Handcuffs, the jewelry worn by most, if not all captured bad guys.

OJ’s worn them. Charles Manson and Martha Stewart too.

In fact, practically everyone who’s run afoul of the law has been introduced to the feel of steel circling their wrists.

The unmistakable sound made when the ratchet locks in place is a noise like no other. Trust me, there’s not much in this world that’ll ruin a person’s day more than hearing that sickening “clickity-click” when the ratchet teeth slide across the corresponding notches of the pawl (see diagram below).

But there’s more to handcuffing than merely slipping the “bracelets” over a suspect’s wrists.  Before we continue, though, let’s take a moment to first learn a bit about these extremely important restraint devices.

I’ve already mentioned “pawl” and “ratchet,” and it’s easy to understand how those two parts work because they’re basically backward/opposite-facing teeth that, when pushed together, form a tight lock. They cannot be pulled apart. However, the locking action of the pawl and ratchet only works in one direction. In other words, they can continue to tighten since the rear-facing teeth only lock in one direction. The ratchet can continue to move forward against the pawl, but cannot be pulled backward.

Parts of chain-link cuffs (above).

Ratchet teeth face in a backward direction (below).

Closeup of the pawl between the two cheek plates (below).

To lock the cuffs in place, the ratchet is inserted into the receiver/cheek plates where it locks against the corresponding teeth of the pawl.

Hands and/or paws should ALWAYS be cuffed to the rear.

Each pair of handcuffs is fitted with two locks. The first is the automatic lock that connects when the pawl hooks to the ratchet. This allows the officer to apply cuffs to the wrists of combative suspects without having to fumble around while trying to locate a lock, insert a key, etc., while the bad guy is throwing punches to the officer’s nose and jaw.

The second lock (double-lock), a button inset, is found on the underside of the body of the cuff near where the end of the ratchet exits the cuff body.

Double-lock button (above).

To activate the double-lock, the officer uses the pointed tip of the handcuff key, the double-lock tip/actuator, to depress the button. This action prevents the ratchet from moving in either direction. Otherwise, the cuffs could, and often do, continue to tighten on the wearer’s wrists which could cause injury. Double-locking also prevents the wearer from picking the lock.

Officers double-lock cuffs after they’ve gained control of the suspect, but prior to placing the bad guy inside the patrol car/transport vehicle. ALWAYS double-lock cuffs before placing bad guys in the car. ALWAYS!

Above – Actuator tip, or double-lock tip.

Above – Use double-lock tip to depress double-lock button.

To release handcuff locks, officers insert the L-shaped portion of the key, the key flag, into the keyhole and turn the key to the left, much like unlocking your front door or a padlock. Turning the key releases the connection between the pawl and the ratchet, opening the cuffs. This action ONLY unlocks the first lock (when cuffs have NOT been double-locked)..

Above – Key flag

Above – Keyhole

Above – Handcuff key inserted into keyhole.

To release the second lock, the double-lock, the key must first be turned 90 degrees to the left to unlock the pawl and ratchet. Next, the officer turns the key back to the right, 90 degrees past the starting point where the key was first inserted. So, left 90 degrees and then 180 degrees in the opposite direction. Make sense?

So now you know the full details of, well, an open and shut operation.

It’s four in the morning and fatigue tugs on your eyelids. It’s a subtle move, like grasping the string on one of your grandmother’s window shades, slowly pulling it down. The action is so gracefully executed by the Sand Man you hardly notice it.

Thinking about your family asleep in a warm bed, you turn onto a side street trying to find a place to pull over. Five minutes. That’s all you need. Shouldn’t have spent those three hours today playing with the kids when you could’ve been sleeping. Still, that’s the only time you get to see them awake. What can you do? And, someone had to mow the lawn this afternoon, right? Oh yeah, tomorrow is the day you’re supposed to talk about police officers to your third-grader’s class. It won’t take long. Two or three hours at the most.

Sleep. You need sleep.

Your headlights wash over the back of the alley as feral dogs and cats scramble out of the dumpster that sits like an old and tired dinosaur behind Lula Mae’s Bakery. The knot of animals scatter loaves of two-day-old bread in their haste to escape the human intruder who dared meddle with their nocturnal feeding. A mutt with three legs hobbles behind a rusty air conditioning unit, dragging a long and narrow and dirty plastic bag filled with crumbled bagels. Tendrils of steam rise slowly from storm drains; ghostly, sinewy figures melting into the black sky.

