Later this month I’ll be attending the Writer’s Police Academy. For those of you thinking of breaking into my house while I’m away, please note that it is protected by an intricate security system of ninjas, tiger traps, and a sumo wrestler nicknamed “The Hammer.” Just sayin’.
All attendees have to sign waivers in case we break our necks when we (inevitably) fall off the zip line. You can probably imagine a middle-aged woman with osteoporosis, arthritic knees, and stress incontinence trying to run an obstacle course. All this after consuming a cheeseburger (no onions), potato salad, baked beans, a power bar, and the obligatory donuts. I’m looking forward to the Krispy Kremes workshop.
I’ll be hiking out into the woods to examine a shallow grave, learning how to identify blood spatters, dusting for fingerprints, and watching my partner’s back in the firearms training simulator. My apologies in advance to my soon to be virtually deceased partner. That friendly fire incident is going to haunt me forever.
Yes, I’m going to suit up for a high risk entry into an actual residence. I will then cry, when they have to break out the extra large SWAT gear for my not-so-ripped physique. (Too many Krispy Kremes.) I’ll get to learn the techniques for take down, restraint, and handcuffing. C’mon, people. Get your minds out of the gutter.
I’ll be taking notes on how to turn macaroni, gold spray paint, glitter, and pipe cleaners into a dirty bomb (or an ashtray). Oh, the humanity! Honestly, this is going to be serious hands-on research of crime, law enforcement, and emergency services.
In the quest to add realism to my not-so hard-core crime writing, I am even willing to make the ultimate sacrifice and wear ugly gray sweat pants. They serve the dual purpose of wicking moisture away from the skin, and hiding the fact that I soiled myself waiting for my turn on the zip line. If anyone takes my picture thus attired, they may have a real live crime scene on their hands.