I was a police officer. About fifteen years ago, a girl came in with a complaint that her boyfriend had been sending her a stream of harassing messages after she broke up with him. They weren’t threatening in nature; they oscillated between a few different angles.

Message: “Baby, I love you! Give me another chance!”

Message: “You’re nothing but a cheap w***e and left me to be with someone else!”

Message: “I just swallowed a hundred sleeping pills. I hope you’re proud of yourself!”

Message: “Let’s be adults and talk this out.”

It was serious enough to warrant law enforcement becoming involved when it escalated to the point that this gentleman was actually buying new SIM cards to continue to harass the young lady after she’d blocked him for the umpteenth time.

I went ahead and placed the first warning call.

Me: “…if you continue to contact her in any manner, you will be arrested for harassment. Have I made myself clear?”

Ex-Boyfriend: “You can’t talk to me like that! I’m in a wheelchair!”

Me: “Your disability is completely irrelevant. And—” *extra pleasantly* “—we do have cells and services in the county jail that accommodate inmates who are disabled, as per the Americans With Disabilities Act!”

Ex-Boyfriend: “This is how you treat disabled citizens?”

Me: “It’s how I treat citizens who are breaking the law! Now, again, I am giving you a fair warning. You will be arrested if—”

Ex-Boyfriend: “I’m gonna call my lawyer. You have no right talking to someone in a wheelchair like this. He’s the best lawyer in [City], and he’ll have your badge!”

Me: “You have the right to have a lawyer represent you if you’d like, if you’d rather not speak to me.”

Ex-Boyfriend: “I’m just saying, I’m in a wheelchair, and you will treat me with respect!”

Me: “Do you understand the warning we are giving you?”

Ex-Boyfriend: “No, I don’t understand any of it. Explain it to me in detail.”

Me: “Okay, we’re not going to play games with you, so why don’t you have your lawyer call this office? My name is Officer [My Name], badge number—”

Ex-Boyfriend: *Click*

He then contacted the young lady from another number with, “How dare you call the cops on a man in a wheelchair?! You should be ashamed of yourself!” And so on.

It took a restraining order to send home the message that his wheelchair wasn’t a license to break the law. And as I was told by the serving deputy (whose forceful, powerful voice and intimidating stature had earned him the nickname “Bull”), the guy tried the “You can’t do that! I’m in a wheelchair!” rebuttal on him and was immediately shut down.

I love Hawaiian shirts, including in the workplace. I perform better when I feel myself, but I always ask my employers what is acceptable workwear and read the dress code. My current job is zero hours and terrible shift patterns. I’m offered a nine-to-five, permanent job and jump at the chance. It’s much easier, too.

I explain to my new line manager that I intend to wear Hawaiian shirts if that is acceptable. He says he’s fine with it, and there is no dress code; I’m not dealing with the public, anyway.

My duties start… at a huge police station. I work hard, I’m on time, and I’m learning quickly. A hundred and fifty police officers come through my office every day.

On day one, I’m eating lunch in the canteen, and a bigwig sits down at the next table.

Police Officer: “Good afternoon, sir.”

Bigwig: “Hi, [Officer].”

I turn round and see epaulettes I don’t recognise yet.

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name], new start today in [Office]. Can I ask what the epaulette means?”

Bigwig: “Welcome to this force, [My Name]. These epaulettes mean Superintendent. I am Superintendent [Bigwig], officer in charge of this station. How is your first day?”

Me: “Thank you, it’s going fine. What do police staff call you? Is my shirt okay?”

Bigwig: “Call me [First Name]. I love the shirt; you only deal with internal staff.”

Me: “Can I quote you on that?”

Bigwig: “Yes. If you receive any complaints, send them to me and I will explain to them what is acceptable dress in my station.”

If the officer in charge is happy and I’m getting my duties done, it must be absolutely fine, right? I am now required to replenish printer paper in several rooms, including for senior management. Friday of my first week, I enter the Command Suite, but I can’t find where I need to be. I see two people in uniform talking in the corridor

Me: “Excuse me, can you direct me to the photocopier on this level?”

The sergeant (one rank above officer) looks at my shirt in disbelief and pauses for five seconds.

Sergeant: “Who are you?”

Me: “My name is [My Name].”

Sergeant: “Would you mind showing me your pass?”

My staff ID is on a lanyard round my neck, as is expected. I hold it up.

Me: “Here you go.”

She studies it for another five seconds. It says something like, “[My Name], Junior Administrator, Appointed [this year].”

Sergeant: “What do you do, exactly?”

Me: “I work in [Office]. I started on Tuesday, and my duties include maintaining the printer paper for the senior officers here in Command.”

Sergeant: “Who told you you could wear this?”

Me: “Superintendent [Bigwig], station officer in charge.”

Sergeant: “Through that door, on the left.”

Unsurprisingly, in a few weeks, my outrageous shirts spread my name like wildfire to the 2,000 police officers in the city, dozens of whom cross my desk every day. Forget my department name or job title. Student cops are told, to get [task], email [My Name] or ask for “the Hawaiian shirt at [Station].” No one else has since queried what I wear.

I cycle to the pub and hide my bike behind a few buildings, not locked. Last orders come, and my bike isn’t there. It’s my own fault for not locking it, but no one likes to be judged, right? I have a look around and go back to the pub.

Me: “Hi, do you know if there is CCTV out the front? My bike has walked.”

Customer: “Was it locked?”

Barkeep: “I don’t think so, sorry.”

Customer: “Police won’t be interested. You won’t get it back.”

Me: *To the barkeep* “Thanks for your help.” *To the customer* “Thanks, but that isn’t what I asked, and I can deal with the authorities.”

He’s right, though. If you don’t take basic precautions, what do you expect? I report it anyway.

