I've gotten used to starting my day in a locker room, putting on my uniform. I've gotten used to remembering to shake up the pepper spray container every Monday so the contents don't settle. I've gotten used to answering the phone and having people ask questions like "Is getting a ticket for driving by a school bus that has its stop sign out considered a moving violation?" and having people tell me how inconvenient is for them to be arrested right now. It doesn't even feel weird anymore when I walk into the squad room in my uniform to change my radio battery and the sergeant is in the middle of roll call with patrol officers half my age.
Getting comfortable...it was too good to last. Monday morning I go back to school for a week to learn more about Kansas law. At the Police Academy. With actual commissioned police officers...the ones they actually let carry guns...who are half my age. Oh joy. Sarge says I have to wear my uniform, too, so I'll stick out like a sore thumb. It will be good for me, right? Build my confidence? I'll keep telling myself that.
The other "fun" thing is, I know most of the instructors. The problem is they know me from my volunteer days. My days as a volunteer drinker, that is. Yes, the last time most of the instructors saw me, I was legally drunk and trying to walk a straight line while the trainee officers practiced field sobriety testing.
Maybe they won't recognize me.
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