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This is a question The Police II

Enzyme asks: Have you ever been arrested? Been thrown down the stairs by the West Midlands Serious Crime Squad, with hi-LAR-ious consequences? Or maybe you're a member of the police force with chortlesome anecdotes about particularly stupid people you've encountered.
Do tell.

(, Thu 5 May 2011, 18:42)
Pages: Popular, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

A policeman
stops a lady and asks for her license. He says "Lady, it says here that you should be wearing glasses."
The woman answered "Well, I have contacts."
The policeman replied "I don't care who you know! You're getting a ticket"
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 11:51, 9 replies)
Breaking & entering my own home
The time was around '88 when I was in my mid-teens and constantly going out and about with my mates. On this one particular Saturday I visited a friends house down the road and upon returning home had discovered that I had left the house key in my room.

I was locked out and needed something or another before heading on to another location. I seem to remember it was fairly urgent and I couldn't wait the few hours for one of the other members of my family to return.

Thus, I remembered the sticky window around the back of the house. This was before we had double glazing installed so the windows were fairly old with nothing resembling locks on them. I should explain that this window had 3 panes with the central pane that could be opened outwards and kept shut by a simple handle. One of the side panes had a smaller rectangular pane in the top that could also be opened outward and it was this section I was looking at.

Our house had an extension built in the 70's so access to the 1st floor was fairly easy by means of using the side gate in the alley (semi-detached house). I gave the small window pane a few experimental tugs but it was firmly stuck in place due to a combination of the window frame having slightly warped and dried on paint. I paid my friend down the road another visit and he agreed to help me out and so there we were, two teens pulling on a window frame trying to gain access to my home.

Of course, what I hadn't thought about was how dodgy it would look as my house was on a block which meant that there were a row of houses which backed on to the end of my garden (which funnily enough is how blocks are built). It was from the house that was directly opposite mine that the occupant spied us opening the small window pane and me reaching in and opening the central window and climbing in.

After securing the window it took me a whole two minutes to find the item I required, pick up the house key and exit the house and walk a short distance down the road where me and my mate started having a chat with another mate who had just come out of his house.

Five minutes later an unmarked van followed by an unmarked car and two squad cars come roaring down the road and screech to a halt outside my house. A dozen police pile out of the van and some run up the alleyway while the rest stand outside the front door.

Queue much puzzlement by myself as I wonder just what the hell is going on as this is all going down. I wander back down the road to the house and introduce myself as one of the occupants and which point one of the officers ask me if I have recently been in the house. It's at this point that my brain finally cottons on to what it is all about and what follows is fifteen minutes of explaning and showing them about the house/garden to show everything is fine.

The police were quite understanding about it all and didn't make a big fuss and were on their way with just a few words of advice about getting the window pane sorted out.

The fun part came later when trying to explain it to the parents thought they did eventually see the funny side to it.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 11:30, Reply)
Last?
While very stoned and purchasing dairy-based munchies one evening in Mordor, it transpired that, at the other end of the shop, the cashier was rather suddenly being held up at gun point. Within moments Plod arrived, however (I presume the shop had a panic button), and the perps scarpered.

Our choice of cheesy comestibles was not yet done, however, and thus we continued in our quest, and soon enough a little man with a big hat came over to ask us what we had seen.

I say little man - he was quite literally about 5' tall, which was fascinating, particularly in my rather inebriated state.

"Excuse me, Sir - I imagine you're aware of what just happened - did you manage to get a look at the suspects? Are you able to furnish us with any details?"

He really was absolutely bloody tiny, and what with his hat on and bulletproof vest, looked a little like a Lego Man lost in the Great Big City.

I stared at him.

"Don't you have to be 6' tall to join the Met?" I enquired.

To his credit he didn't punch me repeatedly in the balls and then batter me over the head with his truncheon. "Not any more, Sir" he said trying to surpress a smile at my presumably rather idiot face at that point, "they've relaxed the height restriction now. Do I take it you weren't able to see anything from back here, then?"

