Millennial Life: Just a Normal Ride Along

Officer Castaneda was already waiting for me at the front as I pulled up.

"She's mine," she called to the people at the front desk, puzzled at my handing them paperwork for the ride along. I had just dropped off the kids at school, but Castaneda had already been on shift since 6:30 a.m. It was her "Monday," the start of her week, and she was stoked to resolve a case she had been working on for about a month. We were off first to head to the magistrate court to get a warrant signed.

I admitted that I hadn't been in the courthouse before. "I'm really boring," I said. "I've had no exposure to law enforcement or courts. I'm here to learn."

As we waited for the paperwork to get filed, we got right into the meat of things.

"How do you keep your faith in humanity?"

She replied, "You go back to your why." Her story is hers to tell, but the overarching reason she became a police officer was to give hope to those going through it in the ways that sadly happen.

Back on the road, we chatted about how we met our spouses and about our favorite music so she could play something I liked. But radio chatter seemed relentless for most of the day; it was normal for her.

She tagged in another officer to join her in the arrest, though the person came without trouble. As they were sat in the back of the unit, I spoke out a small hello, and they replied with a sad, quiet hello.

There is so much paperwork. Did you think that cops would have printers in their vehicles? Well, I didn't.

Casteneda recorded our passenger's possessions in the back and showed me how she filled out the necessary files to drop off with them. The detention center was busy with a transfer from the federal penitentiary. Her passenger needed to get medically cleared before we could leave, and she bantered with the detention staff. One of them later told me, after 11 years on the job, she felt it was her role to check in with officers during the day. "I want to give them a place to vent if they need to," she said.

I stood next to a pile of bagged possessions, and in the three see-through bags on top, each had its own rosary.

Back in her unit, she showed me the active calls. We headed to a park; there was a report of a man with knives that turned out to be a domestic dispute. We parked to be a police presence in an area I had received a call about earlier in the week, and she made some follow-up calls.

She then got wind that she might be able to check on the warrant for someone, and as we arrived at the location, three other units showed up to back her up. One officer headed to watch the back, and the other two stood behind Casteneda as she knocked on the door, her body to the side of the door. A woman got out of a car in the parking lot: The person was already in jail. And so we went back to the detention center.

It was the "blues" that were mentioned over and over: fentanyl. The blues used at the park near the bathroom. The blues used behind the run-down apartment. The person who, when delivered the new charge at the detention center, was so much more "there since they were now off the blues."

One report of a man in a car with a band on his arm mixed it up slightly. So did another call for a domestic dispute that ended with a banged-up person being checked out by the fire department and sent off with the ambulance.

At quarter to 4, I left with Castenada as she headed in to do five reports, which would summarize her day. It would take her more than a half-hour to finish, and by then, she hadn't been able to eat more than a Rice Krispies Treat for lunch.

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To find out more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.