Teaching Police
With my travel fund exhausted and my friends out of town, I found myself with very little to do during spring break. So when our School Resource Officer asked if anyone wanted to volunteer as an actor for the police department’s training program I responded with a very professional, “Me! Me! Pick Me! Me!” Not only was I the president of the drama club in high school, I explained, but I also received a varsity letter for my thespian activities. Undoubtedly filled with pity at the sight of my nerdiness, the officer agreed to refer my name to his sergeant.
When the sergeant called to schedule me into a training class he told me that we would be working in an abandoned warehouse, which was quite dusty. He said I should wear a long sleeved shirt and durable pants because I would be crawling around on the ground a lot. (I instantly wondered what sort of crime involved crawling.) Before he hung up the sergeant made sure I was prepared to get “roughed up” by some cops and to get shot with paint balls and fake tazers. He also told me that our school librarian, who recently became a grandma, was the only other adult from my school who had volunteered.
Still excited by the prospect of pretending I was a drug dealer or terrorist, I readily agreed. But I must admit it was hard to prepare myself mentally. In my mind’s eye, I pictured myself and the school librarian crawling toward a cocaine stash through some dark, rat-infested warehouse with water dripping from the ceiling. Inevitably, she would drop her glasses. I would turn to help her and accidentally cut myself on a piece of shattered window pane. Then the police officers, smelling my blood, would leap out of no where and shoot me repeatedly with paint balls, causing enormous welts to sprout up all over my body. Of course the welts wouldn’t hurt immediately because I would have already passed out from fright.
When I arrived at the training facility I was relieved to discover that it was just an empty office building that was somewhat dusty but still retained its structural integrity. I also learned that crawling is not part of your crime; it’s what you do after the cops have cased the building and found you standing in the kitchen with a shotgun. Even though it was pretend, I was so scared when the officers screamed at me to show my hands and drop to the floor that I readily crawled to them like a trained basset hound. Not very authentic.
The teaching officers took all the volunteers aside and fitted us with suits of armor that included several layers of padding, mesh material, and a gigantic mask with very few air holes. By the time I was outfitted and given my acting assignment, I looked and sounded like Darth Vader. (That is, if Darth Vader had the body of a linebacker and the attitude of a disgruntled trailer park housewife.)
As the day went on the sergeant set up five rooms with different scenarios through which the trainees must progress and respond accordingly. I was assigned the role of an angry woman who was visiting her boyfriend at a rehab. facility. My character was understandably upset because in the nine weeks her boyfriend had been in rehab. he A) failed to get sober, B) had an affair, and C) spent all their rent money on beer. We didn’t have any prepared dialogue but the police officer playing my boyfriend had already encountered this scenario on several occasions, and I couldn’t even count the number of times I had a fight with my drunk, cheating boyfriend while he was in rehab., so we were both confident we could improvise.
When our scenario was about to begin the sergeant prepared the officer trainees in the hallway and then yelled, “Room two, we’re hot!” which was the signal for me to put on my Darth Vader mask and start lumbering toward my cheating boyfriend while I cried, shouted profanities, and pretended to hit him. The officers were supposed to separate us, make us sit on the floor, and determine what the problem was.
They all got us to sit quite successfully. It was difficult for me to hear them through my mask and over my own shouting, but I could tell by their hand gestures that they were concerned about my plight and wanted to help, so I continued. “He cheated!” I wailed through the tiny air holes, “And he spent all of our rent money on beer!” I repeatedly broke into hysterics while my drunk boyfriend told the officer, “But ah luuuuv her. She my woman.” Finally the sergeant called, “End scenario” and I was allowed to take off my mask and breathe again while they debriefed the role play.
However, my conflicts with my fake boyfriend didn’t end there. We were asked to replay the scenario through several rounds, each one with me becoming increasingly violent. This is important because (as they explained to me) many officers will immediately assume that the male is the assailant and address him first, when oftentimes the woman is the dangerous one. Approximately 30% of all domestic violence calls end with the woman being taken into custody – not the man. So, they were trying to train the officers to analyze our behavior and assess the situation without making assumptions based on gender.
In one version of our scenario I was supposed to go completely berserk, grab a baseball bat, knock the top off of a trashcan and then attempt to bludgeon my boyfriend to death. Since this situation was considered lethal, the officers were required to shoot me if they couldn’t get me to put down my weapon. I didn’t mind getting shot, but hitting the trashcan was kind of challenging because I’ve never been particularly good at team sports. It’s difficult for me to hit anything with a baseball bat even when I’m not wearing seven layers of padding. Plus, every time I put on my Darth Vader mask I pulled hair into my eyes and my breath naturally fogged up the lenses, so I was batting blind. But I think whirling the bat around haphazardly made me look even crazier and further encouraged the officers to shoot me, which is what they were supposed to do.