I assured him I hadn't. "On your way then, Sir, and go careful now - there's a gunman about" he instructed us, grinning.

"What a nice man", I thought, as we wandered off, 24-hour garage-bound.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 11:15, Reply)
Piss
On a recent night out, in the space between club and McDonalds one of my friends decided that the thing he needed most in the whole wide world was a piss: the kind that only sneaks up on you when you've been boozing heavily (or are in your 80s with a prostate the size of a small melon); the kind that means you need to go right now, and it's either going to be on a wall in the city centre, or down your legs.

Said friend chose the wall option: or to be more accurate, a shop door. After finishing up with a cheery jiggle, he turned around. To see a unhappy looking lady and gentleman, who happened to be wearing the uniforms of police officers. Because they were the police.

"What were you doing there?"
"Errr...." Shit. No way out of this one... "Pissing."
"Hmm. You know that's someones shop door, don't you?"
"Well yes, I suppose it is."
"That's not very nice for them, is it?"
"No."
"Well, what are you going to do about it then?"
"Errm..." Doubleshit "Clean it up?"
"Good idea. Go on then"
"But I don't have anything to do it with!"
"Well... Use your t-shirt."
"Seriously?"
"Well, that, or hop in the van..."

Friend removed tshirt (luckily a 3 primark job) and dabbed at the piss for a few moments.

"Excellent, well done. Have a nice night."

Not everyone will agree, but I'd consider that a win-win. Friend gets punished for being a dick, but not in a way with any lasting consequences, and the policemen/women amuse themselves save themselves the effort of doing anything harsher.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 10:26, 4 replies)
Many a moon ago...
...well, nine or so years ago, a few friends of mine had just turned eighteen. As is the way with these things a large joint birthday party was promptly thrown, many beers were had and the usual stuff ensued; vomiting, tree climbing and someone's nipple being bitten.

As the party died down and people started drifting home, I found myself standing at the side of the road partway between Letchworth and Hitchin with a couple of friends. A couple of friends and a traffic cone. Again, fairly predictable for an eighteenth birthday.

One of the friends I was with decided that the cone should be moved, and move it he did. He hopped over the fence at the side of the road into a field and sprinted with the cone to the far side. No, I'm not entirely sure why he decided that's where the cone needed to be moved to either.

He returned without the cone, attempted to vault the fence again and failed in spectacular knackers-right-into-fence-post way, fell into a bramble bush and ended up curled into a foetal position in the middle of a group of bemused people. Obviously, we mocked him.

It was about that time the police car showed up. A WPC casually looked out of the window to take in the scene -- four people standing; one on the ground, clutching his balls and moaning -- then gave us a cheery wave and a smile, and drove off.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 10:02, Reply)
The benefits of wisdom and experience
Many moons ago, there was a bit of a storm in Liverpool. Chimneys got damaged, trees fell over, lots of rain fell. Y'know: a storm.

One of my mates knocked on our door and shouted "a tree's fallen over on Rose Lane! It's squashed a car!" So me and my brother legged it out to have a look.

Lo and behold a massive tree had fallen and had landed on a parked car. It was also blocking one side of the road, which was causing a bit of traffic chaos. So the police were on the scene

The police in question consisted of a lad who looked about 12 (taking into acount I was probably about 12 at that time myself) and what must have been the sergant who was minding him through probation.

The young, nervous copper was trying to stop traffic, so the massive queue heading the other way could be let go. But was basically too nervous to do so.

Eventually, the older, wiser sergant stopped tutting, said "get out the way, let me show you how to do it" and stepped out into the road, holding his hand up in a "stop" kinda way.

The first car stopped without probalem. The car behind that, however, was probably looking at the squashed car under the tree and so slammed into the back of the first car. Then the next car slammed into the one that had just crashed, as did the one behind that.

The sergant said to the younger copper "sort all that out, will you?" and got back in the jam-butty mobile...
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 9:34, Reply)

I have the misfortune of being one of her majestys servants. A job that all in all has lots of laughs and giggles but also sometimes a bit serious. I could tell so many tales of the stupid, ignorant, moronic, and just plain sad. But I'd be at it all day.

