Police Report Volume 1

One of the things I love most about living in a small town, other than the fact that our 8 lane bowling alley is a private member’s only club and we’re so counting on getting in someday, is our little twice weekly newspaper.

They do something that very few newspapers do these days ... THEY PUBLISH THE POLICE BLOTTER. And THAT’s just the motivation I need to skip to the mailbox every Tuesday and Friday to read up on what kind of mischief has taken place recently.

In college I worked for awhile at The Oklahoma Daily, OU’s campus newspaper. Of course you probably already figured out I had some kind of professional experience given the high quality of content, grammar and punctuation you know I’m capable of.

I wouldn’t exactly say that relationship – me and The Oklahoma Daily – was a match made in heaven. Adhering to strict journalistic style rules isn’t exactly my strongpoint. Also, I was in a sorority and this was the early ‘80s and the liberal student editor pretty much wanted to yank my preppy turtleneck up over my head, tie it in a knot, and then force me in to a pair of Birkenstock sandals and forest green socks.

See what I mean? This. This is what I wore to class in college.

No wonder they hated me. That and I like to end sentences with prepositions. Liberal student editors hate it when you do that. You know what else they hate? When you wear wedding socks to work at a college newspaper.

When they realized I wasn’t going away – in spite of their near daily mocking of me with taunts like “Ralph Lauren Sucks” and “Nice Whale Sweater”, they stuck me on the police beat. And there I got to be good friends with both the OU Campus Police and the Norman Police. It was a pretty sweet gig and could have come in handy if I’d ever needed an IN at the police department to get me out of hot water. This thought, however, didn’t occur to me until much, much later so I never had the pleasure of being thrown in to the slammer and getting sprung immediately by the Chief while the arresting officer stood there in humiliated disbelief.

Too bad ‘cause I probably would have stuck my tongue out at him as the other inmates cheered me on. But we’ll never know because the worst thing I did until I was like 30 or so was lie about how long I’d practiced the piano so I could sneak in the Sunday comics before my parents got home from church. I’d gone to the early service, after all.

And no, that statement is NOT an invitation to publicly remind me of anything I did contrary to this image I’ve created of my younger self - Saint Lori of Oklahoma.

Have I mentioned that the liberal student editor didn’t like me? Well, as it turns out, I wasn’t very good at my police beat job. Seems I didn’t have a very good sense as to what might be considered TOO MUCH INFORMATION. I even got an angry phone call once from an ALLEGED victim after her name appeared in MY column. I hate it when I feel censored like that BARBARA COLLINS.

We eventually had to break it off, The Oklahoma Daily and me. So imagine my delight over 20 years later to find my little small town newspaper actually publishes the police blotter of my DREAMS.

I love the police blotter in my little newspaper so much I clip them out and save them in a file labeled “Police Blotter”. I like to be organized. I don’t scrapbook them or anything – I’m not a total psycho – but I put them here on MY blog BECAUSE I CAN PUT ANYTHING ON HERE I WANT. ARE YOU LISTENING BARBARA COLLINS?

Here’s one from May 9 …

A caller worried that sounds of a distressed cow had been coming from the creek. The caller was advised that three heifers were being weaned and although animal had food and water, they were “just not happy.”

I love it when the cops are called to provide comfort to baby* cows being weaned.

* My friend Dr. Jeff, who is a veterinarian and also has a PhD in like, advanced veterinarianism, would correct me about the term “baby” cow. He would call them a neonate. But when I typed out “I love it when the cops are called to provide comfort to neonate cows” it just didn’t pack quite the same comedic punch. And I’m all about throwing comedic punches. Jeff has to type s l o w l y and in B I G letters for me to understand him.

Okay, here’s another one from May 9:

A resident wanted advice regarding a porcupine that was in a tree.

Um, here’s some advice for you …

STAY AWAY FROM THE FRICKING PORCUPINE IN THE TREE

There. That wasn't so hard.

And, last but not least, May 12 involved yet another animal-related 911 call. Apparently it’s the animals causing all the problems around here …

A caller with a rat in a shoe box wanted it picked up.

"Howdy, ma’am. So let me get this straight. You want ME to pick up YOUR rat and do exactly WHAT with it? Oh, well then maybe you shouldn’t have gotten a rat if you weren’t going to be able to care for it properly. Don’t you know we’ve got rats languishing in shelters all over the country?"

I just hate irresponsible rat owners. She probably wanted her box back too.