Whilst working my part-time gig at Ghetto City PD, your fearless dispatcher has taken part in the following conversations:
"Why is there a bullet on the floor?" "I dunno, it's not mine." Both officers then look at me to visually assure themselves that I am, in fact, unarmed. Same police department who's dish drying rack was home to brass knuckles for months.
"Tell him we gave his stuff to his baby momma." I cannot bring myself, even after 5 years at GCPD, to actually use the term "baby momma" in conversation. Awkward phrasing follows.
"The officer said he gave your belongings to your... girlfriend?"
"The mother of your child?"
"My baby momma?"
Currently housing a ridiculously angry 40-something female drunk, who must be fun to live with after a few beers. Keeps switching between absolute coma, wide-awake fits of rage and screaming, and from what I can tell; an utterly shit Tarzan impression. Also housing a 19 year old female, who is simply aghast that one could be arrested for spitting on a cop.
This is my last scheduled shift at GCPD until the fall, unless I'm called in to cover. I'm soaking up all the summer crazy now.