Surprise!

My friend called me this evening with exciting news that she needed some advice on.

Friend:     I was offered this job out of state that pays quite a bit less than what I'm currently making.  It's      an incredible opportunity and the same day I was offered the job, someone made an offer on my house.  I've had a lot of input from friends and family but I know you and know that you are a rational and logical person so I want to know your opinion on what I should do.  Should I take the job with the pay cut or stay here and work a job that I hate?

Should I tell her?  It's been a while since we've talked.  I really think I should tell her. 

Me:    Wow!  That's awesome!  I think you should take it if the opportunity is that good.  But before you go calling me nice things like logical and rational, there's something I think you should know.

Friend:  What?

Me:  Last week I quit my job and moved to California to live with my boyfriend, unemployed.  I have no job, no income and in about three weeks, no health insurance. 

Silence

More Silence

Checking my cell phone to make sure there's still a connection.

Still silence.

Me:  Hello?

At last I heard her response.  Her lovable and unmistakable outburst of hysterical laughter.

Friend: You are insane!

I work in a morgue.  Duh.

Me:  I think you should take the job.  That way if I end up with out the job that I applied for and my boyfriend dumps me, I'll have a place to live.

**********************************************************************************
Yes my friends.  That's right.  What you have just read is completely the truth.  I resigned my position as a death investigator to live with my boyfriend out in California.  While I am currently unemployed, I'm also going through a background investigation for a position with a Sheriff's office out here in sunny, southern California.  No....it's not a sworn position.  No one sane would ever give me a gun.

If you're thinking to yourself  "She's out of her frickin mind.  She gave up her job to move to California for a guy!"  That's a good and fair thought.  If you're not thinking that....you really should.

Needless to say, the story behind my relationship is, to date, my favorite fairy tale romance and someday soon, I'll share it.  Assuming I still have any readers left.  I think it's been almost two months since my last posting.  Sorry.  I've been a little distracted.

Anyway,  I fully intend to keep blogging but the theme will probably change from My Life in a Morgue to something really cheesy like My Life After Death.  If you hate it, don't worry....I'm still trying to figure it out.  Oh..and just in case you're wondering, my boyfriend isn't any of the guys I've blogged about.  He's special.  He bathes.

Vampires in the Morgue-Part Three

Narrative/Dialogue I wish I had read in Breaking Dawn.

Bella:  "Oh Edward!  Sex is so much fun!  I had no idea!"

Edward:  "Yeah baby!  Yeah!"

Bella:  "Edward, I've decided something.  I'd like to postpone becoming a vampire because...well...because I like sex and I'm worried that I won't enjoy it as much when I'm a vampire."

Edward:  "Bitch please!  You've been riding my ass for two years now!  Edward.  Kill me Edward!  Please turn me into a vampire!  Suck me Edward! Suck me!"

Edward:  Now brace yourself woman!  This is gonna hurt like hell!"

Bella:  Oh Edward!  You're so bad!


Oh Edward!

Smelly Guy-The Finale - I Promise! This is it!

The day before my date with Smelly Guy, I began by following through with my usual routine....I went to work. Exciting! Nothing spectacular happened that day, or at least, nothing that I can remember.

Just before 1900 hours, when I'm officially off duty, he called.

Smelly Guy: "Are we still on for tonight?"

Me: "Yeah. I have to run home and change real quick but I'm still planning on being there."

Smelly Guy: "Cool. Well I just ordered Chinese Food for dinner so I might be a little late."

Me: "Okay."

How late could he be? Chinese food usually shows up right after you hang up the phone.

I grabbed my stuff and as I was walking out the door, turned to one of my coworkers who is a retired Homicide Detective and said:

Me: "Okay, I'm off to meet my blind date. So if I don't show up to work tomorrow..."

Coworker: "You don't show up tomorrow and I'm coming to find you."

Me: "Okay. Start behind the Barnes and Noble. There's a nice wooded area out back."

Coworker: "Ah FUCK! Don't talk like that! What the hell is the matter with you! That shit's not funny!"

He slammed a case file that he had in hands down on his desk and then reached for a pen and paper.

Coworker: "Gimme he's fucking name and anything else you know about him!"

After my interrogation I left.

I got to the bookstore just after 8 pm and sat down at the coffee shop. Maybe it's just me, but I figured that this was the most logical place to meet someone. I pulled a book out of my purse (yes, I'm that nerdy) and began reading. The bad thing about me and reading is that I tend to lose all track of time. So when my phone rang I was shocked to see that it was now 9:30 pm.

Smelly Guy: "Are we still on for tonight?"

Amazing. It's dejavu. I swear I've had this conversation at least once today.

Me: "Yeah. I'm here waiting for you."

Smelly Guy: "Oh. Okay. I just got done eating. It took forever for them to deliver the Chinese food."

On what planet?


Smelly Guy: "I'll be over in a few minutes."

Me: "Okay."

About 15 minutes later he called again.

Smelly Guy: "I'm here. Where are you?"

Me: "Inside."

