Police work seems to attract young men who have big egos and want to be macho. In Recruit School the cadets think they know everything. They show off their genitalia, belch, burp, and fart in the classroom (only when the instructor leaves the room, of course). I was certainly one of these guys. I thought I was so smart. And, since I’d shot rifles and shotguns ever since I was a kid, I thought I knew all about handguns, too.
After one particularly stressful ten-hour day of lectures and classes on defensive tactics and lifesaving techniques, running, and shooting on the range—I was tired. It seems when I’m tired, I dream a lot.
The dream I had that night concerned my pistol, which I had received just two days before.
I have returned to my elementary school and am in the classroom of one of my favorite teachers. I tell the teacher, “I’m here, policing at the school now. I’m here to guard the kids.”
As I’m walking the hallways, a gangbanger sneaks into the school and I hear a commotion coming from my former teacher’s classroom. I run into the room and pull out my handgun as I see the robber trying to take off with the teacher’s money. Unfortunately, my gun falls apart, right in my hand! I am embarrassed. I can’t believe this is happening in front of my role-model teacher. The gangster escapes through a window while mooning the class.
I wake up thinking, Damn! Some cop I am!
The next day I am tired but prepared for early morning hallway inspection. This is when all the recruits stand at attention next to the door of their bedrooms while police instructors stop in front of each recruit to inspect them. We know “inspection” is a game. Most of us never take anything personally. Instructors like to yell at you, just to see if you can take it. We simply deal with it.
So, I’m standing by my door with my pistol in my right hand, both arms hanging by my sides. The rule is, as soon the instructor turns to face you, your right hand comes straight up from the elbow, so that your weapon is pointing straight up. The goal is to be sharp and quick about it.
Our new guns are Sig Saur 9MM handguns. I had cleaned mine the night before. Cleaning requires taking it completely apart, dousing it with gun cleaner, brushing it, wiping it, pulling a rod and pad through it, applying oil, and then putting it back together again. No big deal. I had cleaned long guns all my life.
As soon as the instructor faces me, my elbow goes up (quickly and sharply, I might add). In one split-second jerk, the slide flies off like an elongated bullet and hits the instructor square in the NUTS! Oops. I cringe. My fellow peers are snickering.
The whole friggin’ gun falls apart! Every itty-bitty piece tumbles to the floor.
The instructor grabs his groin and I realize my dream has come true. I have embarrassed myself in front of one of my favorite instructors. I wasn’t feeling macho anymore. I had forgotten to lock one simple part.
My dream had warned me, but I didn’t listen. And, I soon realized my nightmare had just begun—I did push-ups for the remainder of Recruit School.