BadLuckCadetfhtml

by Suzie Ivy

  “You can’t run, you’re overweight, too old and you are not cut out to be a police officer. Is this a joke to you?" he demanded, "Will your social club give you a certificate if you complete two weeks of the academy? How about making it easy on everyone by going home today and not coming back on Monday? Let me add this, if you come back on Monday I will make your life a living hell.”

  I believed him. My stomach was a quivering mass of jelly, but I looked him straight in the eye.

  "I became a police officer because I can do the job. I apologize for my lack of respect today but I will be back on Monday.”

  He shook his head and told me I would have ten personal hill runs on Monday. He then dismissed me. I didn’t cry, at least not until I was in my car and heading home.

  I had now made the worst enemy possible.

  Chapter 9

  I Will Never Call Dickface Dickless Again

  My weekend consisted of lazing around and doing as little as possible. It didn’t matter that the house was a mess. Keeping the ice packs in place under the ace bandages on my arms and legs was my first priority.

  I finally felt better by Saturday night. My husband took me out to dinner and, with the help of couple of margaritas, I regaled him with an edited version of events. I didn’t tell him what awaited me on Monday. I made the entire academy experience sound like a lark. He was glad I was doing so well.

  I left at two in the afternoon on Sunday and made it back to campus for study group. My class adviser had the short straw that week and he was in the classroom ready to prepare us for the test. His name was Corporal Tsisonnee, pronounced Tis-on-knee. He was quiet and had not interacted much with the class. I needed advice, and decided to speak with him after we finished.

  He told me he had been informed of my transgression the previous Friday. He asked what I was going to do about it. I told him I needed to change Sgt. Dickens’ mind, and somehow redeem myself. Corporal Tsisonnee told me it would be hard, and it would take a lot of heart.

  There was that phrase again. Sgt. Spears from STPD had used it as well. Corporal Tsisonnee said he believed in me, and I could succeed if I truly wanted to. I left feeling better.

  The following morning no one was looking at me. Word had spread and I was not a person you wanted to be seen with. Rocco and Donna were my only allies. I think everyone else was surprised I’d returned.

  For physical training we headed out to the POPAT training field. We were taken through the obstacle course, and I got to drag the dummy for the first time. It wasn’t easy.

  Next, we headed to the fences. The chain link was not a problem because you could get a toehold in the fencing. The six-foot wall was a nightmare. There were five of us that couldn’t make it over. Rocco was one. Donna, though, made it over on her first try. Rocco and I decided we would head back out that evening and work on the wall some more.

  Morning inspection was a nightmare. My shoes were perfect but not according to Sgt. Dickens. He stepped on my toe, and then complained I had dust on my boot. He also complained about my hair wisps touching my collar. It didn’t stop there. He gave the entire class twenty pushups for each infraction I had. He watched me like a hawk, and I managed to pull through the punishments.

  During our first week, we were given school identification cards. We attached them to our shirt pockets. We were told if we lost an ID card it would be like losing our police badge and the punishments would be endless. A cadet reported his missing badge to our class leader, and Cadet Clark reported it to the sergeant. Sgt. Dickens told us to be at the running track for lunch.

  Before the lunch punishment, we had to take our weekly test. I only missed five of eighty-five questions and had the fourth highest score in the class. It was a relief, but I was more worried about what was ahead because of the missing ID card. We double timed it to the track and saw Sgt. Dickens waiting for us.

  There was a flock of large black birds on the football field, and Sgt. Dickens told us one of the birds had our ID card. We all started chasing the birds. Sgt. Dickens then shouted we needed to be begging the birds to give us back the card.

  We started begging loudly saying, “Here birdy, birdy, give us back our ID card please.”

  We ran across the field and through campus following those damned birds. The college kids got a real kick out of us yelling at the birds. This went on throughout the entire lunch hour.

  Sgt. Dickens then told us the birds had left the ID on the hill at the water tower and we could look after class. Starving and dehydrated we headed back to the classroom.