Smelly Guy: "No kidding! Where specifically?"

Me: "The coffee shop."

Smelly Guy: "I'm headed in."

It's about damn time.

Oh. If I had only paid attention to all of those clues that I mentioned in the last post then I could have been spared this. Now granted, it was a date at a book store. I wasn't glammed up. I was wearing a sweater, a pair of blue jeans and some boots. I looked bookstore-date appropriate. HE, on the other hand, is the purpose of this blog.

In he walked. And oh what a sight he was. He had on an old baseball cap which he never took off the entire time (trust me...I'm okay with that). He had shoulder length dark hair that was greasy and uncombed and matched the greasy stubble that was all over his face that covered the overall greasy nature of his skin. His glasses were so dirty that I couldn't see his eyes. He was also wearing a denim jacket with white cotton sleeves. The sleeves were dirty and the cuffs looked like something had been knawing on them. The denim portion of the jacket had some kind of a yellow stain on it. The entire jacket REAKED to high hell of stale, skanky, cigarette smoke and urine. Underneath the jacket was an old tee-shirt, which to show me why he wouldn't take the jacket off he unzipped just the top portion. The tee-shirt was also dirty and torn around the collar. And above the collar was a greasy tuff of chest hair protruding out of the tee-shirt. As for body type. His profile indicated that he was average in weight. Average my ass. He's obese. I probably wouldn't have notice the obesity so much if my date had bothered to bathe before arriving.

I lasted about 45 minutes and that after that told him it was time for me to go home. He walked me out to my care (something I was very uncomfortable with but didn't know how to get out of). As we approached my car he pointed to it and said:

Smelly Guy: "Is that your car?"

Me: "Yeah"

Smelly Guy: "It's really dirty. You need to wash it."

Really? So's your jacket!

Needless to say that was the only encounter with Smelly Guy I've had.

Smelly Guy-Party Four A

First and foremost I would like to apologize for the delay in my postings.  I've been out of town recently.

This final bit in my series of "How not to date a Death Investigator" definitely falls under the category of "I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

Smelly Guy (yes there is a very good reason for this nickname-unfortunately) and I met online.  That fact alone should have been my first clue.  He also never posted his picture and when I asked him to send me one, would conveniently forget.  That should have been my second clue-although I pride myself on not being the kind of girl who would reject someone based on their looks.

As most patterns to online dating follow we started off with emails and then phone calls.  Wow!  The phone calls--Yeah that really should have been the third clue.  Apparently I'm clueless.  Oh well!  Live and learn-and then blog about it for everyone to see-and live and learn.

The first phone call was a basic phone call where we got to know each other.  I learned that Smelly Guy had a Bachelor's Degree in Computer Science and that he worked for some company located down town in the business district.  Nothing suspicious there.

The second phone call, he apparently decided to step things up a few notches.

Smelly Guy:  "Did you get that YouTube Clip I sent you earlier?"

Me:  "Yeah.  I haven't had time to look at it yet."

Smelly Guy:  "Are we still on for tomorrow night?"

Me:  "Yep. Barnes and Noble at 8 pm."

Smelly Guy:  "Well, if you have any problems downloading that video just let me know and when I come over tomorrow night I'll pull it up for you.  It's hilarious."

Wait.  What?  What did he say?  He's what? 

Me:  "Huh?"

Smelly Guy:  "What?"

Me:  "What about tomorrow night?"

Smelly Guy:  "Well you know...after the date...."

Me:  "There is no after the date.  After the date, you go to your home and I got to my home."

Smelly Guy:  "Why can't I come over?"

Me:  "I can't let you into my apartment on the first date."

Smelly Guy:  "Why not?"

Me:  "Because you're a stranger."

Duh.

Smelly Guy:  "Oh come on.  I'm not going to do anything."

Me:  "I appreciate that but there's really no point in letting you into my apartment on the first date."

Smelly Guy:  "Why not?"

Me:  "Because I'm not going to have sex with you."

Smelly Guy:  "Says who?"

Me:  "Me."

Smelly Guy:  "Listen."

Seriously?  He's not actually trying to reason with me is he?"

Smelly Guy:  "I'm going to come over after we meet up at Barnes and Noble and you're gonna trust that I'm a nice guy who's not going to hurt you."

Spoken like a true serial rapist/killer.  Ted Bundy couldn't have done better.

Me:  "Hmm.  Let me think about that for a minute...Um NO"

Smelly Guy:  "Well then, if you're that concerned then just have one of your cop friends do a background check on me."

One of my cop friends?  Is that like a challenge or something? 

Me:  "Sure.  I could do that.  But ya know...I guarantee that the shit you've been caught doing isn't nearly as frightening as the shit that you haven't been caught doing."

Smelly Guy:  "Well then, I guess you'll have to invite me over so I can prove to you that I'm harmless."

Me:  "Or...I could tell my cop friends that I'm planning on inviting a guy over to my apartment whom I don't know and whom I met on the internet.  I'm sure they would be more than happy to spare you a felony and murder me for you."