The night air is damp with fog and dew; city sweat that reeks of gasoline and garbage. Mannequins stare out from tombs of storefront glass, waiting for daylight to take away the flashing neon lights that reflect from their plaster-like skin.

You park at the rear of the alley, stopping next to a stack of flattened cardboard boxes, their labels reflecting someone’s life for the week—chicken, lettuce, disposable diapers, and cheap wine.

Four more hours. If you could only make it for four more hours …

Suddenly, a voice spews from the speaker behind your head, “Shots fired. Respond to 1313 Mockingbird Lane. Back up is en route.”

“10-4. I’m 10-8.”

And so it goes. And goes, and goes…

It’s believed by some that the graveyard shift (not this blog) got its name from people who accidentally buried their loved ones while they were still alive. Thinking their dearly departed had gone on to their reward, these folks unknowingly fitted an unconscious or comatose Uncle Bill or Grandma with a new outfit and a spiffy pine box. Then they buried them in the local cemetery where night workers claimed to hear the dead screaming for help from below the ground. When they dug up the coffins they sometimes found scrape marks and scratches on the interior side of the casket lids, indicating the person inside had tried to claw their way out before finally succumbing to a lack of oxygen.

To remedy the situation, caskets were fitted with a bell and a long string that reached to the inside of the buried coffin. This enabled the “dead” person to ring the bell should he awaken after his burial. Workers, the employees working “the graveyard shift,” could then quickly rescue the living dead.

The validity of this tale is debatable, but it makes for an interesting story, especially for police officers who have cemeteries to patrol in their precincts.

When I first entered into the glamorous world of law enforcement I fully anticipated that I’d spend my days and nights racing through city streets and county roads on my way to save mankind from evil while simultaneously rescuing puppies, kittens, and small children from the dangers of the world. However, two days after raising my right hand and swearing to enforce the laws of my state and country, the level of my expectations reduced … greatly.

I began my career serving as a deputy sheriff in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Our county sheriff, my boss, was a man who had one major goal, reelection. As a result, he believed in micromanaging his employees/appointees (deputies are appointed by the sheriff, not hired in the traditional sense).

I suppose keeping his deputies under his thumb was a means to control our actions, thereby ensuring that we’d not do a single thing that could cause a citizen to vote for an opposing candidate. Believe me, more than one deputy found themselves seeking other employment when they crossed the boss. Everyone, especially those who were magnets for trouble, basically walked on eggshells each and every day.

Some of us did our jobs well and were never called in on the “red carpet.” Others were not as fortunate. By the way, I used the term “red carpet” because walking into the boss’s office was like a visit to Elvis’s Graceland—black leather furniture, dark paneled walls, dark drapes (always pulled tightly closed), an overflowing ashtray on the walnut desk, and thick, blood-red shag carpeting. I’m talking velvet-painting hideous.

So yeah, being called to the high-sheriff’s office was indeed an experience, and it was typically not a good experience. Compliments were not his thing, so hearing his voice on the radio, “calling you in,” sent shivers down the spines of even the toughest of the tough.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t all that scary. Still …

Anyway, one of our keep-the-voters-happy duties included unlocking car doors for people who’d accidentally locked their keys inside. Well, this was an easy task back before carmakers decided to cram miles of wires and electronic thingies behind decorative door panels.

Before the introduction of electronic locks it was a simple matter of slipping a Slim Jim between the window glass and rubber weather strip, feel around until the tool hit the “lock rod,” and wiggle it around a tiny bit until the lock knob popped up.

So preston, bingo, all was well and the happy citizen went about their daily routine, which included voting for the sheriff because his deputies were always there to save the day (not the type of day-saving I first had in mind).

Slim Jim

Notches used for “hooking” the lock rod and other mechanisms

After electronic locks replaced the simple, manual ones, things changed. No longer was unlocking a car door an easy task. In fact, it was quite the opposite and many officers, especially the old-timers, found themselves jabbing Slim Jims inside car doors while pushing and pulling and pumping the darn things in and up an down motion that brings to mind a frazzled grandma in the kitchen using a hand-mashing implement to frantically and wildly smash the heck out of a pot full of potatoes.

Grandma pounded out a week’s worth of frustrations using one of these things while preparing Sunday lunch.