  We ran the hill that day until we couldn’t see straight. I think the only reason we were allowed to stop was that several cadets looked as if they would pass out.

  When everyone left, I stayed behind to do my ten punishment hills. Cadet Clark told me he had to stay and monitor me and he waited at the bottom of the hill. A young Cadet by the name of Philip Rodriguez (P-Rod) stayed behind as well. He told me he didn’t want me to do the hills alone, so he ran by my side.

  As we ran, he told me about himself. I was incapable of speech at this point. Every breath was a struggle. Cadet Rodriguez was twenty years old, and would be turning twenty-one in a few weeks. He’d worked at a county jail, and had waited until he was old enough to attend the police academy.

  He said he admired me for coming when I was so old. I didn’t take offense. I was feeling particularly ancient and just happy to have someone with me. He chatted the entire time and didn't seem to mind that I didn't have the breath to spare for any encouraging remarks. Fortunately, I didn't have any food in my system to throw up or I would have. I did spit up some foul tasting liquid that I assume was bile.

  Cadet Rodriguez told me he was struggling with the weekly classroom tests, and asked if I would tutor him. He said he would shine my shoes nightly if I was willing to help. So we made a deal.

  That night, after the run, I went to Rodriguez’ room with notes and boots in hand. His roommates were busy shining their boots and said they wanted to participate as well.

  My boots were passed around. As the weeks went by we fit about eight cadets nightly in that small room and I also had a study group at my breakfast table on Monday mornings before our tests.

  The next day I began the Pushup Club. During every break I worked on my pushups. We added one pushup daily to the total we did at each break. I kept track of our totals for the entire day, week and month.

  Including our morning punishment for inspection the Pushup Club did 843 pushups our first week. It started with just Rocco and me but we soon had about ten cadets joining us. I don’t think they needed to do the pushups but the Sergeant and advisors were noticing our efforts. Anything that made us look good was on the agenda, because we were told repeatedly we were pieces of shit and not fit to wear a badge.

  We were finally given permission to put on our duty belts. We were also issued “blue guns” and told to practice our draw. Blue guns are hard rubber imitation firearms, matching our department issue gun. Thank god I had gone out shooting before the academy and knew what kind of gun I had. It was nice to wear our belts and not carry them everywhere.

  By the end of the week my fellow cadets were treating me normally, but Sgt. Dickens was not happy. On Friday I was given an additional ten hill runs for dropping a piece of paper on the floor in the hallway. We only had five hills to run as a group that Friday, and the entire class ran my ten with me. As I ran, there was a litany going through my head.

  "I will never call Dickface Dickless again. I will never call Dickface Dickless again. I will never..."

  And on it went. I knew this recitation would probably come out at the worst time and I was doing myself more harm than good. But saying those words got me up those fucking hills when I didn’t think I could make it.

  Sgt. Dickens was right. He had made my life hell. But I had survived.

  And I only had fifteen more weeks to go.

  Chapter 10

  I Have An Egg Head

 
After my week in hell, courtesy of Sgt. Dickens, I finally broke down and told my husband everything going on at the academy. He was sympathetic and gave me a fantastic full-body massage that night. When I told him of my plan for returning to the Policy Academy on Sunday, he helped implement it and encouraged me through my tears.

  Sgt. Dickens could point out anything he wanted at Monday morning inspection, but he would never again be given the chance to complain about my hair touching my collar. I loved my hair, and so did my husband, but I was determined to finish what I started. I took my inspiration from Demi Moore and G.I. Jane and decided that if sacrificing my hair would help; it was a small price to pay. My resolve only grew stronger with every snip.

  I arrived at the study session Sunday night with a shaved head.

  I just wish I was one of those women that looked good bald. My head looked like an egg with a nose.

  Monday morning at physical training, I made it over the six-foot wall for the first time. I was so excited I forgot to run the twenty-five yards to complete the event. It didn’t matter, the entire class was cheering and Sgt. Listberg gave me a huge hug. Everyone said it was because I was ten pounds lighter without my hair.

