WHAT IN THE WORLD DID YOU DO ??

 The FIRST time I was arrested I was processed in the County Jail and bailed out within 4 hours.  The circus I came home too was jaw dropping. 

BACKSTORY: While coming down and crashing from my euphoria, I had entered into an acquaintance’s house to ‘appropriate’ their pain medication. (It’s really called stealing). Since I assumed nobody was home, I thought I would just let myself in. (That, boys and girls, is called Buuurglary) Once inside, I discovered that my acquaintance was sleeping on the couch. My subsequent entry had alerted and riled the sentries. (Several little doggies)  I found myself face to face with my newly awakened homeowner and did my very best to “talk my way out of it.” In my sick mind I spun a quick tale, that I had heard some sort of distress call and entered to make sure everyone was O.K.  I may have had the advantage by being scared out of my wits and speaking rapidly to a groggy victim. (Yes, victim) I left for home and breathed a massive sigh of relief realizing the close call.  As the afternoon progressed, I felt pretty good about what a nice guy I was to check in on my acquaintance and enter her home, obviously putting myself in great danger by springing into action in the face of a possible distress call.  Then came the knock on the door; my heartbeat went from 70-140 in a nano-second…”Hello, Officer.  What can I do for you?”

He calmly stated, “Hi Gary, I’m here to talk to you about your addiction.” What happened next is a story in itself. The abridgement is that I was asked if I would be willing to come down to the station and discuss my addiction issues in order to “help myself”.  I believe the exact quote from the Officer at my door was, “Don’t worry. Nothing legal is going to come of this.”  I was reminded that, as a firefighter, we were all on the same side and the hand extended was a professional courtesy.  I collected my wife and drove down on my own to the Police Department to get the “help” I needed.

INTERJECTION: I feel the methods employed by the local law enforcement were marginally ethical at best. In fact, I harbored resentment and, at times, rage for their manipulation. I wanted it all to end. The lie had gone on too long. I was full of shame and guilt. They knew it and took full advantage of it. Nevertheless, this was the first day of reckoning (more were to come) that began the extremely painful process of healing and learning. It was the debridement of the soul, so to speak. It is the painful scouring and scrubbing of open flesh to remove all of the road grime and foreign particles in order to bring about effective healing. Whether Law Enforcement’s motives were pure or punitive in nature, makes no difference to me now. It was a blessing.

After spilling my guilt-ridden soul for hours in an interview room at the police station, I felt exhausted. Cried out. Depleted of all energy. I told them EVERYTHING I had done; taking medication from my patient’s as a paramedic; entering friends houses while they were away; false prescriptions; speeding; wearing white after Labor Day; I think I even admitted to multiple jaywalking offenses when I was seven years old. I purged my soul and was ready to start over.

LESSON TIME: The place to share your soul is in the Bishop’s office, confession booth, or local clergy…NOT THE POLICE DEPARTMENT.  If your sins or wrongdoings are sufficient to warrant (pun) law enforcement intervention, they will help you do so with love, helping you muster the courage to do what is right and supporting you along the way.  True men of God see things through with love.

I was then asked to please stand up and place my hands behind my back.  My “help” was just beginning.  In short, I was being secretly interviewed on a hidden camera. The tape was sent to my Fire Chief. I was sent to County Jail for processing. A collection began from friends and loved ones to gather bail money and secure an attorney. Unbeknownst to me, the Police Chief hosted a news interview in front of the police station stating, in effect, that they had apprehended a firefighter for multiple residential burglaries in the small town of 8,000 where I had resided.  When I had bailed out and returned home, I walked right into a three-ring circus.  There were three news vans parked in front of my home.  I had reporters ambushing me from behind trees on my lawn asking for a statement. I had to go inside, lock the door, draw the shades, and retreat to my bedroom. Thinking I was free from immediate humiliation, and public ridicule, I caught a glimpse of the TV.  There I was…a picture of me in my firefighter ‘Class A’ dress uniform on my own TV in my bedroom. I saw a reporter with my house in the background telling of the “Firefighter predator” that had stalked and preyed on the neighborhoods.  I was physically ill. My young children were curious as to the commotion.  “Wow Dad, did you save someone’s life?”

 ‘No, Son.’ Softly.

 My wife was in tears and a state of panic. ‘Now what?’ I asked myself…’What do I do now?’

The next day I visited one of the three most prominent defense attorneys in the region with an envelope filled with retainer money (none of it mine). He was no stranger to high profile cases, especially those driven by the media. Apparently his phone had been ringing off the hook all morning. Upon entering his office, he stood and said, “WHOM did you kill?” 

‘Nobody, Sir.’ I replied.

 “Then, What in the world did you do?”