Sometimes during a particularly violent Slim-Jimming session, the device became entangled in the nests of wiring, rods, gadgets, and connections, and it was simply impossible to remove it without damaging an entire network of electrical, well, car stuff. Therefore, it was not all that unusual for an officer to leave the device protruding from the door of a high-end vehicle while the owner called a professional locksmith to unlock the car. Then off they’d drive (the car owner), heading to the dealership with long, flat piece of metal flapping in the breeze. Not a pretty sight and not pretty the next day when the deputy was called on the red carpet.

Thankfully, after a few similar and costly incidents the sheriff stopped us from unlocking cars, or attempting to unlock them.

Finally, to wrap up up this rambling post, I’d also like to stress how important it was to check all doors before beginning an all out Slim Jim assault on a car door. Why? Well, for example, I was on patrol one night and received a call from another deputy who asked if I was available to help him with a door he was having a hard time unlocking. He’d been at it for quite a while and was having absolutely no luck at all. To make matters worse the driver had locked her baby inside with the car running.

So I show up and see the deputy working frantically to “save” the child. He’s sweating profusely and has a huge “HELP ME” look on his face. The mother was crying hysterically. A crowd of bystanders were, well, standing by. The baby, however, was in full goo-goo-gaga mode, as happy as could be.

I grabbed my own Slim Jim from my trunk and walked over to the car where I told my coworker I’d try the passenger door to see I could achieve any success. So, I step around to the other side and, believe it or not, simply reached in through the OPEN car window and hit the button to unlock all of the doors.

Everyone cheered and the mother/driver raced over to hug me before reaching inside the car to do the same to her baby.

The poor deputy who’d worked so hard and for so long to unlock a wide open car. He was a good sport and took the embarrassment well … sort of.

Prior to serving as a police officer and detective, I was employed in the prison system as a corrections officer. I spent part of this miserable portion of my life working in a prison that housed a unique group of inmates, those who were absolutely and totally unwanted by the state’s numerous other institutions. It was a place for criminal misfits. They were unmanageable, unruly, and they hated the air and the sky, the water they drank, and they hated themselves. Just plain nasty is what they were.

This particular facility, the place where I spent most of my waking hours in those days, was divided into four separate buildings with each surrounded by a tall fence. One section was for the super mean and out of control, another for just regular mean guys, a third for prisoners with special needs, and the fourth for mentally ill inmates who’s diet consisted largely of handfuls of medications such as Thorazine and Wellbutrin.

The prisoners there enjoyed throwing things at us (feces was a favorite). They liked to fight us. They often attempted to catch one of us alone so they could deliver a beating from hell. Escape attempts were often and killing other inmates was a sport. Didn’t happen too often, but when it did the fellows seemed to derive a bit of pleasure from seeing blood and dead bodies.

The place was a nightmare for officers. As I stated earlier, it was miserable.

In the late 1980’s, Virginia opened the doors to what they called the Youthful Offender Centers. These were prisons designated to house young males between the ages of 18-21 who’d been convicted of various crimes.

It was my understanding, after speaking with a few of the officers who worked there, that they, too, felt pretty darn miserable at the end of the day. You know, same old, same old—the victims of tossed feces and squirts of urine and other body fluids, fights, escape attempts, yada, yada, yada. Most of the officers there also said they felt as if they worked in a facility that trained young inmates to be better older prisoners and the best criminals they could possibly become.

But this is where the young criminals ended up. What about prior to prison and the process that eventually lands those troubled youths behind bars?

Well, in Virginia, for example:

• Juvenile is any child under the age of eighteen.
• Delinquent: A juvenile who has committed an act that would be a crime if committed by an adult.
• CHINS – Child in Need of Services: A juvenile whose behavior, conduct or condition presents or results in a serious threat to the juvenile’s well-being and physical safety of another person.
• Child in Need of Supervision meets one of these criteria:
  1. A juvenile subject to mandatory school attendance, is habitually absent without valid excuse.
  2. A juvenile who remains away from his family or guardian.
  3. A juvenile who escapes or remains away from a residential care facility ordered by the court.

• Child Abuse and Neglect

  1. A caregiver who creates or inflicts a physical or mental injury upon a child.
  2. A caregiver who creates the child to be at risk of physical or mental injury.
  3. A caregiver who refuses to provide for juvenile’s health and well-being.

