Bad Luck Cadet Read Online Free PDF Page B

and Thursday mornings were defensive
tactics. Sgt. Tillman was our instructor. He was in his late
forties, in fantastic shape, and basically kicked the shit out of
us. We were hit, knocked down and handcuffed until our wrists were
raw. I had bruises everywhere. Ice packs became my new best friend.
My roommate and I bought a small refrigerator for our room and I
was able to keep the packs frozen. It was cheaper than the chemical
packs, though I still carried those for emergencies.
    During the first and second weeks of defensive
tactics we learned how to fall. We were tested on falling forward
from a standing position, turning our heads to the side (so we
didn’t break our nose), and landing just on our palms and toes.
It’s hard not to use your knees to break your fall, and some of the
cadets had difficulty but eventually we all succeeded.
    We also started learning pain compliance
techniques; wrist locks and joint control. The painful part for us
was practicing on each other.
    Proper search techniques were taught as well.
I learned men like to hide things in their “junk.” This means I had
to search their “packages” thoroughly. The male cadets had a harder
time searching the women than we did the men. We all had to get
over our mental rebellion and learn to grope and be groped. The TSA
had nothing on us.
    My arms were twisted and I was thrown to the
ground too many times to count. I would limp to my room after
training, take some Ibuprofen, apply ice packs while changing my
cloths and then head to breakfast.
    Rocco and I began skipping dinner, eating a
power bar and working out. We were barely keeping up in physical
training and our POPAT practice was beginning the following week.
By the end of my second week I had lost ten pounds and Rocco
twenty-three.
    My roommate Donna and I were becoming good
friends as well. She had been in the army for four years and worked
at a grocery store before coming to the police academy. She was
thirty-two years old and wanted a better life for her son. She was
single and her mother was keeping her son while she attended the
academy. She told me she didn’t really like the military but
dreamed of being a police officer. She was getting her asthma under
control and had moved to the middle of the pack when
running.
    Once a week, we did not run together but did a
personal best run. I was proud of Donna's advancement, but this put
me dead last. Rocco finished about a quarter mile in front of me
and everyone else was able to cool down while waiting for me to
cross the finish line. I was then given two minutes to rest before
hitting the weight room. Physical training was my worst
nightmare.
    I was also struggling with pushups. Sgt.
Dickless, I mean Dickens, had pointed me out as a weak link for his
class. He seemed to spend more time on my morning inspection than
on other cadets. He loved giving us all pushups for my infractions.
I didn’t get his exclusive attention but it was apparent he had it
out for me.
    The entire class referred to Sgt. Dickens as
Sgt. Dickless -- when we were out of his hearing. And it became
second nature to call him by this nickname. I was also
incorporating the “F” word in my vocabulary. It seemed to be how
every cadet talked and it was becoming just another word. I never
swore a lot before the academy but the only way to describe a hill
run was to call it a “fucking” hill run. No other word did it
justice.
    Sgt. Dickless decided I was doing improper
pushups and not going down far enough. He told the class he was
adding five hill runs every day until I could do them correctly.
The class was pissed and I was getting angry glances.
    Class leader Clark said he would help me out
that evening. He showed me a proper pushup and I could barely
complete ten. If Sgt. Dickless was going to be watching me the
entire class was in trouble. I added pushups to my nightly workout
routine.
    That week we did five extra fucking hill runs
every day with Sgt. Dickless screaming