Ooh.  Or a fate worse than death, they could taser me into unconsciousness and when I awake, I'm locked inside of my mother's house in Ohio with an ankle-monitoring bracelet that emits electric shocks whenever I get within a certain range of the doors or windows.

Me:  "Listen, I'm sure you're harmless but I have rules that I follow religiously whenever I date any guy and I'm not going to break them for you or for anyone else."

Smelly Guy:  "And what are those rules?"

Fuck!  He called my bluff.  Think fast.  Think fast.  Rules.  What rules?  What's a good rule?  Ah ha! Got it!

Me: "Well, for starters, the 30 day rule."

Smelly Guy:  "The 30 day rule?"

Me:  "Yeah, I never let any guys into my apartment until we've dated for at least 30 days."

Smelly Guy:  "So after 30 days I can come inside your apartment?"

Me:  "No.  I said a minimum of 30 days.  There's no guarantee that after 30 days I'll let you in either."

Smelly Guy:  "Well how are we supposed to get to know each other?"

Me:  "The old-fashioned way.  We meet at very public places like movie theaters, restaurants, bookstores, bowling alleys etc. And get to know each other that way."

Smelly Guy: (Clearly frustrated and gasping for air)  "But.....I.....I didn't....I didn't budget for this!"

Wait.  WTF did he say?  Pause for instant replay.

Smelly Guy: "But.....I.....I didn't....I didn't budget for this!"

No he did NOT just say that.  One more time for the record.

Smelly Guy: "But.....I.....I didn't....I didn't budget for this!"

Me:  "Huh?"

Smelly Guy:  "Movies, restaurants, bowling alleys...these things cost money!  I didn't budget for this!  I'm trying to rebuild my 401K!"

Wow!  Way to make a girl feel special!  I didn't budget for my lunch today but I still bought it.

Me:  "Well I didn't expect you to pay for me."

Smelly Guy:  "Now you make me sound cheap."

Didn't take much did it?

Me:  Well, hey, these are my conditions and if you're not game, that's fine.  No skin off of my nose.  We can call it quits right here and now.  Sooner or later I'll find someone else willing to follow my rules."

Smelly Guy:  " (sigh)  No.  I'll figure something out."

Me:  "Are you sure?"

After all, you have your 401K to rebuild.

Smelly Guy:  "Yeah.  I'll see you tomorrow night."

Me:  "I'll be there."

This is going to be interesting.

*****To Be Continued****

The Religious Guy-Part Three

Where to begin with this one.  This guy is, overall, a nice guy.  Clean cut and practices good hygiene (I'll explain that one later), a father of two, recently divorced.  He's about ten years older than me.  He is also very, very religious.  Religion isn't a bad thing but it's not something I'm exposed to often.  Well, Religious Guy and I went out a couple of times and the dates were fun but there were occasions where he talked down to me like I was a child.  That's never a good idea.

Let me be the first to admit that I have a potty mouth!  I work with people who have a potty mouth!  Having a potty mouth is just the way that I am.  Rest assured, I know when to mute the potty mouth and talk like a lady, but I typically save that vocabulary for more formal settings.

I can't remember exactly when but during one of our conversations I either said "shit" or "fuck".  That did not go over well with him.

Religious Guy:  "Use your nice words, missy!"

Seriously!  Did he just tell me to use my nice words?  WTF?

Me:  "I'm sorry."

Religious Guy:  "It's nothing to be sorry about.  But you shouldn't talk that way."

If he thinks I'm bad he should hear my grandmother talk, and she goes to church every Sunday.

Pause for a momentary silence......

Me:  "Does that rule apply to sex?  'Cause if so, you and I are gonna have some problems."

Dear Hospital Staff

Dear Hospital Staff,

Recently we came to your hospital and presented to you on the topic of Correct Death Reporting Procedures.  However, since that time, it has become abundantly clear that you were not paying attention at all.  I've taking the liberty of jotting down some things that are of concern to my office, in hopes of rectifying this situation in a professional manner.

#1.  Contrary to your beliefs, my office is not a dumping ground for the recently departed.  Not every death that lands in your emergency room automatically becomes a Coroner's case.  There are steps that YOU are required to take in determining if the death of YOUR patient meets the criteria to be reported to my office.  In addition to that individual's name, date of birth, admission, time, pronounce time and next-of-kin contact information, YOU will also need to gather medical history information, determine if the patient was treated by a primary care physician, contact that physician and find out if that physician will sign the death certificate.  THIS IS YOUR JOB!

For example, a 95 year old with a history of hypertension, stroke, heart attack, liver cancer, prostate cancer, and kidney cancer, who is under the care of  a primary care doctor (or in this case, a primary care doctor, cardiologist and oncologist) does not meet the criteria for being reported to the Coroner's office, just because he dies in your emergency room.  This is why you have to collect all of the previously discussed information-so that you can determine what needs to be reported. 

You might be asking yourself:  "What does the Coroner do?" 