  Court Services: 

  1. Intake – Reviews all complaints regarding juvenile crime and determines whether there are enough facts to involve the court. If so, the intake officer may either proceed informally to make practical adjustments without filing a petition (a petition is basically a warrant, akin to an adult arrest warrant) or the intake officer may authorize the filing of a petition (a warrant) to bring the matter before the judge. An intake officer may also order the placement of a juvenile offender in a secure detention facility designated for juveniles whose present offense requires such security prior to a detention hearing by a juvenile and domestic relations district court judge. Note: Intake officers used to be called probation officers.
  2. Investigation – Intake officers conduct background studies, such as examination of a juvenile’s familial, social and educational history. Such studies may be used by the court as a factor in determining the disposition appropriate to the subject and by the probation staff in the formulation of a services and supervision plan.
  3. Probation. Supervises delinquent juveniles and children in need of services released into home probation and supervises adults released on probation in support and other cases involving the defendant’s relation with family members and individuals to whom he has a support duty.

  Residential Care: Supervises juveniles being held in detention, shelter care and post dispositional probation facilities. In most localities, the staff of these facilities are employees of the localities served by the court and work cooperatively with the staff of the respective court service unit.

  Social Services: Welfare and social service agencies are in frequent contact with the court in certain types of cases. They perform the initial investigation in abuse and neglect cases. Juveniles may be committed to such agencies when they are removed from home. Other agencies provide such services as may be ordered by the judge.

  Juvenile Delinquency and CHINS Cases; Adult Criminal Cases Detention or Shelter Care

  A juvenile may be taken into custody if one of the following applies:

  1. A judge, clerk at judge’s direction or intake officer issues a detention order requiring the juvenile to be taken into custody.
  2. A juvenile is alleged to be a CHINS and there is clear and substantial danger to the child’s life or health and this is necessary for the child’s appearance before the court.
  3. A juvenile commits a crime that is witnessed by a police officer or would be a felony if committed by an adult (a crime punishable by more than 12 months in jail).
  4. A juvenile commits a misdemeanor offense involving shoplifting, assault and battery, or carrying a weapon on school property.
  5. A juvenile has absconded from lawful incarceration or a court ordered residential home, facility, or placement by a child welfare agency.
  6. A juvenile is believed to be in need of inpatient mental health treatment.

  If not immediately released by the intake officer or magistrate, the juvenile is held in custody (detention) until being brought before the judge for a detention hearing. The juvenile’s detention hearing should be held the next day the court sits within the city or county but no longer than 72 hours after being taken into custody. Prior notice of the detention hearing must be given to the juvenile’s parent or guardian, and to the juvenile if over 12 years of age. A detention hearing is not a trial, but merely a hearing to determine whether the detention of the juvenile should be continued.

  The judge decides whether to hold the juvenile in secure detention or release the juvenile to a parent, guardian or persons having custody of the juvenile, or to shelter care. Shelter care is defined as the temporary care of children in a physically unrestricted environment.

  The judge may set bail and/or certain rules to be followed while the juvenile released awaiting trial. The judge may order the juvenile be held in detention if the judge believes that there is probable cause the juvenile committed the act and:

  1. The juvenile is charged with violation of probation or parole.
  2. The juvenile is charged with a felony or class 1 misdemeanor and: (a) is a threat to self or others or the property of others or (b) has threatened not to come to court or has failed to appear to court within the past 12 months. While the juvenile is in a detention home or shelter placement, parents or guardians wishing to visit may do so only during permitted visiting hours. Parents or guardians should find out in advance of a visit: the hours of visitation, the documentation needed, dress code, the number of visitors allowed at one time and any restrictions concerning who is allowed to visit.

  Certification or Transfer to Circuit Court for Trial as an Adult

  A case involving a juvenile 14 years or older accused of a felony may be certified or transferred to circuit court where the juvenile would be tried as an adult. A hearing to determine whether to transfer the case cannot occur unless the juvenile’s parents or their attorney are notified of the transfer hearing.

  Certification to Circuit Court

  A juvenile 14 years or older at the time of the alleged felony offense(s) may be transferred to the circuit court and tried as an adult. Some felony charges require that a judge make the decision whether to hear the case in juvenile or circuit court. The Commonwealth must provide notice requesting transfer of the juvenile’s felony cases to circuit court. This written notice must be sent to the attorney for the juvenile or to the juvenile and one parent or legal guardian. A judge will hold a hearing to consider whether probable cause exists regarding the offense(s) charged and whether transfer of the case to circuit court is appropriate. Some factors the judge may consider when determining whether the case should be heard in circuit court or in juvenile court are: the juvenile’s previous court contacts, competency, school record information and the child’s age and emotional maturity.

