Monday, I had a lovely "gentleman" come in with a court order to return his gun. His baby mama didn't show up for the EPO/DVO hearing and they had to rule that he could have the weapon back. ($5 says that gun is back here within 3 months, and probably as a homicide weapon. I may be growing a tad cynical working here) We still have to run a background check, per federal law, which sent him into a shrieking fit and had his homies grumbling. (because, of course, he had to bring his posse with him to get the gun) My unhappy Sgt. called to tell me he was amazingly clear, and to proceed with the release.
I type up the release form, have him sign it, give him the gun, and this is where the fun starts. "Where's my bullets?" I explain that the order only said to release the gun, not that ammo, and that even if they HAD ordered us to return the bullets , we don't release guns & ammo on the same day for safety reasons. "What? It don't have to say anything about the bullets, they be part of the gun!" Um, no, they're not. You're welcome to come back in the morning to debate that with my Sgt, but *I* am not giving you anything else today. "Bitch, bring me my bullets!" Because, yes, calling me names and ordering me to give you something you're not entitled to works SO well. I reiterated to him that he could come back in the morning and discuss it with my Sgt, or he could keep screaming at me and find himself going back downtown in a squad car- his choice. He kept screaming at me, so I picked up the phone to call for backup, and his posse dragged him put of the building.
D stood on a chair to look out the window and make sure they left. She said they were driving a tricked out SUV that is probably worth more than my house. The officer who had brought the gun in after his arrest happened to come in about 20 minutes later. I told her that we'd had to give the gun back, and WHY, and she said she would do a welfare check on the baby mama and warn her that he had his gun back.
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Thursday, I get this phone call:
Idiot: Do you be havin my stuff? (I swear, I don't make this dialog up. It's as close to verbatim as I can get)
Me: Who are you?
I: Bob (not his real name, just in case anyone out there is wondering)
Me: Do you have a last name, and is your first name Bob or Robert?
I: mumbles full name. I have to ask him to repeat it twice, and then to spell it because apparently his jaws were suddenly glued shut. He then tells me that *I'm* stupid.
Me: (finally locating the record in the computer) Yes, we have your stuff. We're open until 5:30 today and you will need your ID to claim it.
I: Man, I ain't studying coming down there in this heat. Can't you send somebody out to bring it to me?
Me: *headdesk* NO. You have 90 days to come get it or it goes in the garbage.
I: It's too hot to be going out to get stuff. (Really? that didn't stop you from going out shoplifting- I looked the charges up while I was dealing with him) Why can't you bring it to me?
Me: If it's too hot for you today, then you might want to wait until it cools off. Surely it will be cool enough for your taste soemtime in the next 90 days.
I: Bitch. *hangs up*
Me: *giving in to the urge since it's only a dial tone* Your mama. (yes, my mother is proud of my maturity levels)
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