April 30: Beth and Melanie get patted down
After chili dogs, the A-Team (naturally the group that Beth and I were in) went to get a better look at the SWAT vehicle, which was approximately the size of a bull elephant, if a bull elephant was a semi truck.
Here is an interesting story about the SWAT vehicle:
Commander Barsness (giggling): “We bought it with funds from drug busts.”
When the Sheriff’s Office does a drug bust, the suspect is allowed to testify in court that he did not receive proceeds for dealing drugs. When he cannot successfully prove that, his assets are seized. The money goes into a special fund and may only be used to buy stuff to stop drug dealers.
Me: “That is funny. Heh. Makes it all worth it!”
Commander Barsness: “Yeah! Hahahahahaha!”
It was now pouring and cold, even with the additional layers Beth and I had on. Our group huddled on a slab of concrete in the corner of the parking lot. The concrete square had a comfortingly solid roof, and uncomfortably chain link sides.
The SWAT vehicle was parked so that we could see through the open back doors into the solid black interior, which had bench seats and a fire extinguisher and a place to hook a saline solution bag and a huge set of bolt cutters, and could probably serve as a fallout shelter in the event of a nuclear emergency.
Man, I wanted to drive it. I mean, I seriously, seriously wanted to drive it.
The guy showing off the vehicle was a former Marine and had been on the SWAT team for years. And he was yet another sergeant who had years’ worth of experience working in Street Crimes and on the Drug Task Force. (Which was just weird, because the guy looked late thirties, max. He must have been an impressive five-year-old Marine.) I didn’t catch his name, unfortunately. He was one of those people who endures being the center of attention only as long as he has to.
He told us that he’d moved from the SWAT team over to Street Crimes and the Drug Task Force, but decided to go back to SWAT. “It’s the only work I want to do. It’s where my heart is. My wife and I talked about moving into something else since I was getting older, but. . . I’m where I want to be.”
It was around now that a lovely, young, blonde deputy—who looked oddly like Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie, except with more clothes—came over to invite us to try out a shoot/don’t shoot scenario.
I’m glad I did it.
It was awful.
In the first post, I mentioned seeing a white mini-maze. That was the training space for the scenarios. Before you went in, Deputy Jeannie and Sergeant Schmidt each did a pat-down on you (Sergeant Schmidt was as respectful as a distressed head of Internal Affairs could be, and that was pretty darned respectful, lemme tell ya.)
Deputy Jeannie put a fluorescent armband on you, and Sergeant Schmidt gave you a fake gun that shot paintballs. He showed you how to hold it and where to rest your index finger until you’re ready to pull the trigger, and instructed you to keep the gun pointed at the ground until you were ready to fire.
The three rules for gun use in the police world:
- Keep your gun pointed down until you’re ready to aim
- Keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot
- If you shoot, shoot to kill.
Then you had a brief conversation with Sergeant Linda Hayes, who is everybody’s favorite soccer mom and also tough enough to slap bracelets on a grizzly (“click-click”).
Sergeant Hayes told you only that you had been to this particular apartment complex before, and that this particular couple often got into noisy fights. While she was talking, you could hear people shouting at one another, a male voice and a female voice. They were so loud and angry it was hard to understand anything they said.
It was your job, Sergeant Hayes said, to go in and decide whether to shoot somebody.
Beth and I turned right, reached the first turn in the maze in four steps, turned left and found ourselves facing a white wall with a door in the middle. The shouting was coming from the other side of the wall.
I pounded on the door and asked what was going on. Beth said, “This is the police!” (Sergeant Hayes corrected her: “Sheriff’s Office.”
We opened the door.
On the other side was a fake room, open top, grass for a floor, four white walls. To the right was a second door out of the fake room. The door was standing open.
Two people wearing hoods were inside, bellowing at each other so loudly, it was hard to talk over them. Beth took the lead, asking what was wrong.
They both yelled at her, and then the man pulled out a very realistic looking gun and aimed it at the woman.
I froze. I forgot I was holding a gun, fake or otherwise. My mind raced, trying to come up with a way to convince everyone to calm down, to talk to us.
Beth remembered what we’d learned in our use-of-force class that morning, lifted her gun and pulled the trigger.
It was the right thing to do. Had this been a real incident, not just the woman’s life, but also our lives would be at risk. Beth’s decision would likely have saved three people. I didn’t know how to feel about myself. Part of me was ashamed for hesitating. The other part was glad I couldn’t do it.
We walked out of the mini maze to debrief with Sergeant Hayes. She asked for our impressions and then pointed out that cops train hard for these situations because they never know what they’re walking into. Anything could go wrong. Your emotions get riled up and it gets harder to think through them.
“Actually,” I said, “I got calmer. I didn’t feel wound up at all. I just couldn’t decide what to do. I don’t make quick decisions.”
Deputy Jeannie was there as well, and said that other people have said the same thing to her, that they don’t make decisions quickly.
We returned our fake guns and arm bands and walked back to the SWAT vehicle. I was shaken. Thinking about it, I’m still shaken.
Beth? Not shaken. When Deputy Jeannie came back only five minutes later and asked if we wanted to do another, Beth was all for it. She was so brave, it was amazing.
I went with her, but only watched the second time (they insisted I carry a fake gun, anyway.) This time, the woman was pacing back and forth and babbling that the world was going to end and everything was going wrong. Beth tried to talk to her, and the woman just got more agitated. Then she pulled a knife and aimed it at Beth.
It was a fake knife. It was cardboard covered in foil. It didn’t matter. I froze.
Beth moved back, but continued to talk to the person. Sergeant Hayes said a code word and called a halt, though. The demonstration was over.
Another debrief afterward. What were our thoughts? What would we do differently?
Sergeant Hayes: “Okay. Gun down at your side. Raise it when you think it’s time to shoot.”
She pretended to advance on Beth with a knife. Beth and I both raised our guns about the same time, but it was still too late. The Sergeant took two quick steps and mimed stabbing Beth. It happened before Beth even had time to aim.
They draw a knife on you and advance, you don’t wait. You shoot before they stab you.
We walked back to the SWAT vehicle. Beth was totally fine. I was looking for someplace to curl up and weep.
You want to think that if worse comes to worst, you’ll fight.
Next up: Photos of the SWAT vehicle. And then Part 5: The shooting range