I’ve been working on the title of my next book(the title is more important than the content) and think the above might work…. Thoughts?
I’ll begin the manuscript here, please make suggestions or comment below
I – Pre Police
Most first responders join up because there is something wrong with them. By that I mean they are wounded people, and join because they want to fix what hurt them.
I grew up fast, the eldest of 4 in small town Alberta. Life changed when I was 11, a transition from homeschooling to the public system meant I was picked on. I was big so the fights were never too bad(for me), but the emotional pain of bullying was worse. My parents couldn’t work much during these formative years because of a terrible battle with depression. Long hospitalizations, frequent visits by police and ambulance, feelings of helplessness because as a kid there is nothing you can do to help. I had little money until I started working, my first formal job was at age 14 at a grocery store for $5.95/hr. Sports were my outlet, football, some boxing and basketball. C student, heavy drinking, partying, wasting money on crappy vehicles and hobbies and partying. I tried to join the princess patricia light infantry at 16 but broke my collarbone, so instead of summer boot camp I took summer school. I surprised myself and teachers by pulling mostly “A”s through grade 12. After graduation and barely 18, I skipped a government scholarship to become a paramedic(like my dad was) in favor of an offer to tryout at a CJFL(football) in BC.
I worked various labour jobs(digging holes, moving furniture, building houses, chicken barns, crypts) and went to school while playing football. I took students loans but dropped out of UBCO after 2 years with only $30,000 debt to show for it. Making between $11-14/hr, I learned what it was like to barely scrape by. When I was working as a carpenter’s apprentice, I got my first taste of the underbelly of society.
The lead hand was a crack addict(functional mostly). He was a fast at framing, but I watched him go through several cycles of binging, getting clean, then binging again. In a very short time he went from a clean cut, muscular looking, fun loving guy to a toothless, eyes sunken in, raving lunatic who couldn’t hold a job. I remember having a meeting with my boss saying that I thought we needed to have an intervention because this guy must be mentally ill. Our boss was a very tolerant and forgiving fellow, and kept giving the lead hand many chances until he was finally fired for good. “Great carpenter, bad businessman…” is what I thought of my boss, because our paychecks would frequently bounce or be late.
By this time I had been looking for a way out of my financial mess and started to self educate. A girlfriend had a copy of Rich dad, poor dad which led to many other books(STOP WORKING) about stocks and real estate investing.
Anyway I got tired of the uncertainty of paychecks and low wages and “went out on my own” doing handyman work. I learned how to work for free on various project because I frequently bid too low, trying to stay busy. Some jobs went well and the big pay days kept me going. Unbeknownst to me, one of my first “big customers” when I went out on my own was a big time drug dealer. I was very happy because I got a “big contract” to make an addition to the guest house of a mansion. The customer was a huge tall muscular guy. His house was huge, his backyard was a tiled pool with outdoor kitchen, manicured gardens, and the guest house was a 2 bedroom house nicer than anything I ever lived in. There were multiple nice cars, lifted trucks, motorcycles, and most predominantly a huge “cigarette speed boat”.
Naively I thought “this guy must be a very successful stock broker.” I then heard that the landscaper who was putting in the Koi ponds and the manicured gardens had gotten beat up by the customer, right in front of his crew. I heard it was because he owed money from a nasty coke habit. There were shady looking guys coming around the jobsite to visit the mansion house frequently, they drove crappy cars and wore loose clothes, flat hats and talked like gangsters. I didn’t think much of it and framed the walls, poured the slab, framed the roof and paid for a disposal bin. One of the guys asked me for advice on how to build a floor “that could hold the weight of a car.” I had no problems getting paid until the “3rd draw” when instead of the original customer I was now dealing with a little dark skinned guy who had recently been released from prison for murder. He demanded to see receipts and said I was cheating the customer, and that I better finish the rest of the job for free “or else.” I went to a football coach for advice and he said “thug tactics only work on thugs, tell them to take you to small claims court.” I said that and got a clear message that it was not a satisfactory answer, so I never returned to the jobsite, abandoned my tools and lost money in materials and labour.
I then felt like I was being followed and scared these people would learn where I lived, threatening my fiance(now wife). We moved away in a hurry and I developed the attitude was “join a gang, or be a victim of one.”
I saw an ad that “the RCMP is hiring” and thought I would join the biggest gang in Canada and put in my application…..
II – Application process
It was 8month from the time I put in the application to flying to Regina in Feb 2007. They do a lot of digging and unearth all past sins(lighting a classmate’s hair on fire, getting in fights…) …. to be continued