the best way to avoid it is to keep answers short and vague. That 'no' wasn't a lie. Though if I told him how seriously I had considered killing my father....
Marv: Okay. So as you know, there was an extensive background check done prior to this meeting. Again, this is just a formality, but some major events in your life did trigger our filters. It's not a problem, but we do need to get your feelings down in writing.
Zach: Alright, shoot.
I knew where this was going. I still don't know what happened with my mom 8 years ago. No one will believe me, but I'm not lying. He wouldn't press me on it - no one ever did.
Marv: So - you were suspended in high school for fighting.
Oh, right. That little shit had it coming. I don't regret a thing.
Zach: It was a momentary lapse in judgement. I was provoked and regretfully, I didn't walk away when I should have. In my defense he threw the first punch and I was only defending myself.
Again, not entirely a lie. He did throw the first punch. Of course, I don't need to throw punches to win fights. That kid was in a cast for a month and missed baseball season for it.
Marv: Self defense is an important part of what we do. I know that schools now-a-days have a 'no tolerance policy' and suspend anyone involved in any physical altercation. It's understandable - though we may have to work on your de-escalation techniques.
Marv turned back to his clipboard to scribble down the correct answer. He knew how that really went down, but he wasn't going to keep me off the force for something so trivial. Like I said, just checking off boxes. Maybe I wouldn't even have to talk about my mom today...
Marv: Next we gotta talk about your mom.
Fuck.
Zach: Marv... you already know...
Marv: I know that I know. But I need something on record about this - and it needs to come from you.
Zach: I don't know what happened.
Marv looked up from the clipboard into my eyes. I had gotten used to that look. Pity mixed with disbelief mixed with trepidation. Every time I got that look, it meant the conversation is over. I didn't give him anything, and he would accept it - because there are some things you don't want to talk about. No one wants to talk to a man about his mothers death.
Marv: Listen, I know how hard this is for you. But I need you to try to remember.
Cue a long, uncomfortable pause. I looked out the window into the parking lot. This guy wanted me to try to remember the day that I found my mother at the bottom of the stairs. He wanted me to think about just how much blood could come from one head wound...
Marv: Zach. I don't need much. I just need something, bud.
Tears started to involuntarily well up in my eyes. God, I didn't want to talk about this. I didn't want to think about this. I didn't want to lie about this.
Zach: I....There...
Just trying to get out the feint memories I had was impossible. It was impossible to say it without seeing it, and I never wanted to see it again. I wouldn't.
Zach: I don't know what happened.
Marv brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath and scribbled on his clipboard. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, glad to have avoided a major meltdown.
Marv: I can't just let this one go, bud. I want to, lord knows I want to. I know how hard it is for you...
I snapped a bit.
Zach: You don't know.
Marv didn't even flinch at the interruption.
Marv: You're right, I don't know - because you won't tell anyone anything.
There was another long, awkward pause. He looked at me pleadingly, and I looked back at him, completely helpless.
Marv: Look - I'm not here to judge you. I just need you to tell me what to write in this box. And it can't be "I don't know what happened". Just tell me what you remember.
Zach: There was...
The flash at the top of the stairs. Then nothing, completely blank. And then so much blood at the bottom of the stairs. So much blood. Then moaning. Then nothing. Then 911, and then nothing for a very long time. No way that was going in Marv's box.
Zach: I don't remember. I don't know what happened. I'm sorry. I can't.
Marv flicked the back of his pen against his clipboard a few times, agonizing over whether or not to jeopardize his job over my mommy issues.
Marv: If you can't - then I can't. I'm sorry, Zach.
There was more scribbling, followed by some lip service about me attending some counseling and getting help. Then there was some patronizing talk about next time... But I knew there wouldn't be a next time. I knew that when I got out of that chair and walked out of that door - I was leaving my future as a Police Officer behind me.
For the first time since I was 8, I no longer knew what I wanted to be when I grew up.