Well, once you determine if the death meets the criteria to be reported to my office, my office will then make the determination as to whether or not we need to investigate this death further.  There's a whole lot more involved than that but since you're having problems understanding the most basic instructions, I thought I'd provide you with the Cliff's Note's version.  All spelled out real nice with small words.

In addition to the fabulous powerpoint presentation we gave to your hospital, that included gruesome and graphic visual effects, we also gave you a copy of the death reporting form that our investigator's use to collect information from you when you call.  The purpose of providing you with this form was so that you would know what information we would be asking of you when you called us. 

This next complaint is probably our fault for not explaining the obvious to you.  The purpose of the death reporting form was not so that you and your staff could fax it over to us in lieu of calling us. 

#2  Approximately three weeks ago a member of your staff filled out the form, providing next-of-kin information, medical history and a doctor who was willing to sign the death certificate.  YAY! To that employee who collected that information.  PROBLEM:  That employee did not include on the form, the name of the individual who had died and also neglected to mention that the person who died, succumbed to a gun shot wound to the chest.  Other problem:  a hospital doctor cannot sign a death certificate under those circumstances.  I thought that had been made clear when we went over the section that covered Traumatic Deaths, but then, maybe not.

In a final note:  Pissing contests are generally unacceptable and my office would like to avoid them all together.  Therefore, it would be best for all involved parties if, rather than throw a temper tantrum and refuse to collect this information, you would be a good sport and collect it like you're supposed too.

Sincerely,


The Investigator who's wondering "Where the hell were you when I went over this?"

P.S.

For those of your hospital staff who detest contacting my office to report deaths, I would like to state that there is a way to avoid any future unpleasant conversations.  Of course, it would require you and your staff to discontinue killing your patients.  Challenging!  I know.

Surfer Dude: Part 2 of 4

Okay so you're probably asking what's up with "Surfer Dude".  There came a point in time where I was interacting with enough guys online that I began giving them nicknames so that I could keep them straight when I was talking about them with my friends.

Surfer Dude and I never actually made it to a first date.  Well, I almost made it to our first date.  He cancelled on me when I was five minutes away from our chosen location.  Go figure!

Anyway, Surfer Dude sounded just like a stereotypical Surfer Dude from the way he spoke to the way he chuckled.  It was kind of irritating, but then again, so am I.  Why judge?

During one of our many phone conversations my career came up once again.

Surfer Dude:  So, like, huh huh, how did you get into death investigation?

Me:  Well, I was always interested in Forensic Science but I wasn't very good at Chemistry, Biology or Physics.  Eventually I lucked out and found a graduate program that didn't require a background in any one of those.

Him:  Do you where leather pants to crime scenes?

Ignoring that.  Moving along. Moving along to where?  Help.  A little help please!

Him: Just kidding.

Not totally convinced.

Him:  So you didn't have to take a lot of science courses?

Me:  Nope.

Him:  So you're not like a geek?

What?

Me:  Huh?

Him:  A geek?  You know, someone who spends all their time in school studying and reading a lot and stuff.  Huh. Huh.

Okay.  I spent six years of my life in college.  Where's he going with this?

Me:  Yeah, actually I am a geek. But, I'm okay with that.

Of course, I had to endure/suffer through four years of high school and being the butt of every Jock and Cheerleader's brutal joke and my therapist says I have a ways to go before I'll recover.  But, other than that, I'm okay with being a geek.  THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BRINGING THAT UP!

Despite that conversation I still agreed to meet him for coffee.  However, that was the date where he cancelled while I was en route.  Needless to say, his conversational skills were not enough for me to give him a second chance.

How not to Date a Death Investigator: Part 1 of 4

Actually, this rule/scenario probably applies to anyone who works with in the law enforcement community.

Everyday for the past several months I tell myself, "Thank God I've met a wonderful man!  I've never been more relieved to never have to do online dating anymore."

Not long after my divorce I decided that it was time for me to get out there and date.  The problem I had was that I was relatively new to the city I lived in and really didn't know anyone outside of work.  The other problem I had was the long hours I worked made it really hard to meet people.

So....after watching countless advertisements on television, I chose to try out a dating website.  I would have to say overall, that online dating is a BIG disappointment.  While my experiences weren't all bad, I don't know that I would go that route again.

Bachelor number 1:  A decent looking-photo on the internet.  He's only a couple years older than me.  College educated, divorced with one child.  All-in-all not such a bad combination.

We meet for lunch at a pretty nice restaurant for our first date.  He's good-looking and charming.  We have a nice time so we agree to meet for a second date.  This time it's a night out on the town. 

During the second date he starts asking me more about my career and what it's like working as a death investigator.

So I start talking about it and the people I work with and then and I mention to him that my coworker's and I tend to meet a bar not far from where I live one night a week.

Me:  You should join us sometime.  I think my friends would like you.

Him:  Your friends.  Yeah.  Are any of your friends cops?

Red flag #1.  Anytime the guys mentions that, it's probably not a good sign.

Me:  Yeah.  Some of them are.  Some of them are also retired police officers who work for my office and some of them work in Crime Scene.  Why?