Instead I shall recall the tale of my very first foot chase (very exciting you would think).

Being the eager little twunt I was when I was new on the streets, dreaming of catching bad guys and sending them to prison meant that I enjoyed the lovely task known as 'foot patrol' (anyone who knows the cops would know that only the stinky new kid does foot patrol, the rest tootle about in jam sandwiches terrorising car owners by following them for miles on end seeing how they react).

I took to my beat which took me through the rather large park having childrens playground, football pitches and a couple of large fields with a wooded area at the end leading to a river that then leads to the local rat run council estate. It had rained the night before but was warm on this fateful day so the ground was a little moist still but not slippy.

As I turned into the park I saw a young hoodlum holding onto a much smaller yoof who was clearly upset. Being the excellent investigator I am I deduced that he was of course being robbed! Great I thought as I started to approach shouting "Oi! You!" (looking back if I'd have kept my mouth shut hoodlum wouldn't have noticed me til the last minute but hindsight is wonderful). As such I alerted the rapscallion that the dibble were onto him and he ran like the wind.

I set off at high speed (not easy when walking around with bodyarm, heavy boots, a dopey hat and a fully equipped bat belt (which I had added to being the eager twerp). I chased the bugger through the park, straight over the childrens playground to the amusement of the other kiddiewinks. I knew where he was running to, the wooded area where he would have full escape priveliges. I shouted it through on my posh walkie talkie asking for CCTV on the park to start monitoring him. As I chased through the football match that was being played on the field (not one bothered to help me but instead cheered the thief on) we started to approach the final stretch. I knew I had to grab him before he got to the trees. Thankfully being as fit as I was I was gaining ground, in fact I was a mere arms length away. And then. My bat belt, weighed down with all my stupid extras, went from my hips to right around my legs. I then proceeded to fall forward into the air, arms still outstretched from my grabbing attempts like a black and white superman...but what goes up, most come down, face first into the mud where I skidded along for the best part of 5 metres.

By the time I had regained my composure, the escape artist had succeeded, but not before standing at the edge of the trees laughing and flipping me the bird before disappearing into the wilderness. I started my trudge back through all of the park, humiliated and covered in mud. Losing a prisoner is a cakes offence at my station and I had a big team. I was only a poor proby. I couldn't afford cakes. As I got out of the park I was picked up by one of my colleagues who instead of taking me back to the police station, took me to the CCTV control room where my other colleagues had gathered and huddled round the monitor. Had they found him? No of course not, what they were doing is watching me fall over, pause, rewind, play. All in hysterics. Apparently as soon as I had shouted for CCTV a couple of officers had attended there straight away and got the operator to start filming. Whilst I slowly walked back to the park entrance they had then radio'd everyone else telling them to come and have a look.

Needless to say the robber was never caught, and I could not walk anywhere in the station without some reference to superman or mud baths being made about me. Thankfully I have learnt since then and my belt now contains the bare minimum, also I don't foot patrol anymore.

Apologies for length.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 9:34, 2 replies)
Damaging police property at 7...
Yet another story about a police educational visit to a school...

I was about 7 and we had a police visit to our class at school. After much talking by the officer we get to the point where he starts to talk about handcuffs and offers to handcuff one of us. I put my eager little hand up and was chosen, yay! So the copper handcuffs me to a bench and asks me to try and get out of them, git, and he then resumes talking to the rest of the class. Unbeknown to him, he's 'cuffed me to the CDT bench, so I open one of the drawers and pull out a hacksaw and start sawing - the look of anger on this coppers face has put me in good stead for the rest of my life to be a law abiding citizen, git.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 9:25, Reply)
Honestly officer, there's an innocent explanation ...
A lovingly roasted pea presented for your entertainment.

I was once arrested, charged but not convicted of Indecent Exposure but those fine lads and lasses in blue of County Durham.

So let's wibble those lines way back to 2002 when my husband and I, full of youthful enthusiasm and naiviety, bought an abandoned CofE church to renovate. Oh what fools we were.

