One of the problems with working around radios is that inevitably the mic will get stuck open on one, and if you are driving around in the car, or sitting around the office everyone else will hear your conversation. And while someone will eventually try and track you down (not only to save you embarrassment but the radio is a simplex operation, meaning that while one person is broadcasting no one else can use the radio. It is potentially dangerous) the best advice is the one your mother probably gave you at some point in your life – If you’ve got nothing nice to say about someone don’t say anything at all.
So there are a wealth of stories of members riding around talking about a co-worker, the boss, or one of the stenos to return to the office embarrassed, contrite or in trouble. But this is a slightly different open mic story, that doesn’t involve talking. It happened when I was posted in Thompson and working the midnight shift. A new member, who had just been transferred to Thompson was also on watch that night. Let’s call him John. He’d only been working there for a couple of shifts and was still getting to know everyone.
Late in that quiet shift John needed to answer the call of nature and went to the washroom. In the stall he took off his gun belt and laid it on the floor, and in doing so the talk button on his portable radio got pushed in and the mic was now open. John thus proceeded to, and there is no delicate way of putting this, broadcast his bowel movement to everyone in Thompson with a police radio or a scanner.
Now, once we realized what was happening, another member, lets call him Boyd goes back to the washroom to let John know that his portable is on. Not wanting to embarrass John further, Boyd decides to write him a note, rather than shouting "John your radio is on" for all to hear. Now I’ll switch to John’s words (roughly) to tell the rest of the story.
"So here I am in a new place where I barely know anyone, and I’m enjoying a quiet moment in the washroom, when I hear someone come in. The person walks right up to my stall and stops and all I can see is a pair of ankle boots under the door (We don’t wear "shoes" we wear oxfords, or ankle boots, or high browns, or Elvis boots). Then a hand appears under the door with a note, and I’m wondering just what kind of detachment I’ve been transferred to. I’m trying to back away from the hand but the more I ignore it the more the hand frantically waves the note. I quickly snatch it from the hand and read ‘ John your radio is on, we can hear EVERYTHING’"
Welcome to Thompson John.
Comments
5 responses
Now, that is a funny story. Poor John!
It is so interesting and fun to read your posts! I believe it is these kind of stories make one get a clearer picture of some place rather then usual facts and figures.
Kia ora Clare,
Fantastic! Certainly a fine ice breaker for ol’ John.
Ka kite ano,
Robb
ha ha ha…now that’s a funny how d’ya do?!
Thanks Liza, Aluajala, Robb, & gary