Give me a break

The portfolio is handed in.

I’m mere days from being confirmed in rank.

It’s a relief on the one hand; free from the self-induced stigma of the extension, and the oh-so-welcome pay rise.

You’re the first group to gain the NVQ qualification gushed the training staff back in the mists of time when we commenced out training.

Wonderful. I’ve yet to meet any fellow candidate who was particularly thrilled at gaining the qualification, or more importantly ever wanted it in the first place.

An NVQ level four equals something like a foundation degree so I’m told. Another line on the CV should I ever change jobs. But what does an NVQ in policing qualify me for exactly?

Whatever. I don’t care anymore.

Just bring on the pay rise.

Work are cracking down more than ever on using the internet at work; outside of work any murmurings on Facebook and the like trickle back to the station at lightening speed.

The higher-ups increasingly seem to deny we have life other than what is spelt out in PACE.

Seems the public couldn’t care if we get a break either.

Recently I was in a supermarket on my patch. Granted I was on uniformed duty, but I was tired. Hungry.

I parked my patrol car outside and strode into the store to get some refreshments.

Immediately eyebrows were raised as soon as the customers got a glimpse of my uniform. I could almost hear the whispers: Ooo, where’s the shoplifter then?

None here today.

I meander around the aisles and then dutifully I queue up with my coke, sandwich and Kit-Kat. I grab a copy of The Guardian to read in the evening at home.

A couple of twenty-somethings shift impatiently behind me.

What he doing in here? Hasn’t he got time to be out on the streets? One says under their breath to the other.

I turn my head to look at them and bring myself up to my full 6’3” stature.

What I did say, casually:

Sorry, did one of you say something to me?

No, no… They fluster.

I turn back towards the checkout and hear a nervous giggle behind me.

I continue queuing and stride purposefully back out the store.

Mercilessly the radio remains quiet still.

What I should have said:

You try working eleven fucking hours without a break.