Dead End Job in a Podunk Town
Rachael
Yesterday’s pizza was today’s cold breakfast and apparently another day’s supper.
Or is it breakfast again?
The time of the clock is blurry, and I blink heavily, trying to clear my vision.
It doesn’t work.
I stuff the pizza in my mouth as I stumble back toward my couch.
I plop down and take a chug of my bottle while chewing my rubbery, cold pizza. I don’t have to work the morning shift again because nobody has called in, so I plan on drinking for quite some time. I have a few bottles and a case of beer in the fridge. The only thing missing is a cigarette.
Because, for some stupid reason, I decided I would quit.
Clean my life up?
Feel like I bettered myself in some way?
I have no idea.
I just know that instead of smoking I am bitchier and eating more.
I kick my legs up on the coffee table as I shove more pizza in my mouth, chewing with my mouth open, like a mutt without manners. The sound is awful, but I am too drunk to care.
I continue to work on my nightly routine, which will lead to me passing out naked somewhere in my home. Followed by a horrible hangover and a long ass day of working, then finally drinking again until I pass out.
I groan as I feel the sun peeking through the cracks of the blinds, warming my face. My tongue feels like sandpaper and my brain feels like it is going to explode. I pulled the towel that had become unraveled from my head off my body and tossed it on the floor.
I roll my body off the couch and land on the floor below. I lay with my arms tucked under my body as I fought to get my mind as awake as the rest of me.
It never gets easier.
I push myself up and attempt to hold my balance as my stomach swims and my head pounds. I pry my dry eyes open as I stagger to the kitchen and get a cold bottle of water out of my fridge. I proceed to chug it like my life depends on it.
Probably does.
Who cares?
The clock on the stove reads one pm. I have two hours to get awake, ready and at the station. That is more than usual, so I take that as a good sign for the day.
I shower fast and throw my wet hair into a bun. I pull yesterday’s dark blue uniform on and do my best to smooth out the wrinkles and straighten my name tag. The patch on my arm reads to serve and protect.
Too bad nobody did that for me.
Reservation police were a joke.
I sigh loudly, scrutinizing myself in the mirror, aggressively rubbing my lotion into my face like I am trying to rub the memory trying to creep in, away.
It doesn’t work.
I give myself one more glance. I have always been naturally pretty with my brown skin and almond eyes. I was blessed with a straight nose and eyes so dark they match the turmoil within me.
At least my mother gave me something.
I grab my keys off the counter and drive my cruiser to the precinct. It is across town, but my house is close to the bar, so it works out. I pull in at 2:58PM with two minutes to spare. The chief will be proud of me for being on time for a change. That is if I can get through the doors in time and through the officer standing in front of them, grinning.
Jake Moore, a fellow officer and my tormentor.
He is 34, attractive, muscular with messy light brown hair with some gray peppered within, but he is a jerk.
It comes off in his stance, his conversations, and his overall appearance.
I just don’t like anything about him, and he can’t stand it.
“You’re late, but what’s new?” He scoffs as I grab my bag, gun belt and head toward the entrance.
“I have two minutes to spare if you get your ugly ass out of the way,” I say body checking him. I’m 5’ 8" and he is probably an inch taller than me.
It would be like fighting myself except he has more muscles than I do, but I have lived in survival mode and don’t doubt my strength and instincts.
I just wished I could believe in myself like that more often.
“You smell like you just left the bar.” Jake remarks, snidely.
“Careful, you sound jealous.” I scowl at his smug grin, wishing I could wipe it off his face.
“Not likely.” He grumbles, pulling up his pants with his hands. Ugh, gag me.
“Good, now move.” I push past him into the precinct, heading toward the employee room to shove my stuff in my locker and clock in.
“Morning Rachael.”
“Morning Vicky. How was the night?”
“The switchboard was quiet. No noise complaints either.”
“Wow, that would be the first,” I say as I shut my locker and head to get report. Not that I need it now. Vicky is the 911 operator and does twelve-hour shifts. She knows everything that goes on here.
I made my way to the report room where Jake and Marty were waiting for me. “Take a seat, this won’t take long.” I leaned against the wall, not wanting to sit next to Jake in front of the desk. Marty holds the rank of sergeant and is twenty years older than me. I have toyed around with the idea of taking tests and moving up in rank, but those thoughts are on good days only, and those are getting fewer.
And what would be the point? This is a dead-end job in a dwindling town.
“Fine. Stand. We have two in jail. Both males, same ones as yesterday. No calls overnight. Truancy call this morning that was resolved. You have an eviction scheduled for this evening. Make sure you get your paperwork filled out correctly, in case they get a lawsuit happy. If there are no calls tonight, I expect you both to finish your paperwork on any back cases. We could get audited any day and I don’t want any headaches.”
“Yes sergeant.” We say in unison. I do not even know why we have a police chief or what he does, because Marty seems to do all the work.
There are four of us beat cops, then our leadership and three reserve deputies. Some might say that isn’t enough for a town of 2,500, but this is Red Ridge. Nothing ever happens here.
Occasional assaults, lost hikers, noise complaints and drunks but nothing that cannot be handled.
It’s boring.
I often think about transferring to somewhere bigger, but I can’t bring myself to think about starting over somewhere.