Him:  I kind of have this thing against cops.

The little voice in my head screams "Run Away!  Run Away!"

Me:  Why?

Him:  I've been arrested three times.  I don't like cops. 

Wow!  He neglected to mention that on his online profile.  I learned later that night that he was also a gambler and a bookie.  This was definitely not someone I could bring home to my mother.  I don't expect the men I date to be perfect but I do expect a clean record.

Dear Applicant(s)

Dear Applicant(s):

Many people, when applying for a job, believe that their time to "shine" starts at the interview.  I regret to inform you that this is not so.  Your time to shine, infact, starts from the time you submit your application and resume.  Every communication you make with my office after that is also part of your interview process.  That being said I have some suggestions to share with you so that you'll make it to the actual interview.

First, make sure you spell check your resume and application.  Yes, this may seem obvious, however this basic information seems to elude many. 

Second, please follow the application instructions.  For example, for whatever reason, the managers at my office request that you fax the application and resume with a cover letter.  FAX.  No email, no dropping the application off in person.  No snail mail.  And yes, I agree, this does seem a little absurd and lacking in logic.  However, this is the line of thinking that governs my office.  Welcome.  I hope you enjoy your stay.

Also, please be advised that when you call to make inquiries regarding the application process, everything you say to your potential employers or coworkers is being graded.

For example:  One applicant contacted me regarding her application.  She wanted to email it to me.  I advised her that emailed applications would not be accepted and that she would have to fax her application per the instructions listed. 

Her response:    "I don't have access to a fax machine."

Seriously?  You're applying for a position as an investigator.  In general, it is expected that investigators will be resourceful and problem-solvers.  Congratulations!  You just told a prospective coworker that you are either lazy or incapable of finding a Fed-Ex Kinko's or any other office supply store that has a fax available for public use.  And no, I won't keep information like that to myself.  My supervisor will hear about it should you actually make it to the interview.  Why?  Because I don't want to have to pick up your slack.  This is a busy office and while we are more than willing to train people on-the-job, none of us have time to hold your hand through the entire process.

In this particular case, however, I agreed to let this applicant email her application to me.  Why?  I know what it's like to start from the bottom and believe that everyone should have a fair chance.  So yes, I broke the rules for her.  The application was due by midnight on this particular night.  I instructed her to email her application to me no later than midnight and I would submit it to my supervisor the next day.  I was very, very clear to her when I explained this.  In no uncertain terms I told her that if her application was so much as one minute late, it would not be accepted.

Twelve hours later (way the hell past the deadline), I received her application by email with a note that read:

Per our conversation, here is my application and resume.  I sent it to you with in the time frame that you specified.

Liar!  Liar! Pants on fire!  Nice try though.  I went ahead and gave it to my supervisor but not before I told him that she failed to submit it by the deadline.  Dear Prospective Applicant:  Your application landed inside of the recycle bin.  Way to save a tree!

Finally, please demonstrate a little patience through this process.  While our office is open 24/7.  The managers (the people who actually get to look at your application) work Monday-Friday from 8 pm to 5 pm.  Therefore, you should know that when you call the office at 10:30 pm to find out if your application was received, the investigator answering the phone will not be able to help.  And no, we cannot break into the supervisor's office to see if it's on his desk.  You'll have to call back during normal business hours to find out.  Sorry about your luck!

Wishing You the Best of Luck!



Someone who has been there and done that!


P.S.

Because we run into this from time to time I would like to state for the record that you are applying for a position as a death investigator.  Therefore, it is safe to assume that you will encounter dead people quite frequently in your career here.  This also means that you will have to touch them, move them, undress them, photograph them, draw fluids from them and, in the event that it is a decomposed body or homeless person, tolerate extremely unpleasant odors.  No!  You cannot work here as an investigator and avoid any of the above.

Vampires in the Morgue-Part Two

So I broke down and reluctanctly read the third installment of the Twilight Series and, quite frankly, if it hadn't been for the support of my friends/coworkers, I never would have made it to the end of the book.

Bella!  Bella! Bella!  She has to be the most irritating, whiny-assed, clumsy, idiot that I've ever encountered. I swear if I have to read one more line about she doesn't want to be alive anymore because she would rather be a vampire, I'll kill her myself!

Whine, Whine, Whine.  That's all she does through out the entire book!  She doesn't want a graduation party, she doesn't want a sleepover with Alice, she doesn't want to miss the fight, she doesn't want Edward to fight, she doesn't want Jacob to fight.  She's in love with Edward.  She's in love with Jacob.  She can't live with out Edward.  She can't live with out Jacob.  OH MY GOD!  I found myself shouting out several times:

EDWARD!  For the love of God!  Just kill her so she'll shut up!

Then comes the part where she's begging him to have sex with her and he refuses.

Are you kidding me?  Jesus Edward!  Are you gay!  Have sex with her so she'll shut up!

I think for me the best part of the book was when she punched Jacob and broke her hand.  That was funny!  It stuck it through to the very end because I had hoped that Bella would get her ass kicked during the fight scene.  No such luck!

