If your union or employee rights organization asked you to participate in a sick-out/blue flu to support an employee rights issue, would you do it, even if it put your job in jeopardy?
Experts say when we interact with others we are always "leaking" with our face or body what we are thinking or feeling. My wife, the Sarge, has a way of refusing to acknowledge what I am saying and demanding to know what I am actually "thinking," since I'm apparently a pretty bad "leaker."
What the heck happened to us? Cro-Magnons were big, athletic, and healthy until they died (mostly young), and had bigger brains than we do.
We have to decide not to carry garbage around ourselves and not to accept it from others.
One of the great challenges of turning civilians into crime fighters is developing their sense of being initiated into a unique group of people who will share high-risk adventures and protect not only each other physically, but morally as well, preserving that collective honor we each hold so dear.
Life's unfair. Get over it. If you understand this point you will have a long and healthy career and make it to retirement without hating everyone around you.
The funny thing is most Americans can't even name the time zone they live in much less understand why they are changing their clocks twice a year, and they have to ask the flight attendant what time it is wherever they've just landed.
My friend pointed to his weird five-toed footwear and said since wearing them his body had found new vigor and was pain-free.
The scary part is when we ourselves are confidently wrong we're completely oblivious to it.
Nothing focuses the mind during a search warrant like discovering a diamondback rattlesnake in a dresser drawer.
We put high sensation-seeking folks like you in a highly structured bureaucracy and are shocked when it stresses the heck out of you.
Kids, lawnmowers, dogs, court, phone calls, worry, sunlight, spouses, chores, side jobs, storms. Everything seems to conspire to deny us our rest.
You can always tell the veterans because they don't wear hats or fake mustaches anymore.
Crime fighters have a unique problem. Our meals are part of our socialization, our warrior bread-breaking ritual.
Routine doesn't just make us comfortable, it actually "detrains" us, robs us of our edge, and can even steal our lives.
I focused on several likely hiding places: a container of Comet cleanser, filled with just cleanser; a PVC piece of pipe—only a bomb; a box of "SOS" pads....wait a minute!
Something wasn't right. The apparent drunk hadn't felt right, smelled right, or acted right.
I especially love the folks who are not only stupid but self-righteously stupid, which ought to have its own special term like "extremepidity."
I was driving into town to get ready for a late swing shift and found myself admiring the massive towering anvil-headed clouds bearing down.
Every time someone tries to kick our butts and we have him fully subdued and cuffed and searched we should look deeply into his eyes and say, "Thanks, I needed that!"
Somewhere in crime fighters' brains is a junction of sensation and risk that makes us truly appreciate a good repast.