  Transfer to Circuit Court

  If a juvenile was 14 years or older and charged with a violent felony, then the Commonwealth may certify the charge to circuit court for trial. Written notice to the juvenile’s attorney or to the juvenile and one parent or legal guardian, must be provided. In these cases, the judge solely determines probable cause as to whether or not the charged juvenile committed the crime. These charges are: felonious injury by mob, abduction, malicious wounding, malicious wounding of a law enforcement officer, felonious poisoning, adulteration of products, robbery, carjacking, rape, forcible sodomy, or object sexual penetration. OR A list of these violent juvenile felony charges is listed in Virginia Code section 16.1-269.1C. If the judge finds that probable cause exists that the juvenile committed the crime(s) charged then the juvenile’s case will be tried in circuit court.

  The crimes of murder or aggravated malicious wounding are automatically certified to the circuit court if the juvenile is 14 years or older at the time of the offense and the court has found probable cause that the juvenile has committed the offense(s) charged. No Commonwealth request is needed.

  Statements made by the juvenile during the transfer hearing may not be used as evidence of the offense at a later court hearing but may be used if the juvenile testifies during trial.

  Both the Commonwealth and juvenile may appeal a transfer decision within 10 days of the transfer hearing. Any juvenile convicted in circuit court will be treated as an adult in all future criminal cases.

  *Much of the information in this article is from The Commonwealth of Virginia, The Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court. I suppose to copy and paste is lazy, cheating, and plagiarizing. All I can say is “Guilty!” But I’m in a time crunch today. Still, the information is important and I’m really hoping the text, since it’s a government agency, is in the public domain. Fingers crossed. In the meantime … wish me luck, and I hope you find the material useful. By the way, as far as I know the little guy in the top photo is not a juvenile delinquent. 

Think back to your first day at work.

Time clock. Punch in. Maybe a brief orientation. Introductions to the staff. Settle in to your office. A first meeting.

You know the drill. And it’s a aways a bit intimidating, not knowing the ropes or even the location of the restrooms.

But you get through it and at the end of the day you think all went well, considering you never did find the copier and the supervisor kept referring to you by the name of the person who formerly held your position. Later you discovered she was the office favorite who mysteriously disappeared while on a special assignment. Who knew she’d led a double life as a secret agent/rock star/champion of world peace/winner of mommy of the year award ten years running.

Well, my first day as a police officer, a deputy sheriff, actually, was a bit out in left field. And it went like this …

Keep in mind, things were slightly different back when I first got into law enforcement (yes, all dinosaurs were extinct by then, Noah had retired from shipbuilding, and Michelangelo had indeed finished cleaning and putting away his brushes).

Political correctness and safe spaces had not yet come onto the scene. Cellphones and computers were not around, at least not as we know them to be today. Heck, the first cellphone issued to me by a police agency came in a bag the size of a small backpack and was large enough to fill its bulky container.

Police officers carried revolvers in those days, not semi-auto pistols, and newly-hired officers, especially deputy sheriffs were given one year after the start of work to attend a police academy and complete the mandatory certification courses. This meant we could work, totally untrained and without certification of any type for a full 365 days. That’s NO training other than the on-the-job training we received until we finally made it to the academy.

And this is where this tale begins, my first night on the job—Thanksgiving night. I had not yet been issued uniforms, gun, car … not even a name tag.

I showed up early for my shift, expecting to be outfitted with the necessary equipment and perhaps some sort of orientation. But no, I was instructed to tag along with the captain, the chief deputy who was next in command directly under the sheriff himself. This guy was the boss of everyone other than the high sheriff, and he was a salty, crusty, gruff experienced cop with many years of dealing with the worst of the worst. He was well-respected by both police officers and the general public. He was fair, but firm. He was as tough as old shoe leather. And he was one of the nicest men I’ve met to this day.

After driving through various areas of the county, stopping to talk to business owners and the like, and checking on a few of the deputies, the captain pulled his car in front of a personal residence. The driveway, yard, and shoulder of the road were packed with cars. The house was well lit and it was obvious that there was a gathering of some sort taking place. I expected to be told to wait in the car while the captain went inside for whatever reason, but he told me to follow him. I was a bit taken aback to learn that we’d stepped into the midst a family Thanksgiving dinner and the family was that of my new boss.

We’d been there for only a few minutes when the captain received a message via radio and I knew it was something serious because he hopped up from his seat, motioned for me to follow, and then he practically ran to his car with me tagging along in his wake.

The call, he said, was about a man who’d shot his mother and then barricaded himself inside her house and was now taking potshots at passersby and the deputies and police who’d responded to emergency calls from neighbors.