Anyway, in case you're wondering, and, assuming you actually care.  I'll read the fourth book too.  What the hell?  It can't get any worse.  Right?  Please?

Don't Lie to the Death Investigator. It's Rude!

First and foremost I would like to state that I really do enjoy all of the police officers that I work with.  They definitely make things a little more entertaining for me when I respond to a scene.  However, there are a few that irritate the hell out of me -mainly, the ones who lie to me and actually think they can get away with it. 

To all the Future and Current police officers out there please be advised that you should never lie to the death investigator.  It's completely unnecessary and quite frankly rude!  If you don't want to go inside and look at the icky dead guy, that's just fine by me.  Some of my colleagues may chastise you for it but truthfully, we would all agree that it's just better not to lie about it.  Why?  Well, for one thing, in addition to chastising you for it, some of us may actually go above and beyond and make you look stupid for it too.

Case in Point.  Once upon a time I received a call from a police officer who had responded to the scene of a decomposed individual.  Among all the other information I usually ask, I also always ask who they have for next-of-kin.

His response:  "We searched high and low through the apartment and couldn't find anything.  Mr. X. did not list an emergency contact with the rental officer either."

Yay!  I get to dig through a dead, smelly guy's apartment looking for next-of-kin!  Yay!

That day, I dragged a long the office intern.  I have to say she's a really good sport because we made her do all the dirty work.  Like digging through the maggot masses on the body to make sure there weren't any injuries hiding underneath.

When we arrived on scene I handed the intern my camera and asked her to begin taking photographs while I dug through my scene kit getting all of my "toys" together that I would need.

Intern:  "Um.  I think you should take a look at this."

Me:  "Why?  What did you find?"

Intern:  "There's something on the wall I think you should see."

Me:  "It's not a bullet defect is it?  Cause we didn't order a homicide today?"

Intern:  "No."

The apartment was fairly small.  All I really had to do from the doorway was turn a corner and then I was in the living room with the intern.  The only other door in the apartment led into the bedroom where my "new friend" was waiting.  On the wall, right next to the door, up at eye level, and, impossible for anyone to miss was a note that read the following:

          In Case of Emergency Please Call:

           ___________  ______________

           (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

          This Is His Daughter

Me:   "Couldn't find next-of-kin, huh?"

After photographing that piece of paper I took it down from the wall, walked back outside and handed to one of the officers.

Me:  "Would you mind making notification.  Here's the next-of-kin information."

Police Officer:  "Wow!  You guys must be magicians!  Where'd you find that?"

Me:  "Oh I didn't.  The intern did.  It was on the wall next to the door that led into the bedroom."

Police Officer:  "Oh."

If it had occurred to me at the time this is how this would have ended.

Me:  "Oh by the way.  This guy's been shot.  I think it's a homicide."

Both officers jumped when they heard this.

Police Officer:  "Seriously?"

Me:  "No.  Not seriously.  But you'd know that if you actually looked at him."

A little patience please.

Dear Small Town Police Department,

It was brought to my attention recently that one of your officers filed a complaint against my office, specifically, me, because of a so-called "intentionally slow scene response".  I would like to take this opportunity to remind your fellow officers of a couple of things.

First of all, I understand how tragic and difficult the night in question was for your officers.  After all, how often does the town drunk manage to be on the wrong side of the cow right before his buddy tipped it?  Yet that being said, the delayed response had nothing to do with a lack of sympathy or empathy on my part.  At the time I received the call I was en route to a traffic fatality that the Metropolitan Police Department was investigating.  I explained to the responding officer in Small Town, that I would be more than happy to wake up my supervisor at 0300 hours and have her respond from home. 

Your officer then asked in a rather inappropriate tone "Well how long is it going to take her to get here?"

"Gee.  I don't know.  She's coming from home and, more than likely, has to put clothes on first." 

"Well can't you respond?"

"No.  Right now I'm picking up parts of a dead guy scattered all over the freeway.  I'm very sorry, but you'll have to wait."

Truthfully, your dead drunk who was found in a field in the middle of nowhere is less likely to get any media attention than the unfortunate individual who's pieces I had to pick up that night.  I chose him so that his family wouldn't wake up in the morning and see his bits on the 0600 news.  While I can completely understand that the stress and horror of the evening you dealt with, I would like to bring to your attention that on the night in question the Metropolitan Police Department had to respond to and investigate three traffic fatalities, two drug overdoses and a homicide.  So, between the two police departments, who do you think was having a worse night?  I'll give you a hint....It wasn't you.

Also, please remember that every evening for a period of twelve hours there is only one death investigator on duty and that investigator is responsible for every police department, hospital, nursing home and hospice agency in four counties.  I would ask that in the future your officers demonstrate a little more patience please.

Sincerely,

An Investigator who has had a long night.

P.S.

How's the cow doing?

Things police officers have said to me at death scenes.

1.  "Hey look!  It's Kay Scarpetta!"

