I was leafing through my special commissioner's copy of the NY Post this morning when I stumbled across this article.
"It's the age of high-tech, but the city has just issued a $982,269 contract for manual and electric typewriters and supplies such as typewriter ribbons."
"NYPD spokesman Paul Browne said the department has 309 electric typewriters that are used by detective squads and in precinct complaint rooms."
I was munching on a bowl of corn flakes and literally spit milk all over my desk when I read this. I, of course, called up Paul to grill him about this. "Paul, you mean to tell me that we're seriously blowing over $900,000 on electric typewriters in the year 2008?" Paul started blathering out his usual public relations bovine excrement to try to justify this idiocy, so I just hung up. I wasn't about to waste 10 minutes of my life listening to Paul make up stupid excuses. Who am I, the press?
But what really got me was this:
"'The people who use typewriters use them for a special purpose, usually to fill out multipart forms,' explained Ed Michael, sales manager of Swintec Corp. of Moonachie, NJ, which has the five-year contract."
Yeah, Ed, that might have been a good explanation in freakin' 1960 when I was a still a cadet typing up "multipart forms" in the precinct offices. This is 2008. What is Mike, asleep at the wheel? Who the f#@$ in their right mind authorizes a budget that includes expenditures of nearly a million bucks to maintain TYPEWRITERS?
And I thought my legacy was going to be as the commissioner who modernized the police department and brought it into the 21st century. Good luck to myself with that one. It seems I can build all the real-time crime centers I want, it won't matter when Paul is having the press print stories about how we're using 300+ bloody typewriters. TYPEWRITERS. Dammit, and now I still have to clean up all that milk and bits of cereal I spilled all over my office because the department supposedly can't afford to hire cleaners who actually do any cleaning around here.
I run the the New York City Police Department. The finest of all bureaucracies.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Visit to BCB
I decided to find out just how things work at BCB last night. So I ordered my protective detail to drive me to the 67, where we picked out a prisoner who was ready to go.
I proceeded to cuff up my prisoner and get him ready for transport to BCB. Of course, I knew full well that I'd get put into the express line at BCB if I showed up as myself to lodge this clown. Luckily though, Dave, my deputy commissioner of Intelligence, is an ex-CIA man. He was able to get me one of those Mission Impossible-style realistic face masks. I threw on a uniform along with an old white shield to complete the disguise.
Time: 1905 hrs - Arriving at BCB
When we finally got to BCB, we couldn't find any parking. We had to park on the sidewalk. Some old lady walking her dog complained about "that damned police department, always blocking my sidewalk!" She shuffled off, loudly proclaiming that she was headed straight to the nearest precinct to file a CCRB.
I was dumbfounded that I had to walk this guy down a long ramp. Seems awfully insecure. I got to the entrance and pressed the buzzer. The Corrections Officer inside must have been on a coffee break or something, because it took several minutes before the door was buzzed open. Almost as soon as I stepped inside, an unpleasant voice barked that I should "shut off that damned radio, we don't want to hear that crap in here." I nearly punched that prick in the face as he sat behind his stupid little photo computer, but my detail detective who was playing the role of my partner for the night gently nudged me to remind me not to blow my cover. After securing my weapons, I stepped back out only to see a vacant chair behind the photo computer.
Time: 1910 hrs - Photo station
"Where the hell did he go?" I asked. "He went 63," one of the numerous officers waiting around informed me. I sighed and filled out the log book with my information and lock number. We stood around like a bunch of idiots for a half hour before another photo "expert" arrived to start the processing. I still don't understand why one needs special training to be qualified to click a couple of buttons on a computer screen. Anyway, our prisoner got his photo taken and a fresh movement slip was printed out. I looked at it and noticed the barcode. "So we just scan this barcode here at the next processing area?" I asked. It made sense to me at the time, but everybody turned and looked at me like I was mentally retarded. "Rookie, this is the NYPD," laughed the rubber gun clown sitting next to the "photographer."
Time: 1940 hrs - Prisoner search area
Moving on to the search area, I discovered that I have to once again fill out a log book. This time, with the prisoner's information. The search desk was occupied by some civilian wearing a white shirt that looked like it hadn't been washed in 30 years. He barked at me to "hurry up, I don't have all day!" Apparently he didn't appreciate my suggestion that he might "relax for a few seconds," as he then announced he was going on meal and walked out.
