I think I am becoming addicted to driving the wrong way on South Drive with the lights flashing. Last night I did it not once, not twice, but three times.
The first time was when Schempp, in his role as Charlie – 7, asked for some backup for a domestic he ran into outside the south fountain doors. I forget where I was, but I flipped on the lights and headed down the wrong side of South Drive and since I was speeding, too, I get there in short order.
The couple is on the stairs and Schempp, sensibly waiting for backup, is standing several feet back. At first glance, several things were obvious. One) the woman, a slight Asian lady, was drunk; 2) the guy was trash and had a temper, and 3) the lady had been smacked around. She had bruises on her face, and taking point #2 into consideration, you didn’t have to be Joe Friday to surmise the man, who turned out to be her husband, topped the suspect list.
Neither was rational either. It took us a while to get them separated and then four girls in their 20’s got involved. They had noticed the bruises and started (loudly) wondering why we weren’t doing anything and they got pretty vocal about it; in fact, they were making pests of themselves and I was spending half my time telling them to pipe down, at least until Jo(s)e showed up, then I was able to spend all my time telling them to pipe down. I came very close to reading them the trespass warning, and I probably should have.
The wife, though, said she did not want to press charges. If she doesn’t want to press charges, that’s it, there’s nothing we can do. We are not going to arrest the guy. I do not approve of hitting women, but we are neither cops nor superheroes. We are agents of the owner charged with maintaining order and protecting – in order of importance – ourselves, our fellow employees, especially the hot ones, but others, too, our guests and, if all that is attended to, hotel property.
It takes a while, but we get them separated and the guy quieted down and I tell him his very best bet is for him to do exactly what I tell him to do, which he does for all of ten seconds. He is accustomed to yelling and screaming and was probably yelled at as a kid and hasn’t had a quiet moment in years.
But we’re not going to arrest him. The woman does not want to press charges and we can’t make her and we didn’t see the beating so, honestly, all we really want to do is get them off property and make them someone else’s problem.
Eventually, we get them heading up South Drive to the taxi stand. The girls have piped down somewhat but not completely and then Junior gets on the horn.
– Control to outside units, be advised someone called Metro about this. They’re en route.
This is great actually. With Metro here, we can let them handle it. We are not thrilled with the idea of sending this woman home to get beaten again. Of course, if Metro does hook him up he’ll probably take it out on her when he’s released. 77Charles makes the decision that we are not going to detain them, however, and they get in a cab and leave before the cops get there.
There were a couple of funny exchanges with Eric, who was pulling some OT at Eddie – 1. Eric usually works dayshift.
The first funny came when we were clocking in and Eric happened to be whining about how short-handed they are on dayshift, which they’re not. At least not as shorthanded as we are.
“What,” I said, mockingly. “Are you down to eleven Charlie units?”
Eleven Charlie units were what they had had the day before; it’s not fully staffed, but it is a pretty good number.
“Eleven Charlie units,” he said dismissively. “We haven’t had eleven Charlie units since…since…”
“Since when, Tuesday?”
That got some good laughs, which it deserved. It was a good line. Maybe not Line of the Year, but still, pretty good.
Eric got me back though. At 0530 or so I’m on patrol near Eddie – 1 when I spot Marvin and Coleman, two day shifters, at the shack chatting with Eric. I drive up and Coleman reports the shack is in dire need of water and that Eric is thirsty.
Part of a Mary unit’s job is producing water for Eddie – 1, so I go and get a couple of five-gallon bottles from Eddie – 2 and deliver them. I make Eric get the first one out of the back, which he whines about, but this blocks traffic, so I pull in and park and take the second bottle to the shack, which I whine about.
A few minutes later Eric announces that an ambulance is passing through on south drive. They aren’t here for a call and they aren’t running their lights, but merely passing through.
– They’re heading off property, on Frank Sinatra Drive.
– You must’ve told them you weren’t dying of thirst anymore.
– No, I told them your hernia from finally picking something up was better.
That was funny. There was no way I was going to top it, so I kept quiet.