Guns, Pink Handcuffs and Alcohol
In the beginning we had a love hate relationship. It was the first firearm I had ever shot and building a good partnership took time. The men in my department all give their rifles and shotguns female names. I was the first to name my sidearm and he was christened after Dirty Harry.
Clint and I worked well together for two years but then I was promoted to Detective. I was issued a smaller, easily concealed .40 caliber Glock 23c. I named him Fabio. Maybe that was the problem. Fabio and I never hit it off (pun intended). My shooting scores went down and though I continued to qualify on the range, I wasn’t happy.
Many changes are happening in my department and I was given the chance to work with Clint again. Fabio you may be better looking but you’ve got nothing on Mr. Eastwood. The First trip back to the range and Clint kicked your ass.
This leads me to pink handcuffs.
About six months into my career as a law enforcement officer, I saw a pair of pink handcuffs in a police magazine. I had to have them. I was teased by fellow officers, but mid-life comes with benefits and not caring if you stand out is one of them. My pink cuffs have the place of honor on my duty belt and I have a backup pair (also pink) in my outer Kevlar vest. Because I’ve learned through the years that you can never have enough handcuffs, I own black and silver pairs too.
If a juvenile is going to jail, and they aren’t giving me any problems, I let them pick the color. The boys always pick pink so they can brag to their friends. I’m quite popular with juvenile delinquents.
Pink also happens to be my choice for abusive men and child molesters. When I put handcuffs on my suspects, they are facing away from me and don’t know they will stand out when entering the jail. The guards know my rules and they enjoy asking my prisoners what they did to piss me off. They want to be the first to let the suspect know he’s in pink.
I’ve saved my money and I’m now looking for a pair in baby shit yellow. This leads me to alcohol.
A police buddy of mine once told me, “This job will drive you to drink.” My friend finally reached a point where he could no longer take it, and ended his career in law enforcement.
I live in a very small town and we never have enough officers. I am the only Detective and I am on call 24/6.5. It’s okay if this doesn’t make sense, I’ll break it down. Beginning Saturday nights at 6pm, I turn off my cell phone and ringer to my house phone. I then turn on the margarita blender. I am unavailable until after I wake up the following morning, usually around 6am.
I discovered early on in my career, that I absolutely need down time. If my fellow officers didn’t know I was drinking they would knock on my door after I refuse to answer my phone. Even knowing I drink on Saturday nights, they knock “just to check.” My husband kicks them off the property.
One day, I was scheduled to fill in for our School Resource Officer, and decided to give a presentation on underage drinking. During my research, I discovered I am a binge drinker. A binge drinker is a person that drinks more than five alcoholic drinks in one sitting. Being a binge drinker leads to alcoholism. Since learning these troubling facts, I bought larger glasses and I stop at four drinks. I also make frou frou margaritas using real strawberry, mango or lemon. This must count for something.
I never mix drinking and guns but drinking and pink handcuffs can be kinda fun.
Until next time,
Detective Ivy signing off