Where do they come from?

Here we are again. We are later than usual. Traffic was horrendous. We only have three tonight. Slow night? Not really. We dropped off one already. 52yrs old. She's been non-sober for 32yrs. Can you imagine? She looks as if she is approaching her late 70's. The long stringy brown hair is probably her own color. I imagine a life of drunkeness doesn't allow much time for thoughts of vanity. Thinness comes from the alcohol that eats her muscle that would have given her body a look of toneness had she ever had any muscle. Not any more, if ever. She is aromatic. Budwieser or such. She's lost the happy glow of the drink from earlier. The glow has soured into meaness directed to whoever may unfortunately find themselves directly in her path. She has been in "this f----ing cell since 6 O'Clock this morning!" She snarls this at me. She's confused of course. The court doesn't even open for "customers" until 7:30 a.m. Not to worry though, they never run out of nor do they often turn away the never ending clients. I escort her, in handcuffs only, until she tries to kick me. Okay then, leg irons as well. Still not the "full gear" we are defined by policy to adorn them with. I amaze myself that I can still justify NOT adhering to that policy at times like this. She's nasty to me. Demeaning me as if I am the sole cause of her stay here today along with her ride in the "dog pen" as she so brilliantly calls the transport van. "What am I a "f......ing" DOG now??? She spits out.

I think of my lovely 4 dogs at home. Wonderful friends and companions. Small, medium, large and the baby, who will be XXL at her adult size. "Nope!" I think smugly. As I talk to myself to steel myself against her hatred. "I would never put my dogs in there!" I think to myself. I don't respond to her, but help her into the van, the left rear cage of the van. "Watch your head Ma'am." I say.

rmchamp