  Sgt. Dickens never batted an eye at my shaved head. He only found a piece of hair (not mine) on my back pocket and gave us ten pushups. I knew I wasn’t out of the woods, but it was nice just to have some of the pressure off. Unfortunately, my roommate became the next target.

  If we wanted to communicate with our advisors we had to write a memo. We were given light blue paper, told to print in all capital letters and not to scratch out or erase anything. The blue paper showed the erasure lines. Misspelled words were another no-no. When we finished with our memo, it was given to our squad leader and he in turn gave it to our class leader. Both would review and correct each memo, giving back any they found had problems.

  Donna decided she was tired of Sgt. Dickens and squad advisors coming into the classroom and monitoring us when we needed to be concentrating on schoolwork. If an infraction was seen during class we were pulled outside on the next break and given pushups. We all held our breath when one of our superiors came into the room. Donna was right; it made it hard to concentrate.

  Donna wrote this in a memo to the academy staff. It was first given to her squad leader and next to our class leader, it was then turned in. The next morning was the reprisal.

  During morning inspection Donna was asked to step front and center. She was then asked if she wrote the memo. It had her name on it but I guess Sgt. Dickens was making a point. Her squad leader was called up next, and asked if he read the memo, and if he agreed with Donna’s analysis. He stated he did and yes he agreed. Cadet Clark, the class leader was called next. He also stated he agreed.

  Sgt. Dickens asked if anyone disagreed with Cadet Chavez. Not one person stepped forward.

  “The entire group of you," said Sgt. Dickens, "is nothing but a class of fucking babies. I’m embarrassed to be your Sergeant. I’m embarrassed you think you can be police officers. Not fair?" his voice screamed, "Not fair? I’ll show you 'not fair!' You will all turn in a ten page memo by tomorrow morning on what is not fair in life. You will proceed with one hundred pushups this morning and twenty hill runs after class to give you a start on your memos. One of us will now be in the classroom at all times and you will learn what 'fair' is all about. Cadet Higgins you may lead the class in pushups.”

  And so it began. If we stopped or got out of sync, Sgt. Dickens was in our face. We all struggled through. During class we weren’t just pulled out during break we were pulled out during classroom time and told to do more pushups.

  The Pushup Club did not exist that day.

  After our classroom torture was finished, we headed to the hill for our twenty hill runs. Once those were accomplished, we headed back to our dorms to begin writing our memos. I didn’t go to bed until 0230. Donna cried for hours. She felt horrible about the entire class being punished for her memo. I tried to explain to her that Sgt. Dickens was psyching her out and she had to pull through.

  We turned in our memos before breakfast to our squad leaders. Some were returned, and cadets spent breakfast rewriting the page that had mistakes. It helped that we all remembered our old grade school trick of writing in large print. The memos were eventually turned into the Sergeant, but our classroom time continued to be hell that week. I lost count of the number of pushups we did.

  Wednesday, according to our calendar, was expandable baton training and we were told to bring them to morning physical training. There was no inspection and we spent the day learning the ins and outs of controlling someone with a baton.

  My biggest fear was having my baton taken away and getting beaten with it. But we learned techniques for keeping the bad guy from accomplishing this. I also learned why we did so many pushups. I could barely hold the baton by the end of the day and I’m sure I couldn’t have just three weeks before. Having completed baton training, we were given permission to carry our batons on our duty belts.

  Donna was talking about not returning after the weekend. I made her promise she would come back, but I had my doubts. Sgt. Dickens was singling her out during inspection and she could do nothing right. The psychological abuse was terrible but for some reason I think my age played a huge factor in it not affecting me as much as the younger cadets.

  It was the physical requirements that were overtaking me. My body was breaking down. My back was killing me, my joints were unbearably painful and my muscles cramped continually. My age had caught up with me.

