Libertine: On the Prowl

Vidi, vici, veni -- I saw, I conquered, I came. _______________________________________________________________

Three Classy Broads

03:43, 2005-Dec-5 .. Posted in work .. 0 comments .. Link

An everyday part of being a cop is dealing with people whose hygiene is rather uncertain, to put it mildly. We’d bring in suspects who smelled so bad that other prisoners would yell, “Somebody shit, so it will smell better in here!”, the minute we opened the back door.

Having a disgusting aroma was most definitely an equal opportunity condition, though the typical type of stench tended to vary between the sexes.

Today, I’ll tell about three women who were definitely from the minimalist school of personal hygiene.

One hot summer night, our dispatch center got a call from the county, advising them they’d picked up a female prisoner on one of our warrants and requested that one of our officers be sent to the county jail to pick her up.

An officer was dispatched, and as he returned to our station and drove up to the back entrance of our jail, I was standing on the sidewalk, enjoying a Pepsi. When I saw him drive up -- windows rolled down, head out the window like a dog, puffing a cigar with a dollop of Noxzema under his nose, I knew he had a “stink bomb” in the car.

Surprisingly enough, no sooner than she’d been booked than she wanted to complain about the officer, telling anyone who would listen that he’d proposed to perform oral sex on her. The officer looked at her, incredulous, as he’d be more likely to drink water out of the toilet than ever consider that. Finally, she said it one too many times and he said to her, “I wouldn’t do that unless I wanted to get bugs in my teeth”.

Another time we brought in a woman who’d likely been wearing the same pair of cutoff shorts for weeks, as there were brownish stains from old periods still on them, accompanied by the odor you‘d expect. The other women bitched and moaned when we put her in the cell with them, but it couldn’t be helped. This particular incident happened before they built our new jail, and when we had only one cell for women.

A few hours later, we heard the jailer come on the radio, calling for assistance in the jail. It turned out this woman had tried to hang herself with these nasty shorts. It made us wonder why she simply just didn’t take them off and sniff them; that would have done the job more surely than trying to hang herself with them.

On yet another summer evening, a female officer and I were walking a woman wearing a miniskirt up to the woman’s cell, noticing she was walking kind of stiff legged. Halfway up the stairs, we heard a loud, “SCHLUMMMMMPPP!”, then, “bang, bang, bang, bang”, as a can of beer the suspect had shoved up inside herself had become dislodged and had slid out, then bounced down the stairs to come to rest by the jail washing machine.

“Man, oh man, talk about playing in an auditorium!” I muttered as I imagined the huge, wide hole between the woman’s legs at that point. Then I turned to the female officer, who was looking a little green at this point, and said, “Go pick that up.”

She looked at me as if I had a screw loose and said, “Pick it up your damned self.”

I shrugged and said, “Eh, the hell with it. Leave it there and let Buddy have it. He probably won’t notice a thing.” Buddy was the jail trusty who did the laundry.

I could go on, but I don’t want to permanently ruin my readers’ appetites.

(Originally posted on 22 February 2005 at Blog City)