Scantron Nightmares and Neighbor Visits: The Funnier Side of Becoming a Cop

FYI – I do change the names of individuals I reference in my blogs. 

If you want to become a law enforcement officer, there are a series of hoops you must jump through and hurdles you must leap over for employment consideration. Before you ever wear the badge, you are put under a microscope—pre-employment written and physical tests, background checks, sometimes polygraph exams, psychological and medical exams and, of course, the dreaded oral board interviews. Sometimes, more than one oral board is needed to secure employment.

My quest to become a police officer gave me some unforgettable memories. Two of these memories stand out above the rest. Obviously, it was a very stressful time in my life, but looking back, all I can do is laugh.

One of my most nerve-wracking (and now hilarious) memories was during the hiring process for the City of Detroit. At the time, I still lived at home with my parents and I got the call from DPD: detectives were coming for a home visit. They mentioned over the phone that they planned to talk to my family members too.

Now, as the youngest of six, this was a potential disaster. My brother and four sisters had years’ worth of embarrassing stories locked and loaded. I could already hear them laughing as they exposed my childhood exploits and unintentionally give me a department reputation before I was even hired.

Luckily, the detectives clarified they only needed to speak with current household members.

Relief! My siblings had already moved out and started their own families. I could rest easier knowing I wouldn’t have to explain my annoying puppet shows, taking my sister’s car for a joyride before I was licensed, or need to explain why the police came to my house looking for me when I was 11 years old.

But I still had concerns—my parents.

My parents are great—but let’s just say political correctness was never their strong suit.

To their credit, my mom and dad didn’t do anything, during the visit, to make me shake my head or feel the overwhelming need to apologize. The home visit went smoothly. But as the detectives were leaving, I walked them to their car, and they told me, “We will need to talk to some of your neighbors. Can you point out a few who know you well?”

I had this under control. Growing up in the ‘80s meant knowing everyone in the neighborhood. We had our good neighbors, our weird neighbors, and the ‘Don’t kick the ball onto their lawn’ neighbors. I carefully picked out the best options—people who would vouch for me or at least lie convincingly. If they asked for more, I knew which neighbors were most likely not home and still at work. I had this locked down.

I assumed the detectives would come back another day to interview my neighbors. But that was not the case. As I walked back inside, I thanked my parents and went to change clothes. That’s when I heard my mom scream:

“BOBBY! THEY’RE GOING TO BEN’S HOUSE!”

I bolted to the front bay window just in time to see the detectives knocking on our neighbor’s door. This was NOT one of my carefully selected neighbors. This was the ‘Don’t kick the ball onto their lawn’ type neighbor. Not to mention, this was the neighbor my friends and I used to Ding Dong Ditch on a regular basis.

I was set up by the detectives and now realized that all the houses I pointed to would be the ones they would avoid. That was a slick move by those detectives!

My mom and I stood frozen, peering through the window like we were part of a surveillance crew watching a drug deal in a comedy movie.

One of the detectives happened to turn his head and glance in our direction.

“SHIT!” my mom shrieked as she dropped to the floor like she was performing an “up-down” exercise—without the up. I jumped to the side of the window to avoid being seen.

“Bobby! Did they see us?!” she yelled from the carpet.

“I don’t know, just stay down!” I peeked around the corner.

“Who answered the door?”

“Ben.”

“What’s he saying, Bobby?!”

“How do I know, Mom!? I CAN’T HEAR THEM. Just stay down!”

This went on until the detectives left. We never found out what Ben said, but luckily, it didn’t cost me the job. I was hired shortly thereafter.

My mom is very important to me. Like any mom, she can drive me up the wall. But to this day, at 86 years young, she still brings up this memory, and we laugh much harder now than we did back then.

My second memory, in the long process, was during my psychological examination. This consisted of a long test and a sit-down with a psychologist.

The test included two Scantron-style exams, about 1,000 questions in total. I might be dating myself with the word “Scantron,” as I don’t know if that’s what they are called today. If you don’t know what a Scantron is, it’s basically a “color in the bubble” type of answer sheet.

The questions were just weird and downright stupid.

“Do you like loud noises?”

Fireworks? Yes. My parents screaming at me? Not so much.

How do I answer this question? If I say yes, will they think I’m a potential serial murderer? If I say no, will they think I’m a liar because EVERYONE likes fireworks?

By question 700, my brain had turned to mush. I was just filling in bubbles to end the stupidity. I took the test with two other recruits—Sarah and Frank—who would become two of my lifelong friends. Sarah and I finished first. Frank, however, was taking his time, really dissecting each question to get the right answer.

I peeked over at his Scantron. He was only on question 600. I nearly died. We had already been at this for what felt like eternity.

Finally, I saw him nearing the end—question 996! But then, horror struck.

I saw that Frank was on question 996 on the Scantron… but he was finger-reading question 995 in the test booklet.

He done fucked up. And he had no idea yet.

We were instructed not to talk, so there was no way to warn him. I was confident we were being watched from some video camera or two-way mirror, so I didn’t want to risk my chances. But then it happened… he colored in the last bubble—number 1000—and realized his finger was on question 999.

He still had to answer one more question to answer with no bubble to fill remaining.

His pencil dropped and both hands went to his forehead. I heard him mutter, “Shit.”

I considered whispering some sarcastic advice like, “It’s okay, just turn it in as is. Everything is good.”

But before I could, he flipped his pencil over and started erasing like his life depended on it, shaking the entire table. Sarah and I grabbed the tabletop to hold it steady due to his eraser-induced earthquake. Eraser shavings blown off his Scantron littered the table as he desperately tried to retrace and find where he went astray.

Finally, after another 30 minutes of him tackling the test, he finished, and the torturous end to our psychological examination was near.

Frank turned out to be a fantastic cop and an even better friend. He is a natural-born leader who has, for lack of a better term, been treated like shit by upper command for no apparent reason.

He is one of the most respected cops, and that respect comes from his peers. Respect from peers is the highest form of flattery in law enforcement.

Despite the mistreatment he often receives, he still comes to work with a smile on his face and a willingness to listen to others. He is a great friend, one of a kind supervisor, and a tremendous asset to the law enforcement family.

If you are an aspiring police officer, be ready for some hilarious memories and great friendships. This blog entry is a very small sample of the funny shit you will encounter as a cop. If this blog continues, I’m sure I will share even more funny stories I have accumulating over my career.

But being a police officer is a double-edged sword.

With every funny experience comes an enormous amount of mistreatment due to poor leadership and horrible shit we deal with each day we work the road.

It became harder as my career progressed but I always tried to find something good that happened each day I went to work...even if it meant to dive deep into my memory bank to relive and laugh at some of my past experiences.

Find humor wherever you can—but also, give yourself grace when things get tough. We do, will do, or have done, something very few have the physical or mental fortitude to do for a single day, let alone an entire career.

Take care of yourself and be safe!

#badgetotravel #CopStories #BacktheBlue #CopHumor, #PoliceMentalHealth

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