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I'm in Love
Jan. 25th, 2011 11:59 pmTuesday night at work was pretty normal, after which I attended a two-hour (paid) presentation by the Seattle Police Department to the night auditors and hotel security people of Seattle about...why the Seattle PD not doing a better job, I guess. The usual representative was sick, so the community outreach officer was tasked with the job, even though he's not a public speaker. The poor guy confessed to being absolutely terrified and that his heart was beating faster than it ever had when he operated on the SWAT team in his youth.
The first half hour of the meeting unfortunately got bogged down with many audience members raising their hands to bitch about past incidents. The poor officer wasn't able to respond to these anecdotes with much more than "I'm sorry about that," and "we have limited resources." Even the hotel manager who had organized the meeting was chiming in with long-winded, pointless stories about the times the police hadn't come quickly enough. I stared at my laptop clock, wondering if we were going to be able to get through the syllabus of practical instruction on witness identification, trespassing laws, and deescalation techniques. By the time the twelfth person had raised their hand to bitch about a highly specific situation from which we had nothing to learn, I was starting to hate everybody in the room.
Then a guy sitting a few rows in front of me raised his hand. He was dark-haired, with broad shoulders straining inside a too-tight uniform jacket.
"Hey everybody, how about if we hold these kinds of stories until the end of the meeting," he said. "I think it would be better to focus on the education and tell the officer about your issues later, one-on-one."
I never saw his face, but that man will someday be my husband.
The first half hour of the meeting unfortunately got bogged down with many audience members raising their hands to bitch about past incidents. The poor officer wasn't able to respond to these anecdotes with much more than "I'm sorry about that," and "we have limited resources." Even the hotel manager who had organized the meeting was chiming in with long-winded, pointless stories about the times the police hadn't come quickly enough. I stared at my laptop clock, wondering if we were going to be able to get through the syllabus of practical instruction on witness identification, trespassing laws, and deescalation techniques. By the time the twelfth person had raised their hand to bitch about a highly specific situation from which we had nothing to learn, I was starting to hate everybody in the room.
Then a guy sitting a few rows in front of me raised his hand. He was dark-haired, with broad shoulders straining inside a too-tight uniform jacket.
"Hey everybody, how about if we hold these kinds of stories until the end of the meeting," he said. "I think it would be better to focus on the education and tell the officer about your issues later, one-on-one."
I never saw his face, but that man will someday be my husband.