A full hour and five minutes later, the civilian with the dirty shirt returned. (I made a mental note to have some green paper sent his way on Monday for overextending his meal time.) The search itself took less than five minutes.
Time: 2050 hrs - EMS interview
With the search completed, I escorted my prisoner down to the EMS area. I had asked him on the trip to BCB if he had any medical conditions. He said he didn't. There were quite a few guys ahead of us, so we ended up waiting around for a half hour before we went to EMS. After what seemed like an eternity, my prisoner finally emerged, bearing his paperwork with "walk-thru" written all over it. I was starting to get irritated. "WTF is this?" The perp shrugged. I snatched up the paperwork and went into the EMS office. Some ugly lady with blond hair informed me that since my prisoner had stubbed his toe when he was 5 years old, he was now designated as a "walk-thru." I screamed "bullshit" at her and accused her of inventing reasons to make our lives harder. I then slammed the door as she was wailing something about "informing" my "supervisor" about my "behavior."
I'll have to give Mike a call and see if we can't do something about transferring this bitch back out into the field.
Time: 2130 hrs - CJA interview
Anyway, on to this "CJA" interview. There was nobody there. After standing around for twenty minutes, I got tired of waiting. I walked into their little office in the back. Some asshat was sitting in a chair with his feet up on the table, chatting on the cell phone. He looked at me and said he'd be out "in a minute." Whatever. He finally came out and talked to my perp for ten minutes. I got my paperwork back after he dispensed the "CJA" stamp of approval on it.
Time: 2200 hrs - Walk-thru procedure
So, yeah, there's not really a "procedure" as I found out. Not a sensible one, anyway. It actually involved escorting the crook upstairs, where I was promptly greeted by a bunch of unfriendly old civilian hags. One of them snatched my paperwork and mumbled something about putting "him in cell #2." I dutifully did so and asked if that was all. She smirked and said "now you have to wait for him to see the judge."
So I waited around in this cramped little space with 8 other cops, all the while getting bitched at by civilians who kept whining that we were "obstructing the halls." They didn't particularly appreciate my question as to where they suggest I might alternately wait.
Time: 0100 hrs - Court closes
Hmph. Court closed without my prisoner being seen by the judge. "Now what?" "Take him back to your command," the unfriendly civilian lady said. I took my prisoner and we returned him to the 67.
Back at my office
Well, it turns out I wasted over six hours of my life last night. For absolutely no reason. I called Joe into my office and asked him why we utilize such an idiotic procedure for "walk-thrus." "Joe, why is there one body assigned to each walk-thru prisoner?" "Well, commish, we do that in case he has to go to the hospital." "How many of these clowns actually end up needing medical treatment before they see the judge?" "I don't know." "Give me a ballpark estimate, Joe. Because when I was there last night, there were 9 of us standing around like morons, and not one of the prisoners needed any treatment." "Uhh, I'd say, maybe 10%?" "So, why are we assigning cops to 100% of the prisoners if we really only need 10%?"
Joe was getting visibly embarrassed, so I decided to drop the matter for the time being. Maybe we need to establish BCBStat to clean this place up.
I proceeded to cuff up my prisoner and get him ready for transport to BCB. Of course, I knew full well that I'd get put into the express line at BCB if I showed up as myself to lodge this clown. Luckily though, Dave, my deputy commissioner of Intelligence, is an ex-CIA man. He was able to get me one of those Mission Impossible-style realistic face masks. I threw on a uniform along with an old white shield to complete the disguise.
Time: 1905 hrs - Arriving at BCB
When we finally got to BCB, we couldn't find any parking. We had to park on the sidewalk. Some old lady walking her dog complained about "that damned police department, always blocking my sidewalk!" She shuffled off, loudly proclaiming that she was headed straight to the nearest precinct to file a CCRB.
I was dumbfounded that I had to walk this guy down a long ramp. Seems awfully insecure. I got to the entrance and pressed the buzzer. The Corrections Officer inside must have been on a coffee break or something, because it took several minutes before the door was buzzed open. Almost as soon as I stepped inside, an unpleasant voice barked that I should "shut off that damned radio, we don't want to hear that crap in here." I nearly punched that prick in the face as he sat behind his stupid little photo computer, but my detail detective who was playing the role of my partner for the night gently nudged me to remind me not to blow my cover. After securing my weapons, I stepped back out only to see a vacant chair behind the photo computer.
