I STILL Cannot Go In A Bar In Utah

I retired on June 16, 2006 after 23 years of working for the State of Utah.  The last 18 years of my career I was an Adult Probation And Parole Agent.  In Utah, that means you are a Cop.

I retired because I'd had enough.  A man I considered a friend as well as my boss dumped a bunch of garbage cases on me cause he was too lazy to deal with the Agent who wasn't working and just figured I'd clean it up.  He figured wrong.  My dad was circling the drain, and about to leave me enough money that I didn't need to work any more.   So I decided not to.

I don't miss the job.  Even if I miss some of the people I worked with.  Not by any stretch ALL of the people I worked with, but many of them.

If I miss the job, I watch a couple of episodes of, COPS on TV and it reminds me why I would rather be in Paris, or a beach in Belize than in a trailer court in West Valley City.

But there are some things that have stayed with me, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to shake them.  I can't go to a bar in Utah.  And I proved it again tonight after seven years of not working.

Before Deb and I became AP&P Agents, we used to enjoy going to private clubs (remember those?).  I played hockey for several of them.  We enjoyed going out for dinner, or dancing.  Meeting friends before and after Golden Eagle's games.  But shortly after becoming, "the law" all of that changed.

Every time we would go into a club, we would run into a, "bandit" one of us knew.  It was an uncomfortable experience.  And if you wanted to drink, you couldn't take a gun with you.  So why go to a bar?

We all but quit dancing.  On the other hand, we started to eat in nicer restaurants.

Tonight, an old friend from Three Fountains (holding up FOUR fingers.  It's required) was in town from Florida where he makes his home now.  He wanted to get together with some friends at a bar for a few drinks.  So I figure I'd go for a little while.

After all, because of some pending surgery I can't drink, I'll be having ice tea.  And I have a CCW Permit so I can go, "heavy" as they say in, The Sopranos.  Everything should be cool.  And it was.

It was nice to see old friends.  This place had amazing tea!  Very refreshing, I had two glasses.

But some thing's never change.  Even without realizing I was doing it, I sat with my back to the wall, and my eyes on the door.  I was looking at every one's belt line, looking for signs of a holster or a gun.  Every guy with a tattoo got a twice over to see if they were Prison tattoo's or if he just loved his Harley as much as he loved his wife.

You remember that stupid color code the Bush Administration was never going to let get down to green, just to keep people ginned up about terrorism?  Well there is a similar thing in, "Cop World", but it's actually useful.  And I might get the order wrong, but you'll get the idea.

White:  You fell asleep on your couch watching a college football game.

Yellow:  You are up a up and functioning.  You can heat up soup, and not burn yourself.  This is where most people live their lives.

Orange:  You are working the street.  You need to be ready for anything.  Remember, concealment hides you, but cover stops bullets, where's my tree?  How can I get out of here if I have too?

Red:  Holy Shit!  The bullets are flying, I need that TREE NOW!  In a fight, front sight!  Shoot for center body mass!  Where is my exit?  How many rounds are left in this magazine and do I have time for a tactical reload?

Living in Red doesn't happen much.  They always said law enforcement is long stretches of absolute boredom punctuated by short bursts of total chaos.  When the fire fight, or fist fight, or what ever is over, no matter how good of shape you are in, you will be exhausted.

But living in Orange takes a little out of you too.  You are being tuned just a little higher, and tighter.  And you can do that if you do it eight hours at a time, several times a week.  But sitting in a bar, among friends, when you haven't been doing it for a while?  That kind of takes the fun out the gathering.  At least for me.

So, I didn't stay long.  And I'm not sure the feeling will ever go away.  Maybe the next time he comes to town, if he doesn't want to come over here, or have dinner at Italian Village, we should try Starbucks?