  Friday finally came and we left for the weekend.

  I called Donna several times and she said she would return. I wouldn’t believe it until I actually saw her Sunday night at the study session.

  Chapter 11

  The Red Shirts Bring Pain

  I managed a quick trip to my chiropractor’s office over the weekend for a readjustment and a water additive to help replenish lost body fluids. But I was on pins and needles to see if Donna would return.

  I was able to have lunch with some friends including Veronica on Saturday. She was invested in my hell and completely understood why my head was shaved. My other friends were another matter. I don’t think they knew what to make of me. I was a more self-assured Suzie with a toned and muscled body to go with the new me. Veronica gave me a big hug when our lunch was over and told me how proud she was.

  Donna arrived for Sunday night study session. I was extremely relieved to lay eyes on her. She told me she was okay when we walked back to our dorm room together.

  I felt overwhelming relief to keep my roommate and friend. Donna and Rocco were my rocks and I realized I was theirs as well. Stronger more “cop like” cadets had fallen, but we were still standing.

  The start to week five was ominously easy. Sgt. Dickens failed to show for Monday morning inspection, so there were no pushups for improper hair, shoes, clothes, etc. Everyone passed the Monday morning class test. We even managed to skate through the day without a single punishment hill run.

  Tuesday morning we were presented with our guidon. This is a flag representing our academy and class. Sgt. Dickens made quite a production and we all took pride in the presentation. The flag was yellow with PAFRA and class number 95 in large black letters. A cadet was chosen to be our flag bearer and it was quite an honor. He would carry it at all times including physical training and defensive tactics. Our flag was to be the symbol of our pride. Nothing was to happen to it or we would be punished like no punishment we had yet seen. We were told we needed a class slogan by the end of the week.

  Our academy polo shirts and workout clothing had arrived and were passed out. We were told to wear the workout clothes and academy shirts on the following Monday morning. Class ninety-six would be starting on Sunday. They would move into available dorms and be using the classroom beside ours. We were told to stay away from them. We had our new polos and the new cadets would be in white shirts and ties. For a change it was nice to be us.
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  The day wasn’t over. It was time for OC gas (o-chlorobenzylidene malononitrile) training better known as tear gas. The “red shirts”, looking like SWAT commandos, came in directly after lunch. There were three of them. Their muscles were bulging beneath their red t-shirts and they acted like they had the best job in the world. They were deceptively cheerful. We learned to identify “red shirts” with pain, beginning that day.

  The training session started out as a lot of fun. The “red shirts” blew things up and taught us about making bombs. We were able to play with plastic explosive. One of the cadets made a penis and it became a contest to see who could make the best one (academy humor at its finest). We were also shown videos of crowd control and actual mob scenes with police intervention.

  We were then marched outside and taken about a mile out into the desert. We were issued side-handle batons and learned “hands on” crowd control. We split into two groups with one side being the “out of control” crowd, and the other being the officers. It was a great learning experience, and the psychology behind crowd control is fascinating. We took turns pissing off the other side and then a turn as officers getting the troublemakers under control.

  The fun part was over. We were run in a slow jog for a mile to open our pores (this was to make the gas burn more on our bodies). We were then lined up in our squads, but instead of being spread out, we were told to stand shoulder to shoulder. It had been explained the cans of tear gas would reach over 1400 degrees in temperature and we were not to touch them. We were also told we had to keep formation until a whistle was blown or we would start over.

  The cans were tossed around us. We tried holding our breath but it was impossible. Water was pouring from our eyes, nose and mouth and breathing was unbearable. I felt someone at my feet and I grabbed his shoulders and held on for dear life. We were not going to break our formation and start over. It’s hard to explain the panic that sets in when you can’t breathe. There was fire in my chest. I didn’t think even getting out of the tear gas would enable me to breathe again. The burning in my eyes was so bad I couldn’t keep them open. I could hear my fellow cadets coughing and choking. I seriously thought we would all die before that whistle was finally blown.