Time: 1910 hrs - Photo station
"Where the hell did he go?" I asked. "He went 63," one of the numerous officers waiting around informed me. I sighed and filled out the log book with my information and lock number. We stood around like a bunch of idiots for a half hour before another photo "expert" arrived to start the processing. I still don't understand why one needs special training to be qualified to click a couple of buttons on a computer screen. Anyway, our prisoner got his photo taken and a fresh movement slip was printed out. I looked at it and noticed the barcode. "So we just scan this barcode here at the next processing area?" I asked. It made sense to me at the time, but everybody turned and looked at me like I was mentally retarded. "Rookie, this is the NYPD," laughed the rubber gun clown sitting next to the "photographer."
Time: 1940 hrs - Prisoner search area
Moving on to the search area, I discovered that I have to once again fill out a log book. This time, with the prisoner's information. The search desk was occupied by some civilian wearing a white shirt that looked like it hadn't been washed in 30 years. He barked at me to "hurry up, I don't have all day!" Apparently he didn't appreciate my suggestion that he might "relax for a few seconds," as he then announced he was going on meal and walked out.
A full hour and five minutes later, the civilian with the dirty shirt returned. (I made a mental note to have some green paper sent his way on Monday for overextending his meal time.) The search itself took less than five minutes.
Time: 2050 hrs - EMS interview
With the search completed, I escorted my prisoner down to the EMS area. I had asked him on the trip to BCB if he had any medical conditions. He said he didn't. There were quite a few guys ahead of us, so we ended up waiting around for a half hour before we went to EMS. After what seemed like an eternity, my prisoner finally emerged, bearing his paperwork with "walk-thru" written all over it. I was starting to get irritated. "WTF is this?" The perp shrugged. I snatched up the paperwork and went into the EMS office. Some ugly lady with blond hair informed me that since my prisoner had stubbed his toe when he was 5 years old, he was now designated as a "walk-thru." I screamed "bullshit" at her and accused her of inventing reasons to make our lives harder. I then slammed the door as she was wailing something about "informing" my "supervisor" about my "behavior."
I'll have to give Mike a call and see if we can't do something about transferring this bitch back out into the field.
Time: 2130 hrs - CJA interview
Anyway, on to this "CJA" interview. There was nobody there. After standing around for twenty minutes, I got tired of waiting. I walked into their little office in the back. Some asshat was sitting in a chair with his feet up on the table, chatting on the cell phone. He looked at me and said he'd be out "in a minute." Whatever. He finally came out and talked to my perp for ten minutes. I got my paperwork back after he dispensed the "CJA" stamp of approval on it.
Time: 2200 hrs - Walk-thru procedure
So, yeah, there's not really a "procedure" as I found out. Not a sensible one, anyway. It actually involved escorting the crook upstairs, where I was promptly greeted by a bunch of unfriendly old civilian hags. One of them snatched my paperwork and mumbled something about putting "him in cell #2." I dutifully did so and asked if that was all. She smirked and said "now you have to wait for him to see the judge."
So I waited around in this cramped little space with 8 other cops, all the while getting bitched at by civilians who kept whining that we were "obstructing the halls." They didn't particularly appreciate my question as to where they suggest I might alternately wait.
Time: 0100 hrs - Court closes
Hmph. Court closed without my prisoner being seen by the judge. "Now what?" "Take him back to your command," the unfriendly civilian lady said. I took my prisoner and we returned him to the 67.
Back at my office
Well, it turns out I wasted over six hours of my life last night. For absolutely no reason. I called Joe into my office and asked him why we utilize such an idiotic procedure for "walk-thrus." "Joe, why is there one body assigned to each walk-thru prisoner?" "Well, commish, we do that in case he has to go to the hospital." "How many of these clowns actually end up needing medical treatment before they see the judge?" "I don't know." "Give me a ballpark estimate, Joe. Because when I was there last night, there were 9 of us standing around like morons, and not one of the prisoners needed any treatment." "Uhh, I'd say, maybe 10%?" "So, why are we assigning cops to 100% of the prisoners if we really only need 10%?"
Joe was getting visibly embarrassed, so I decided to drop the matter for the time being. Maybe we need to establish BCBStat to clean this place up.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Good riddance to the morons
Joe just brought in the latest resignation list. I almost spilled my coffee all over the morning paper. These idiots are quitting before even hitting the streets.