When we arrived, after a heart-thumping ride with full lights and sirens blasting and blinking, I saw a side of the place I’d lived for many years, a dark something I’d never seen before. Police cars were everywhere. Officers were crouching down and hiding behind whatever cover they could find. Fire trucks and ambulances were positioned a few blocks away. News crews were already there and photographers were vying for the best spot to record the action as it unfolded.

The captain parked his car down the street a bit away from the chaos, and then opened his trunk. He reached inside a wooden box and pulled out a revolver and handed it to me. Next he grabbed a shotgun-like teargas gun from its case and loaded it.

“Come on,” he said. And I did, with my heart beating a very solid offbeat rhythm against my ribs. And why not, since bullets were zinging toward us from the house where the shooter had broken out a front window so he could pull back the curtain, fire a couple of rounds, and then duck back inside.

It’s safe to say that I was slightly (a huge understatement) nervous, but adrenaline pushed me forward.

The captain met with the officer in charge of the scene and then it quickly became clear that command had instantly changed hands. It also became quite clear that the confidence level of the officers on scene had risen to new heights. The boss was there and he’d know how to deal with the crazed shooter inside the house.

Okay, long story shortened a bit …

The captain fired three rounds of tear gas through the window. He used the PA system on one of the nearby patrol cars to call out to the man inside, telling him to come outside. We waited. Nothing. Not a peep. No signs of movement, and the shooting stopped.

We waited some more.

Nothing.

By that time, the local chief of police and our county sheriff had arrived. They’d been notified and had left their own family gatherings to come out (news cameras were there so of course the politicians slithered in).

The tear gas rounds had started a small fire in the room nearest us, and we could see the faint hint of flames below the window sill. So someone had to act quickly to save the man, any hostages, the man’s mother, if she was still alive, and the house.

So the chief ordered three of his officers to put on gas masks and other protective gear and then go inside to search for the shooter and, if possible, extinguish the small fire before it got out of hand. His thinking was that the suspect either killed himself with one of the last rounds we’d heard sound off, or that one of the tear gas rounds had struck him. Either way, we’d waited as long as we could.

So everyone stood ready while the three officers breached a rear door and went inside. By the way, I was ordered to stand guard at another rear door of the house, and the order included, “Do NOT let anyone past you.”

A few minutes later the three who’d gone inside came out and said the guy was not inside the house. One of the officers carried out the body of the elderly woman and delivered her to EMS personnel down the street. She was deceased.

Everyone’s first reaction—the guy had escaped through the door I guarded. After all, I was the new guy and three highly experienced officers had searched and found nothing.

New plans were underway—search the woods, side roads and streets, neighbors houses, etc.

The captain came over to me and motioned for me to follow him in side the house.

“Hold your breath for as long as you can. The place is still full of gas,” he said to me. “Let’s take one last look. I think he’s still in there somewhere and they missed him.”

So we went inside. Why not, I already had a whole four hours experience under my belt. I was carrying a gun I’d not fired. I had no handcuffs and if if I did I wouldn’t have known how to use them. And I didn’t know what to say to the guy if I did run into him. “Freeze sucka”’ came to mind but I somehow thought those words might not be appropriate.

The captain indicated to me that he was going one way to search and motioned for me to go another. He pointed to a closet door and I took the movement to mean I should look inside all closets. So he went his way and I went mine, with tears streaming down my cheeks and my eyes pits of smoldering coals. Tear gas is no joke, even tear gas that had started to dissipate.

As luck would have it I’d brought along a Maglight that I’d purchased with my own money. It came in handy. Really handy.

With light in one hand and gun in the other, I turned the handle on the closet door (using the hand holding the light).

Inside was a waist-high pile of clothes. For some reason I poked the pile with the flashlight, and without warning up popped the shooter, wild-eyed and with gun in hand. A really big gun.

Well, let me tell you, he scared the pure, teetotal crap out of me, and my reaction was to firmly plant that flashlight directly between the suspect’s eyes. He went down. Out cold.

So we collected his gun and carried him outside to waiting EMTs.

The standoff was over and so was my first night at work.

The sheriff and chief both came over to congratulate me for a job well done.

The sheriff held out his hand for shaking and said, “I could use a good man like you. If you’re ever looking for a job let me know.”

I guess he didn’t remember hiring me.

Of course, he also didn’t remember my name when he attended my academy graduation a year later.

So yeah, that was my first day on the job. How was yours?