The Importance Of Spare Keys And The Inevitability Of Becoming The Old Guy

All eyes were on me. My embarrassment was palpable. You might as well have given me a nice paper cut and poured lemon juice on it.

Back in the day we went to all medical calls; Code 3 no less. This one happened to be in a well-to-do neighborhood right before dusk. The sun was just touching the tops of the trees as things wrapped up and I cleared the call with Fire and EMS.

Safety First

I had parked my cruiser on the road in front of the house with its well-manicured lawn. I left it running with the light bar flashing for what reason I’m not sure. It’s not like that road had a lot of traffic. Since I wasn’t an idiot, I had to leave the cruiser running so the lights wouldn’t kill the battery. And since it was running, I locked the cruiser doors so it wouldn’t get stolen in this wealthy, zero-crime neighborhood.

The firefighters and paramedics waved goodbye as they hopped in their rigs, pulled away, and the smell of diesel exhaust filled the air. It was a pleasant summer evening as the kids stopped to enjoy the entertainment of shiny red firetrucks carrying America’s heroes into their neighborhood. They stood and watched until they were out of sight. I sighed and wondered what was so great about firefighters.

What Spare Key?

I reached my cruiser with its pulsating blue lights and pulled the door handle without giving it much thought. Oh, ya, it was locked. I’ll just open it with the spare key that I didn’t have.

Crud. I was locked out.

My powerless little alligator arms came up empty after frantically searching my pockets. Now what? It was getting dark and my flashing lights were still drawing attention from the neighbor’s windows. Police activity was, after all, an excellent source of neighborhood gossip and ought not to be ignored. So, there I stood, next to my cruiser, not getting into it. I could feel all the eyes on me as I debated what to do next.

Too Late

So, like a tactical dunce, I used the one thing I shouldn’t have: my radio. Yes, that’s right. I broadcast it right out over the air asking if someone could respond to my location with a cruiser key. Simply brilliant. Once the words left my mouth it was too late, I couldn’t take them back. I could hear the gluttonous smile on the dispatcher’s face as she made sure to ask me to repeat my transmission — which I didn’t. To my surprise and delight, the oldest, saltiest, crustiest cop at the department said that he would take care of it. This should be fun.

And take care of it, he did — almost an hour later. But before he finally showed up I weighed my public embarrassment against the ridicule of my coworkers. I debated asking for an ETA, wondering where on earth he could be. He wasn’t running late or tied up, he was letting me marinate.

Officer Salty

After I committed to making no further radio transmissions and myself to fate, I casually leaned back against my cruiser and crossed my arms like a cowboy at the saloon. I tried to play it cool as if I wasn’t parked on a quiet street in a wealthy neighborhood with my lights flashing for almost an hour for absolutely no reason at all.

When Officer Salty pulled up, he rolled down his window and just bellowed out in laughter for a solid minute before handing me the key. When he was done laughing he told me he had done the same thing when he was a rookie (I didn’t know you could get locked out of a horse and buggy) and then gave me his own spare key to keep. That simple gesture was probably nothing to him, but it was a big deal to me.  It made me feel like I wasn’t alone.

Becoming My Parents

Under his rough, berating exterior, was an old cop who cared about young cops — he just showed it in his own special way. He knew we all make mistakes, he had made his, and now I had made one of my many.  I had earned the wait, the embarrassment, and the laughter that day, but his gesture and the spare key were gifts.

Looking back I realize that I am becoming the old guy, which is weird, and a lot like becoming my parents.  More importantly, however, I realize that how I treat the new guys matters. They may not always remember what I did, but they will always remember how I made them feel. It’s a sobering thought, especially since I know I haven’t always been the best example.

Barring unforeseen circumstances and life changes, it is inevitable that you, too, will become the old guy.  What you do and how you treat those around you matters, too.  You will lead, for good or ill, by your example.  If you feel the weight of that, that’s a good thing, but the truth is that we don’t have to be perfect to be impactful, we just have to care.

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• Are you the salty veteran, the shiny new boot, or somewhere in between?
• How have you been treated by senior officers in the past?
• How do you treat junior officers?
• Who’s example will you follow?
• Will you set a better one?

__________________________

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