I'm sorry, but if you go through six months of academy training and then quit before even finishing the orientation days, you're a moron. I'm not even saying this because we need those C summonses to be issued to keep a lid on quality-of-life conditions. I mean good grief. They graduated on Thursday, spent the next day sitting around doing nothing productive, got the weekend off, had to do the New Year's detail (my, what difficult work) and then spent another day sitting around again.
Yet some of these retards are resigning already. I just had to find out what the reason for this kind of brainless behavior is, so I had Charlie "obtain" (don't ask) a page from the private journal of one of the rooks in question:
----
12/27/07: wowz its grajeuashion omg lolz im so ixsited!!!
12/28/07: OMFG!!!! BROOKLYN NORTH???!?!? WTF!?!? IM SO SCARED!!!! OMG I CANT DOO THIS!!
12/29/07: RDO sat partiez wit friendz
12/30/07: RDO sun more partiez wit friendz
12/31/07: OMG so stressful 13 HOURS in TIMES SQUARE. OMG so much work!
1/1/08: omg they talked about working LATE NIGHT?!?!? OMG WTF?!?! they said we WILL BE OUT ON FOOT?!?!? NO CAR?!?!? WTF?!?! I CANT WORK A FOOT POST IN THE STREET OMFG ITS SOOOOO SCARY OUT THERE OMG CRIMINALS WITH GUNS, OMFG IM GOING TO RESIGN F*%@ THIS NYPD S&*T!!!!!
----
I've seen quite a few morons on this job but these latest dumb-asses really take the cake.
Now I think here is something we can all agree on: if you take a new job, give it a shot for at least, I don't know, a few months before you up and quit without having even flipping done the job in the first place.
Although, frankly, if someone is that much of a loser or coward, then I say good riddance to these particular clowns. Seriously. What a disgrace.
Note: I promised Mike I wouldn't blame this situation on the measly starting salary and atrociously uncompetitive top base pay, which I do, so I hereby officially won't. Mike is worried about his upcoming presidential campaign bid and the PERB hearings and all that business-ish stuff he does, so I wouldn't want to generate any bad press for him by blaming this squarely on his inept negotiating tactics. So, again, it's not Mike's fault.
I'm sorry, but if you go through six months of academy training and then quit before even finishing the orientation days, you're a moron. I'm not even saying this because we need those C summonses to be issued to keep a lid on quality-of-life conditions. I mean good grief. They graduated on Thursday, spent the next day sitting around doing nothing productive, got the weekend off, had to do the New Year's detail (my, what difficult work) and then spent another day sitting around again.
Yet some of these retards are resigning already. I just had to find out what the reason for this kind of brainless behavior is, so I had Charlie "obtain" (don't ask) a page from the private journal of one of the rooks in question:
----
12/27/07: wowz its grajeuashion omg lolz im so ixsited!!!
12/28/07: OMFG!!!! BROOKLYN NORTH???!?!? WTF!?!? IM SO SCARED!!!! OMG I CANT DOO THIS!!
12/29/07: RDO sat partiez wit friendz
12/30/07: RDO sun more partiez wit friendz
12/31/07: OMG so stressful 13 HOURS in TIMES SQUARE. OMG so much work!
1/1/08: omg they talked about working LATE NIGHT?!?!? OMG WTF?!?! they said we WILL BE OUT ON FOOT?!?!? NO CAR?!?!? WTF?!?! I CANT WORK A FOOT POST IN THE STREET OMFG ITS SOOOOO SCARY OUT THERE OMG CRIMINALS WITH GUNS, OMFG IM GOING TO RESIGN F*%@ THIS NYPD S&*T!!!!!
----
I've seen quite a few morons on this job but these latest dumb-asses really take the cake.
Now I think here is something we can all agree on: if you take a new job, give it a shot for at least, I don't know, a few months before you up and quit without having even flipping done the job in the first place.
Although, frankly, if someone is that much of a loser or coward, then I say good riddance to these particular clowns. Seriously. What a disgrace.
Note: I promised Mike I wouldn't blame this situation on the measly starting salary and atrociously uncompetitive top base pay, which I do, so I hereby officially won't. Mike is worried about his upcoming presidential campaign bid and the PERB hearings and all that business-ish stuff he does, so I wouldn't want to generate any bad press for him by blaming this squarely on his inept negotiating tactics. So, again, it's not Mike's fault.
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