Two of the three officers passed the test. One shot me with her paint gun and the other decided to use his tazer. After each instance I was supposed to fall down on the ground and pretend to be wounded, which I think I did rather convincingly, but because my authentic cries were filling the confines of my mask I couldn’t hear the sergeant say, “Cease fire – end scenario” and I continued to “die” long after the other actors had taken off their masks. Then I felt a little poke on my shoulder. “Umm, Alice?” the sergeant said. “Alice? That’s a good job but it’s over now. You can stop.” I took off my mask to find him standing there with a smirk on his face. Then someone in the corner whispered, “Drama Queen.” (I'm not positive who it was but think it was my fake boyfriend, who also happened to be smirking.)
In the final round of our scenario I had to hold a fake baby in my left hand and beat up my boyfriend with my right. After a couple of practices all of the trainees were able to determine that I was the aggressor, probably because my boyfriend was cowering in the corner while I snarled and tore at his flesh (all the while holding a baby inches away from the madness). One of the trainees managed to pull me off my boyfriend, take me to the ground and handcuff me, but during the process the baby went flying against the wall and cracked her plastic skull open, so the officer got reprimanded for that. But I think he still got an “A” for effort.
Though I was hot, sweaty and tired at the end of the day, I can definitely say this was one of the most exciting, unique learning (and teaching) experiences of my life. I have a new appreciation for police officers that goes well beyond respect. I know it sounds kind of cliché, but police work is nothing like what they portray on TV. Police officers are noble people but they are also real people with real fears, and overcoming those fears in order to protect others is no easy business.
During one of the debriefing sessions a seasoned officer gave the trainees a compelling speech about overcoming the instinct to flee. “Your partner is like your brother,” he said. “If you left your brother behind to die in a gunfight, you would never be able to live with yourself.” He went on to explain that they had to trust each other no matter what, and I heard this reminder to trust echoed throughout the day. It made me wonder whom I would trust with my own life and where I would find the strength to express that level of vulnerability.
We had some down time between scenarios so I got to talk a lot with the officer playing my boyfriend. He told me about how he majored in political science in college, how he liked creative writing, and how he and his wife read five books to their son every night. It was refreshing to see the person behind the uniform. Also, though the officers talked tough when they were instructing the trainees, they were always tender-hearted when it came to dealing with victims (even fake ones). At the end of each scenario I took off my mask and one of them was readily cradling me, picking the tazer parts out of my armor, and helping me to my feet. They also gave me a chocolate donut.
At the end of the day the sergeant closed the training session with the words, “Remember: we need to carry olive branches as well as arrows.” He wanted all the officers to understand that it was as much their responsibility to promote peace as it was to use force. That is definitely a lesson I will carry on into my personal life, and I admired this sergeant – not just as an officer of the law, but as a teacher as well.
Most importantly, though, I learned that despite my meager training as a high school English Teacher, I can still hold my baby in one hand and beat the tar out of my no-good, cheatin’ boyfriend with the other. And, if I deem it necessary, I can give him a few good swats with a baseball bat before the fuzz has a chance to take me down.
When the sergeant called to schedule me into a training class he told me that we would be working in an abandoned warehouse, which was quite dusty. He said I should wear a long sleeved shirt and durable pants because I would be crawling around on the ground a lot. (I instantly wondered what sort of crime involved crawling.) Before he hung up the sergeant made sure I was prepared to get “roughed up” by some cops and to get shot with paint balls and fake tazers. He also told me that our school librarian, who recently became a grandma, was the only other adult from my school who had volunteered.
Still excited by the prospect of pretending I was a drug dealer or terrorist, I readily agreed. But I must admit it was hard to prepare myself mentally. In my mind’s eye, I pictured myself and the school librarian crawling toward a cocaine stash through some dark, rat-infested warehouse with water dripping from the ceiling. Inevitably, she would drop her glasses. I would turn to help her and accidentally cut myself on a piece of shattered window pane. Then the police officers, smelling my blood, would leap out of no where and shoot me repeatedly with paint balls, causing enormous welts to sprout up all over my body. Of course the welts wouldn’t hurt immediately because I would have already passed out from fright.
When I arrived at the training facility I was relieved to discover that it was just an empty office building that was somewhat dusty but still retained its structural integrity. I also learned that crawling is not part of your crime; it’s what you do after the cops have cased the building and found you standing in the kitchen with a shotgun. Even though it was pretend, I was so scared when the officers screamed at me to show my hands and drop to the floor that I readily crawled to them like a trained basset hound. Not very authentic.
The teaching officers took all the volunteers aside and fitted us with suits of armor that included several layers of padding, mesh material, and a gigantic mask with very few air holes. By the time I was outfitted and given my acting assignment, I looked and sounded like Darth Vader. (That is, if Darth Vader had the body of a linebacker and the attitude of a disgruntled trailer park housewife.)
As the day went on the sergeant set up five rooms with different scenarios through which the trainees must progress and respond accordingly. I was assigned the role of an angry woman who was visiting her boyfriend at a rehab. facility. My character was understandably upset because in the nine weeks her boyfriend had been in rehab. he A) failed to get sober, B) had an affair, and C) spent all their rent money on beer. We didn’t have any prepared dialogue but the police officer playing my boyfriend had already encountered this scenario on several occasions, and I couldn’t even count the number of times I had a fight with my drunk, cheating boyfriend while he was in rehab., so we were both confident we could improvise.