Funny!  Compare me to a fictional character.  I bet you wouldn't think it was so funny if I walked up to you and said "Hey look!  It's Barney Fife!"

2.  "You work at the Coroner's office.  You look so normal."

Thanks!  Huh huh.  SUCKER!

3.  AWW Come one!  Where's the leather pants and high heels?"

Seriously?  It's one thing to offer my services at a death scene.  It's another to be arrested for solicitation.

Random things I've said at work and what they mean

1.   "I wanna have a My Little Pony Party."

Translation:  I'm bored.  The phones aren't ringing.  What I wouldn't give for a death call right now.  WHOA!  That's wrong!  I'm going to hell!  Let me rephrase....what I wouldn't give for the cops to call me and tell me they found Porky Pig, Bugs Bunny and Bambi bones lying around in a field.  Yeah!  That's it!  That's what I meant! Uh huh!

2.  "What's for lunch?"

Translation:  I'm hungry.  What's for lunch?  (This could also mean I'm bored so please look at the clock when I say it, for a better understanding of what I'm most likely referring to.)

3.  "It puts the lotion on it's skin or it gets the hose again."

(Okay, okay.  I've never actually said that one.  Just thought it would be funny to put it in here.  Yay! for Captain Stottelmyer.  He made it big.  From serial killer in Jodie Foster movie to Monk sidekick.  Don't believe me...just check out http://www.imbd.com/)

4.  "WHAT UP DOC!"

Translation:  Management in the room!  Management in the room!  Everyone get off your blogs or facebook page and get back to work!

A Writer's Dilemma

So here's the thing.  I love to write.  But I have a hard time getting my words on to paper, or the computer for that matter.  A lot of times I have dialogues and narratives that trample through my brain at random moments.  Experts have said that the best thing to do in this situation is to carry something with you wherever you go so that when these dialogues and narrative come along you can record them and convert them into a story line later.

I have two problems with writing.  The first is that published authors (I would imagine) have focus, dedication and talent.  Okay, maybe talent is a bit of a stretch.  I'm not really sure that a lot of what I've read has had anything to do with talent.  Like porn for example......okay, I've never actually read porn but I've heard  people say that it does not require talent.  More like an original use of over-used cliches.  Hmm.  Maybe I should give it a try.

The skanky blonde slut pranced in front of the poor, unsuspecting mail man as he unloaded his great big wad of packages into each mail box.......pressed for time before her husband came home from work, he threw her against the kitchen wall.  She hiked up her skirt as he undid his pants.  And then their motion was in unison like a carousel horse....and then....and then.....he got a cramp?

No. No definitely not.  I think I should stick with writing about dead people.  I'm more comfortable with that genre.

Okay...enough of the field trip down skanky blonde lane...back to the point of the blog.  For the purpose of catching random dialogue and narratives I have in my over-sized purse a minimum of two Meade composition notebooks and a set of pens.  (My mother would be so proud that I finally carry something to write with in my purse.)  However, despite my best efforts, there are occasions where I get story ideas running through my brain at the most inconvenient times.  Like when I'm at work, for example.  If I'm in the office, it's not a problem, I just pull out a notebook and start writing.  If I'm at a death scene, it's not so simple.  What am I supposed to do then?  "Excuse ma'am or sir, I'm really sorry about the death of your loved one, but I have to run outside real quick and jot down some notes.  I've spent weeks trying to figure out how to write this sex scene and I just now got the inspiration for it." -Yeah right.  That would go over real well.

Unfortunately, by the time I get back to the office, write my scene report and do the body exam, those thoughts are completely forgotten. 

To the writing experts out there I have this to ask....What do I do under these circumstances?  Good luck figuring this one out.

Dear Primary Care Doctor

Dear Primary Care Doctor,

My office has sent three requests for medical records on the above-named individual, and, as of today, we have yet to receive those records.  Question.  Did you think your response to my request was optional?  Answer.  State law dictates that you comply with our request.  Immediately forward us this patient's records to include a complete history and physical as well as the last three office visits.  Please take care to include the complete history and physical as this is the section of the medical records that will provide a list of what this patient was diagnosed with.  Merely sending us the last three office visits is problematic because, while it will provide information regarding blood pressure, heart rate, body weight and recent complaints it will not always provide enough information to ascertain a cause of death.

For example, the last time my office requested records for one your patients, you responded by sending us only the office visits.  The only information provided in those office visits was that the patient, who's death we are investigating, was treated for symptoms of carpal tunnel.  Really?  Did you seriously think that this information would give us a cause of death?  People don't typically die from carpal tunnel.  FYI.  So please remember to send us your patient's history and physical.

Sincerely,

A Slightly Aggravated Investigator.

P.S.

When we contact you regarding the death of one of your patients and ask you to sign the death certificate the following reasons for refusing to sign the death certificate are not acceptable:

1.  "This patient had too many illnesses.  I can't sign because I don't know which one killed him."

Nice try.  That still doesn't make it a case for the medical examiner.  However, the nice thing about death certificates is that there are multiple blanks provided for listing a cause or causes of death.  When in doubt, list them all.