We would work our 9-5 jobs and then drive out to the church and usually work until midnight or whenever we fell over.

To set the scene; it was 2:00am, and I was trying to finish the external rendering. Hubby had helped out until he had to leave to catch his flight for a conference and I stupidly thought I could finish the job myself. It was so very late. I was tired and I was rushing and I was NOT wearing any special protective clothing, so I have no one but myself to blame for what happened next.

I was handling a highly corrosive substance called quicklime when a gust of wind blew some of the powder up onto me. I felt like someone had thrown a colony of fire ants at me. My clothes quickly started to dissolve, so I followed the most sensible course of action at the time. This involved screaming loudly, flailing about wildly, ripping off my clothes and rolling around in a muddy puddle.

"Right!" I shouted into the empty night, "I've had enough! I'm going home!" So that was how I came to be driving down the A1 in the wee small hours, butt naked and covered in mud.

But the most disastrous night of my life did not stop there, oh no. When I had been flailing about ripping off my rapidly dissolving clothing, I had knocked the lights that I was using into the back of my car, breaking the tail light.

And yes, you guessed it, I hear a siren and there's the blues and twos behind me. "Oh please let it be a copper with a sense of humour." I silently prayed as I pulled over. I opened my window just a fraction. Nope, a young lass who looked like she'd been on the job for about 20 minutes.

"Step out of the car please."
"I can't do that."
"Why not then?"
"I'm naked."
"Wot!"

Rinse and repeat for a bit until I finally stepped out of the car and demonstrated my state of undress and need for medical attention. Did she laugh and point? Did she let me go? Did she BAH! I was cuffed, placed in the back of the police car, taken to Durham Police Station, where I was given a handsome forensic jumpsuit, left in a filthy freezing cell for 3 hours until they got around to the charge and bail bit.

Even the Desk Sergeant didn't want to book me. You could see it on his face.

A few weeks later, I was summonsed to appear in a Magistrate Court on a charge of Indecent Exposure. Yay me. Thankfully, the beak did have a sense of humour. He pointed out that the act of Indecent Exposure did not occur until I stepped out of my car at the direction of a police officer. Therefore, I had no case to answer. Phew.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 0:58, 8 replies)
My first (and only) 999 call.
I (unfortunately) live about 100 yards from a large nightclub. During the day it's a rather pleasant area to live in, but it soon changes when it comes to kicking-out time at said nightclub.

Anyway, one night, about 3.30am (bloody school night too), a big group of lads and lasses have convened right outside my flat. 2 of the lads are squaring up to each other, one of them with a ripped t-shirt. Now usually I'd let the little scrotes carry on and knock seven bells out of each other but that was until one of them shouted 'I'll stab you in the f*cking neck'. I thought this was probably going a little too far so I dialled 999, asked for the police and got......

'You are now in a queue. Please hold the line'.

WTF?!? I almost expected to be told that my call was very important to them!

I ended up hanging up but they did call back within a minute but by that time a whole riot van of police had turned up and the lads were suddenly best mates. Twats.
(, Thu 12 May 2011, 0:20, Reply)

One early morning where yet again i couldnt sleep and was full of ridiculous energy, I thought taking a moonlit pushbike ride would be fun and maybe tire me out.
So I toddled off along the seafront, at around 3am there wasnt another single soul about and it felt like I was the only person in the world
Halfway down the promenade there was a mini roundabout leading to the high street
I thought as there was no-one around it would be fun to ride round and round the roundabout, building up enough speed to then freewheel with my legs out and going 'wheee' and giggling a bit.
I think it must have been around my 5th turn that I saw the stationary cop car that hadnt been there when I started, and the 2 cops standing there shaking their heads and I slammed on the brakes and promptly fell off my bike.
One of them helped me up and the other inspected my bike. I noticed he also looked in the baskets on the front and back.
Then the questions
'What are you doing?' Erm riding my bike
'Are you drunk?' no
"Are you stoned?" no
"why were you going round and round like that?" because it was fun
"why are you out at this time?" because i cant sleep
"Do you know you are a danger to other road users?" I look around and shrug at total absence of any other vehicle but them.
Then they crack a smile, wish me goodnight and suggest I should head home and not cycle round roundabouts over and over any more.
I cycle off back along the seafront, with nothing but the moonlight and waves gently washing up on the beach.
Until I turned to cycle over the railway bridge and the cop car suddenly appears out of the side road, turns on the lights and sirens as it passes me with the two guys inside grinning.
I managed not to fall off the bike that time, but it was close.
(, Wed 11 May 2011, 23:50, 1 reply)
Who'd have thought, I have two stories!
My old next door neighbour was a cunt. A no beating-around-the-bush liked-to-beat-women cunt.