When our scenario was about to begin the sergeant prepared the officer trainees in the hallway and then yelled, “Room two, we’re hot!” which was the signal for me to put on my Darth Vader mask and start lumbering toward my cheating boyfriend while I cried, shouted profanities, and pretended to hit him. The officers were supposed to separate us, make us sit on the floor, and determine what the problem was.
They all got us to sit quite successfully. It was difficult for me to hear them through my mask and over my own shouting, but I could tell by their hand gestures that they were concerned about my plight and wanted to help, so I continued. “He cheated!” I wailed through the tiny air holes, “And he spent all of our rent money on beer!” I repeatedly broke into hysterics while my drunk boyfriend told the officer, “But ah luuuuv her. She my woman.” Finally the sergeant called, “End scenario” and I was allowed to take off my mask and breathe again while they debriefed the role play.
However, my conflicts with my fake boyfriend didn’t end there. We were asked to replay the scenario through several rounds, each one with me becoming increasingly violent. This is important because (as they explained to me) many officers will immediately assume that the male is the assailant and address him first, when oftentimes the woman is the dangerous one. Approximately 30% of all domestic violence calls end with the woman being taken into custody – not the man. So, they were trying to train the officers to analyze our behavior and assess the situation without making assumptions based on gender.
In one version of our scenario I was supposed to go completely berserk, grab a baseball bat, knock the top off of a trashcan and then attempt to bludgeon my boyfriend to death. Since this situation was considered lethal, the officers were required to shoot me if they couldn’t get me to put down my weapon. I didn’t mind getting shot, but hitting the trashcan was kind of challenging because I’ve never been particularly good at team sports. It’s difficult for me to hit anything with a baseball bat even when I’m not wearing seven layers of padding. Plus, every time I put on my Darth Vader mask I pulled hair into my eyes and my breath naturally fogged up the lenses, so I was batting blind. But I think whirling the bat around haphazardly made me look even crazier and further encouraged the officers to shoot me, which is what they were supposed to do.
Two of the three officers passed the test. One shot me with her paint gun and the other decided to use his tazer. After each instance I was supposed to fall down on the ground and pretend to be wounded, which I think I did rather convincingly, but because my authentic cries were filling the confines of my mask I couldn’t hear the sergeant say, “Cease fire – end scenario” and I continued to “die” long after the other actors had taken off their masks. Then I felt a little poke on my shoulder. “Umm, Alice?” the sergeant said. “Alice? That’s a good job but it’s over now. You can stop.” I took off my mask to find him standing there with a smirk on his face. Then someone in the corner whispered, “Drama Queen.” (I'm not positive who it was but think it was my fake boyfriend, who also happened to be smirking.)
In the final round of our scenario I had to hold a fake baby in my left hand and beat up my boyfriend with my right. After a couple of practices all of the trainees were able to determine that I was the aggressor, probably because my boyfriend was cowering in the corner while I snarled and tore at his flesh (all the while holding a baby inches away from the madness). One of the trainees managed to pull me off my boyfriend, take me to the ground and handcuff me, but during the process the baby went flying against the wall and cracked her plastic skull open, so the officer got reprimanded for that. But I think he still got an “A” for effort.
Though I was hot, sweaty and tired at the end of the day, I can definitely say this was one of the most exciting, unique learning (and teaching) experiences of my life. I have a new appreciation for police officers that goes well beyond respect. I know it sounds kind of cliché, but police work is nothing like what they portray on TV. Police officers are noble people but they are also real people with real fears, and overcoming those fears in order to protect others is no easy business.
During one of the debriefing sessions a seasoned officer gave the trainees a compelling speech about overcoming the instinct to flee. “Your partner is like your brother,” he said. “If you left your brother behind to die in a gunfight, you would never be able to live with yourself.” He went on to explain that they had to trust each other no matter what, and I heard this reminder to trust echoed throughout the day. It made me wonder whom I would trust with my own life and where I would find the strength to express that level of vulnerability.
We had some down time between scenarios so I got to talk a lot with the officer playing my boyfriend. He told me about how he majored in political science in college, how he liked creative writing, and how he and his wife read five books to their son every night. It was refreshing to see the person behind the uniform. Also, though the officers talked tough when they were instructing the trainees, they were always tender-hearted when it came to dealing with victims (even fake ones). At the end of each scenario I took off my mask and one of them was readily cradling me, picking the tazer parts out of my armor, and helping me to my feet. They also gave me a chocolate donut.
At the end of the day the sergeant closed the training session with the words, “Remember: we need to carry olive branches as well as arrows.” He wanted all the officers to understand that it was as much their responsibility to promote peace as it was to use force. That is definitely a lesson I will carry on into my personal life, and I admired this sergeant – not just as an officer of the law, but as a teacher as well.
Most importantly, though, I learned that despite my meager training as a high school English Teacher, I can still hold my baby in one hand and beat the tar out of my no-good, cheatin’ boyfriend with the other. And, if I deem it necessary, I can give him a few good swats with a baseball bat before the fuzz has a chance to take me down.
posted by Alice | 9:13 PM
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0 comments
She's a lover, not a biter (usually).
And she will defend you against