Me: “Hi, can I report the theft of a bicycle?” *Gives details*

Police #1: “I’ve logged that, incident [number]. I hope you get it back. Good luck.”

My phone rings soon after.

Police #2: “We have your bike here at [Police Station ten km away].”

Me: “I… How? Did somebody presume it was lost or something? I’ll come and get it in the morning.”

Police #2: “I don’t know, probably.”

My phone rings again soon after.

Me: “Bicycle theft victim answering service, how may I be of assistance?”

Police #3: “Would you like to make a statement for court?”

Me: “How can you make a statement about a lost bicycle?”

Police #3: “Actually, I confiscated it.”

Me: “Wait a minute. At 10:00 pm, I leave a $50 bike in a car park, not secured in any way. Two hours later, it is in the police station. How did that happen?”

Police #3: “I was on a foot patrol. A ten-year-old boy cycled past. I knew him, and I knew it wasn’t his bike, and I’m treating it as theft.”

Me: “Where?”

Police: #3: “On [Street the pub is on].”

Me: “Well, I can’t fault that for service. What will you do with him? Have a chat with the [jargon for officer who deals with children]?”

Police #3: “Realistically? I’ll give him a telling off with a social worker in his care home.”

I now have the full picture. At 11:00 pm, a child absconded from his care home and took my bike for a joyride. Two hundred metres away, he cycled past a cop. Game over. I was exceptionally lucky.

Me: “If it makes it easier to explain to him that taking bicycles is wrong, then I’ll make a statement.”

Police #3: “Are you one of my colleagues? You know some cop-speak.”

Me: “Not currently, but some of my in-laws are.”

My phone rings again.

Police #4: “Are you in now, and I’ll drive this bicycle out to you?”

Me: “If you can fit it into your car. It’s 0130; I would have thought you would be busy.”

Police #4: “No, it’s Tuesday. Actually, we’ll leave it to the morning; you’ve clearly had a few pints and I can’t take a drunk statement.”

Me: “See you then.”

The next morning, two detectives arrived at my house with the bicycle. They took a statement of one paragraph that basically said, “My bike wasn’t where I left it.” I thanked them profusely and assured them I would be more careful. Through unofficial channels, I heard that the conversation took place between the boy, the youth police officer, and a social worker attached to his care home.

But really, you absolutely can’t fault the service from law enforcement. Foolish man abandons cheap bicycle. Child finds it and goes for a joyride. It is confiscated from him on the same street and returned to the owner the next day. What are the odds?

I work for a city police dispatch department. It’s around 8:00 pm and I have just started my night shift when I receive the following call.

Caller: “I live right next to the town hall, and I’ve noticed that for the past two weeks, a couple of lights in their offices were constantly turned on. I think it’s both environmentally unfriendly and a waste of tax money to keep the lights on when nobody’s there.”

Me: “I understand, but unfortunately, unless you’ve observed anything out of the ordinary besides lights being turned on in an office building, we’re not really the right department for these types of complaints, even if it’s a public building.”

Caller: “Well, who should I call otherwise?”

Me: “You could try calling the town hall front desk during office hours.”

Caller: *Sarcastically, under his breath* “The police, your friend in need.”

This is a rough translation; a literal translation of the German phrase would be, “The police, your friend and helper,” so he’s implying that I’m not really helping him here by pointing that out.

Caller: *To me* “Well, could you give me their number?”

Me: “Sure, I’ll look it up for you.”

Caller: *Again under his breath* “You guys sure are something.”

At this point, I get fed up with his attitude. Apparently, he had two weeks to observe the lights being on, but he only got around to call some completely unrelated department about it in the evening, instead of calling the people who actually work in the building he’s complaining about during their office hours, or, you know, walking across the street from where he lives. And then he thinks he can be snarky with the police trying to help with his complaint?

Me: “Sir, I’m trying to help you, but to be frank, we’re not an information desk, and we certainly won’t dispatch police officers just because some office workers forgot to turn off the lights when they went home.”

Caller: “Those offices aren’t occupied; they’ve just left the lights turned on the entire time.”

Me: “How would you know that nobody’s in those offices during their office hours?”

Caller: “I’ve been observing them for two weeks now.”

Me: “So, you mean to tell me you’ve had two weeks to constantly observe those offices during their office hours, and yet, you decided to wait until it’s 8:00 pm to then call the police about this non-emergency issue?”

After a few seconds of silence:

Caller: “You know what? I don’t need that front desk number anymore.”

I get where he’s coming from in principle, that the lights shouldn’t be turned on the entire night when nobody’s there, but I simply can’t follow the thought process that would lead him to call the police about it and then choose to have an attitude when we tell him that his issue lies outside of our responsibility.

It was my first day of a paid internship, and my boss had called to ask that I arrive as early as possible. 

I was speeding a little and had just passed a bit of slow farm machinery when I got pulled over. The conversation was pretty much what you’d expect: “Do you know how fast you were going?” “What’s the rush?” “License and registration?” etc. I readily admitted to doing five over, because I was, and I said had I gotten called in to work early on my first day.

After an especially long wait of nearly twenty minutes, he returned with a warning for my speed and told me to slow down.

Two days later, I was at work, marking old paperwork to be sent to storage, when my boss entered the office with someone I’d met my first morning.

Chief: “Hey! I’d like you to meet [Officer]. [Officer]’s switching to day side, and he’ll be your go-to guy for questions.”

[Officer] just kind of looked at me. He knew me from somewhere, but he couldn’t place where. 

Officer: “I pulled you over on Monday, didn’t I?”

Me: “Sure did!”

Officer: “D***. If I had known it was the chief waiting on you, I’d have made you wait longer!”

The chief did not find it as funny as we did.