One night I heard him having a drunken argument outside with his girlfriend, followed by the distinctive sound of him punching her in the face. Like I said, a real cunt. I called the police and, knowing how these things usuually work, I said that they were still in the street so that they'd have to turn up. A few minutes later, a police car arrives.

Usually in this situation they'd have a stern chat with the man but, unless the woman complains, they can't do much. Knowing this couple, she'd most likely insist that she fell on a doorknob and the guy would get off scott free. However, to my eternal delight, the sound of his doorbell ringing was followed shortly by a policeman yelling "Oi, put that down!" This was followed by the noises of a struggle, followed by "I'm arresting you for assaulting a police officer". This is usually taken a little more seriously than a mere "domestic" and he was promptly hauled off in the back of the police car.

Couldn't have happened to a nastier guy.
(, Wed 11 May 2011, 23:37, 5 replies)
About 12 years ago,
Mrs SLVA went out on the razzle with her work mates. She got well and truly staircased and on leaving a pub near the end of the night, she stumbled and fell over, scraping her head and bruising her cheek. She picked herself up, called it a night and set off to get the bus. But she was that pissed, she couldn't work out quite where she was and it seemed she just wandered about the streets, streets she would normally be familiar with, and generally being lost. Bear in mind that relatively not many people had a mobile phone. We weren't either of them and consequently, we had no way of contacting each other.

Eventually, she saw a police van and went over and knocked the passenger window.
"Can you help me, I'm lost."
Upon seeing her bruised and grazed face, they assumed, and not surprisingly, that she'd been in an altercation. One of the officers then asked,
"Is there anything you want to tell us?"
My wife replied, "Err, yeah, I think one of my neighbours in dealing drugs." She then explained how she'd got lost walking home and so they brought her home.
Which was nice of them.
(, Wed 11 May 2011, 23:13, 1 reply)
Scream if you want to go to prison
True story from a friend of mine who is a fully paid up member of The Filth. We'll call him Bert, mostly because I liked Sesame Street.

Bert was a beat officer in a somewhat shady southern city and was called to a restaraunt late at night following an anoymous telephone call reporting an armed robbery. It was all dark and closed up so he banged on the door and a waiter opened it. He denied all knowledge of a robbery or that he'd called the police. Being in possession of a suspicious mind and not afraid to use it Bert insisted on searching the building.

Having got to the managers office he found a woman tied to a chair and gagged. Being unusually sharp for a member of the bacon club this was Bert's first indication that not all was as it should be. He untied the woman, who said that she was the manager of the restaraunt and had just been robbed of the nights takings at knife-point by a man wearing a Scream mask. Helpfully, from Bert's perspective at least, she then pointed to the waiter who'd answered the door and said "It was him". Bert's eyes lit up at the prospect of an easy conclusion and he promptly arrested the waiter for armed robbery.

However, the waiter said that he had just been clearing up downstairs, denied that he'd done anything and that someone else must have broken in, robbed the manager and then called the police to let the manager go. The manager, in turn, insisted that it was him, pointed out that they'd worked together for years, and she'd recognise him even with a Scream mask on. In the absence of any other evidence, this meant that more detective work was needed for our intrepid Bert. He searched the restaraunt building and found, in a toilet tank, a Scream mask in an Asda plastic bag. However, presented with this evidence, the waiter insisted that he'd never even heard of the film Scream, had no idea what a Scream mask was and had never even seen one before Bert showed it to him.

