When she was a rookie at the NPD, my Favorite Dispatcher--later my wife, Sandy--was the victim of dark cop humor. That was a good thing since cops don't tease folks unless they like them. Sandy was a victim of "the chair."
Dispatchers ride a chair almost their entire shift and we tried to buy the most comfortable one our meager budget would allow. But, hoisting butts 24/7 caused them to wear out faster than a fat guy's enthusiasm for marathon running. Until we could get a new one, we made do with regular office chairs.
When Sandy came to work one day, one was waiting for her: a straight-back oak office chair. Since, all the offices were locked for the night, she had to use what had been provided. And she tried.
The cop she was working with, Earl Perkins, was recuperating from a broken leg and had been assigned dispatch duties. He had a slightly better chair, but needed it because of his fracture.
Sandy tried hers, and it was terrible. The seat was hard as a hooker's heart and you seemed to have to brace yourself to keep from sliding out. She brought in a cushion from home and tried that, but it kept sliding out. But being a tough little woman, she kept at at. For almost a week before Perkins confessed.
Sandy had been provided the chair from the interrogation room. This chair had been modified to put the interrogatee under pressure. The front legs had been sawed off a half-inch and the oak seat waxed. You couldn't see the alterations by looking, only by sitting. And then you didn't realize what was being done to you.
After she worked there a while, Sandy found out cop humor is usually a pain in the ass for someone.
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