Having spent a winter in northern Japan with 12 foot drifts outside my front door I was under no such illusion. However, like child birth, one forgets the pain and wishes for foolish things, like more kids or snow. Christmas is so much more fun if it's white and you don't have to shovel it.
The zone I was working had an abundance of middle and low rent apartment complexes. Sort of an uppity version of trailer-trash. The family fights were commensurate with the economic environment. Being on the fringe of town my possibility of timely back up was iffy at best. Still, one must respond and deal with what ever comes your way.
RayBob Dupree liked to smack his kids and sling his woman, Verna Jean, into walls. Just to show 'em who was boss. He and Verna Jean weren't officially married but they had 4 kids together. She'd been using his last name since he picked her up hitch hiking on the bayou when she was 16 and he was 30.
They'd arrived in Florida due to moving from job to job with a paving company. Verna Jean had him thrown out for whipppn' on her one too many times. She'd also had enough of his drinking and womanizing. Tho lord knows what a woman would have been attracted to.
RayBob was all of 5'5", 145 lbs. He was 40 but looked 60. He had more tattoos than teeth. This day he had lost his job as a 'slow-stop' sign holder on the paving crew. He showed up to work late and being hung over one too many times. I think there was a bit of a Napoleon Complex goin' on there.
So, not being completely bereft of common sense, which had either been knocked into or out of her depending on the situation over the years, she had armed herself with a can of mace. She knew eventually he would show up at the front door and she was going to be prepared.
On this particular night RayBob had drowned his sorrows with cheap beer when he decided it was time to go back home. Verna Jean answered the door to their second story apartment with the chain lock on and the can of mace in her hand. He demanded she let him in. She told him to go away or she'd call the cops. He tried to shove his way in. She put the can of mace out the crack in the door and sprayed him full in the face.
He caught the full blast and stepped back, almost falling down the concrete stairs to the ground. He grabbed the railing and gasped for air. She slammed the door and called for a squad car to take him away.
When I arrived I saw RayBob standing at the top of the stairs pounding on the door. As I climbed the stairs I shined my flash light on him. I could see he was suffering the ill effects of some kind of chemical spray. He turned to me as I got to the landing.
His face was beet red, eyes swollen to gummy slits and he had snotsicles a foot long hanging from both nostrils. As he turned to me the streams of gooey snot swung like the beaded fringe on a cocktail dress. The noxious spray hung in the air around him and burned my eyes too.
Verna Jean handed me a copy of her restraining order through the crack in the door. She didn't want to open it with him still there. Can't say I blamed her.
Of course, this was before they issued latex gloves and before I was smart enough to by my own leather gloves. So I just had to suck it up and cuff him bare handed. He'd wiped the first 18 inches of snot with his hands and sleeves. He was actually working up the second 18 inches when I arrived.
So, pepper/mace laden snot got on my hands and cuffs. Burned like napalm. I got him down the stairs gently, though I must confess it would have been easier and more fun to shove him and just scoop him up upon landing.
He was loaded up and I had to leave the windows down to air out the car as I drove him to jail. Once there the D.O.'s had to strip him down and put him in the delousing cell to hose him off. Of course no such luxury was afforded me. I had to fill out the booking paperwork before I could take a shower back in the locker room. I ended up having to seal my uniform into double plastic bags for the laundry or it would have smoked out the entire 4th floor of the police station.
You might be a redneck if you your best Christmas purchase is a can of pepper spray and you get to use it on your baby's daddy!
That year I cancelled my wish for snow and asked Santa for frisk gloves.