However, in a novel twist that not even CSI:Las Vegas would stoop so low as to use, the criminal had helpfully left in the bag an Asda receipt. Putting the Asda bag and Asda receipt together Bert leapt to the dramatic conclusion that the mask had been purchased in an Asda store. As the receipt had a time stamp and store details on it, Bert immediately sped to the Asda store, probably with lights and sirens, and seized the CCTV. On viewing the footage from the camera covering the children's toy aisle he spotted our friend the waiter strolling down the aisle and pausing at the mask section. Carefully studying the choices available to him, he eventually picked up a fresh new Scream mask. Obviously intent on setting up the perfect crime, he then tried it on to make sure it fitted.

Bert told me that when he played the footage to the waiter (who, remember, had denied ever seeing such a mask before) he turned white and asked to speak to his lawyer. I like to think that a small tear rolled down his cheek at the same time.

Length? About 4 years.
(, Wed 11 May 2011, 22:55, 2 replies)
Good Cop, Bad Cops
I've had a few dealings with the police over the years (nothing serious, and only a couple of real 'skirmishes', generally I am a fine upstanding member.. etc.) Some have been very pleasant and helpful, and others quite odious - bad apples and all that.

I did meet the D.I. who had his hand completely cut off in a raid in Tottenham by someone with a machete - maybe '92? I think it was front page news at the time, but I've just googled it and can't find anything (funnily enough I do remember his name, but it doesn't help). He was a friend of my mum and dads good friend who I had only met the week before. I shook his hand and then started a conversation along the line of 'So, is your job dangerous?' (this is true, I don't know why I feel the need to qualify that in particular here 'cos all this is, but massive honda). He had it sewn back the week later after I met him in a 'pioneering' operation. I saw him for the second and last time about a year after that and he showed me that one arm from shoulder to fingertips was a good inch shorter than the other. Anyway possibly interesting, but no funnies really there unless you are a big fan of 'cop torture porn comedy', a new cinema genre I just invented.

The one thing that does sticks in my mind when thinking about the thin blue line was a time in the very late 80's when one day I was approached in Barnet High street (not far from the cop shop for anyone who knows the area) by a copper and asked if I had some time to take part in an ID parade for a fiver - that was a weeks worth of fags for me at the time, so I was in, and it also turns out that you wait in the police canteen for a while getting free tea and doughnuts - it just got better. I ended up doing it about 5 or 6 times, easy cash for a 15 year old and I didn't have the mistrust of the police I have nowadays - they had my home phone number in the end and would 'book me in', usually on a Friday for some reason. Of course I was not in every line up they did - that would be stupid, right?

Except, the line up that really sticks in my mind was I think the last time I did it. I went up to the station as usual after school on a Friday, sports bag (Hi-Tec, if you must know. I was one of the cool kids) over my shoulder, tie tucked in top part of shirt, I believe that was the fashion at the time, and I had my school blazer on. Basically, looking every inch the 15 year old schoolboy I was.

I had the customary tea and doughnut and noticed a few other lads from my school, all my size, colour and age. We got chatting and didn't really think about the happy serendipity that had brought us all together for hard cash (unmarked), and free refreshments.

Until we got in the ID room together and the 'perp' entered. A good 5 years older than the rest of us, stubble we couldn't muster in a year, trackies and an air about him that just said guilty.

We never got to hear what was going on from the other side of the window. I never got asked back again, but I think that day they really did everything they could to make sure this guy was 'made'. They never called me again either.

On a side note, they must have been pleased, because on that last time only they offered me a lift (a good way away) home in a jam sandwich.

I wasn't thinking about the bollocking from my mum I would eventually get for letting the police turn up outside our house, me getting out and slowly walking up to the front door, weary and shoulders sagging after a hard week at school.
(, Wed 11 May 2011, 20:17, 5 replies)

This question is now closed.

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