I see dead people (again)

After my first G5, I then got a trip to the mortuary for a tour. Oh joy. My sergeant has offered me the chance to view a morning's-worth of autopsies, which I politely declined. Do you know what happens in an autopsy? Well, yes, obviously they cut up dead bodies in search of the cause of death. What I mean is, has the process been descibed to you?

On my mortuary tour I was led round by a worker with the driest sense of humour in the world. As we were standing in the autopsy room I received a blow-by-blow account of how each body is hacked up. The chest cavity is ripped apart to access all the organs, which are pulled out and individually weighed. The facial tissue is peeled off like a mask to access the skull, the top half of which is cut off and the brain scooped out. The brain cavity is stuffed with newspaper or anything else that comes to hand, as the mushy remains of the brain are placed in a plastic bag with the organs and sewn back into the chest. I was on the verge of losing my lunch at the description, so I know I'd make a big mess of the autopsy room if I had to watch that.

The technician then showed me the freezers, wheeling out corpse after corpse, demonstrating the best way to get rings off (you don't want to know) and telling me how each died. He described the best way to get particularly large bodies down flights of stairs (take a guess) and told be my task on those occasions would be to barricade the living room door so the rellys couldn't charge out to see what all the noise was. He was, in short, the most un-PC person I've come across since my training started, and my sergeant was stood at the back of the room visibly cringing as me and my colleagues either tried not paying attention to the more dodgy comments, or stood sniggering along (I was in the former group, of course). Proper gallows humour, it seemed, and the tech didn't give a stuff. He'd been doing the job for over 20 years, so I guess it takes a certain sort to put up with those sights day after day.

I see dead people

Lucky old me. Today I got to see my first dead person (well, other than my gran when I was about 9). I was quick off the mark when I spotted the 'G5' - our term for a sudden death, named imaginatively after the form that needs to be filled out for the coroner. I wasn't even due to book on for another 30 minutes, but I had to get this scenario signed off at some point, so sooner rather than later seemed to be the best option. My sergeant was impressed with my enthusiasm to go see a corpse, but really I was dreading it. Some people aren't that fussed, I just find the whole thing very creepy. But I have to get used to it.

Thankfully it was an old dear who'd had a very good innings, and died wealthy, so I didn't find it as uncomfortable as I might have done if it had been a violent or young death. Sadly for her, her husband had died earlier that month. I'm told that this is a fairly common situation, where one doesn't want to carry on without the other. Thankfully there were no hysterical relatives to compound my anxiety, just a thoroughly decent friend, who had known the deceased for decades. I spent around three hours at the scene, organising repairs to the door we'd kicked down, recording the medication the deceased had in her possession and searching the premises for significant valuables that might need to be secured.

I was grateful that another officer took care of removing the jewellery, so all I had to do was turn the body over to check for signs of foul play. Something always happens to a body when it is moved - the bowels are relaxed, so you get some 'leakage'. I had to conduct the search as best as I could, and tried to think of the overpowering smell as better than that of a decaying body, which I'm told stays with you for hours afterwards.

Screwed By The Job

Well, it had to happen sooner or later. Working in the police can be confusing sometimes - lots of hand-holding, talks from Welfare, endless support etc. one minute, then a slap in the face as reality checks back in. I've not received that slap yet, but I hear about it regularly happening to colleagues working in the same vicinity. The Job was described to me by a friend and more experienced colleague as being particularly vindictive on occasion, as well as unjust.

What's my own gripe? I put in a request regarding where I'd be posted some time ago. I explained to my line manager why it was so important to me, and what effect it would have on my life outside work. 'Absolutely fine', 'no problem at all'. I was chuffed. Until I got the email detailing that I had the exact opposite to what I'd been assured was no issue. I spoke to the line manager. 'Oh yeah, you did ask didn't you?', 'Yeah, I know I said it would all be fine, but I forgot to do anything about it'. So, could it be altered? No one else has a preference, just me, could I swap? 'Fraid not, set in stone now, nothing I can do'. Well, that piece of A4 on your desk with all the postings on it does not appear to be hewn from granite, and that's a biro in your hand, not a bleedin' chisel.

I'd previously had a huge amount of respect for my line manager, they seemed really decent. I got on with them well. They knew how much this meant to me, and they failed me. Worse, they couldn't be arsed to send an email to get it changed.

I'd been warned this job was full of disappointment, bureaucracy and frustration, and I've now had the dubious pleasure of experiencing it first hand. I am but a resource.

Searching

In the last seven months I've had the opportunity to search a number of properties, normally for drugs or stolen property. I've probably taken part in 10-12 different searches, and in most I've encountered something a little embarrassing for the occupant, and I don't mean their private stash of skunk. Thankfully on each occasion they were in another part of the property or in custody when such items were uncovered and quickly put back where they were found.

Whilst I'm not in the least shocked by what we've turned up so far, I am intrigued at the proportion of the population stashing hardcore porn, handcuffs, whips, dildos and other sex toys under the bed or in the wardrobe. Granted, the section of the population I've so far dealt with might be considered a minority (as they were in custody for theft or drug offences). Nevertheless, it seems these objects are a lot more common that I'd previously thought. And fair play to them.

However, I'm dreading the day when whilst searching though an 18 year old female's bedroom looking for her dealer boyfriend's stash of pills, I uncover the sets of handcuffs attached to each end of the bed frame (as in my most recent search) and she happens to be standing next to me. How do I react? A jokey comment or grin; pretend they're not there? Is there a polite way to deal with these things?