2.  "Well, yes, he was terminally ill but I can't sign the death certificate because I don't know why he died  
      today."

Really?  Are you serious?  You won't sign because even though he was terminally ill, you didn't expect him to die today?  Was there a particular day and time you expected him to die?  Are you a serial killer?  Do I need to send the Homicide detectives over to talk to you?
3.  "I can't sign the death certificate because I don't know why he died."

That concerns me.  Surely, after treating this individual for the past few years, I would hope that you would have some idea as to why you prescribed him every medication known to man that's used to treat severe heart disease.  Should you be a licensed practitioner if you don't know why you're treating your patient for heart disease?  It might be time for a career change.

Office Mascot

Well, he only "hung" around for a day or two before flying away.  If you ask me, he was a little batty.  Cute, just a little batty.

Vampires in the Morgue

Sometimes I really have to wonder where in the world I am when phenomena, such as Twilight, occurs.  I leave the house everyday.  I interact with other people.  Yet, it wasn't until the movie has been released to DVD for rental that I had even heard about it.

After hearing one of my coworkers gush endlessly over Edward and all of his vampire sexiness, I broke down and rented Twilight.  The first time I watched it, I didn't get it.  What didn't I get?  Any of it.  Yes Edward is a hunk but there's enough of an age difference between the two of us that if I ever did gush over him I'd feel like a pedophile.  Anyway, because I felt like I was clearly missing something, I watched the movie a second time.  Guess what?  I still didn't get it.  So I watched it a third time with my friend.  Nope.  Still clueless as to what all of the hype was about.  It wasn't until we watched it for a fourth time that she and I decided maybe if we read the book it would fill in the blanks.

Yep.  That did it.  The movie left us stumped because of all the detail that had been left out of it that was in the book.  Go figure.  We were both addicted to the books after that.  I however, lost interest in the insanity after the second book.  She and another coworker of mine, however, weren't so fortunate.  It was like they had been hit with a stun gun and then dragged lifelessly into a world of teen-vampire romance with a main character who whines way too much for her own good.

Saturday mornings had become official Twilight day at the morgue.  During down time those two would sit at their desks, hour after hour reading the books.  I, on the other hand, sat at my desk playing video games and making weird faces at both of them until they looked back.  Of course, there were way too many times when it would just get too quiet for me.  I couldn't stand it.  I had to do something.

They, the avid and dedicated readers would sit, slowly soaking up each and every page, while occasionally fighting over who would get Edward.  Icky!.  And then, from out of nowhere in a high-pitched voice with an errotic tone, I would call out:

"Oh!  Edward!"

The first few times they jumped right out of there seats.  I still call that out sometimes when things get a little too quiet in the morgue, just for fun.  Fortunately, all the books have been read.  I can relax now....until November....when the second movie comes out.

"Oh!  Edward!"

The Difference between a Coroner and a Medical Examiner

In the simplest of terms, a Coroner is an elected official, who, depending on state law, may only need to be 18 years of age with a valid driver's license and the ability to pass a background check.  Scary!!!  Some states are a little more strict on who they will allow to run for office.  States such as Ohio require that you be a licensed physician with two years of practicing medicine before you can run for office.  A little less scary!!! 

A Medical Examiner must be a licensed pathologist (the way it should be- but that's just my opinion) and is an appointed official.  What does appointed mean?  It basically means that a medical examiner can be fired just like anyone else.  A coroner has to be kicked out of office or forced to resign from office.  That's a bit trickier.

Reasons Not to Mess With the Death Investigator.

There are some ground rules to establish so that this blog makes sense for my faithful readers who may not understand how a death scene investigation works.

Rule number 1:  The police do not request transport for the decedent.  That responsibility falls on the death investigator. 

Rule number 2:  The uniformed officers that initially respond are not allowed to leave the scene until the decedent has been removed by transport.

Rule number 3:  The body and anything making direct contact with it belongs to the death investigator.  Everything else (furniture, walls, drug paraphernalia, trails of feces, piles of vomit, etc.) belong to the crime scene investigator.

Lesson Number 1:

I received a call from an officer who informed me that he was at the scene of a dead body, it was a Coroner's case and I needed to call for transport at once.  Okay.  I began to ask the usual questions, like "What happened?", "How was he/she found?", "Does he/she have medical history?", "Have you attempted to reach a doctor?"  All of this information is information that the officers know they are supposed to have ready when the contact my office. 

His response to my question:  "This isn't my job.  It's your job.  I don't have all day and I need to leave!  So get your transport out here NOW!"

Really.  Yeah I'll get right on top of that.  Normally, if the police do their job, I have enough information to guage whether or not this is in fact a case for the Medical Examiner, I'll call for transport as I'm leaving the office.  That way they're there waiting for me when I arrive and the process goes much faster.  However,  since this ever-so jovial officer refused to do anything to help expedite the process, I chose to take a different approach.

I left the office and arrived at the scene approximately 30 minutes later.  Greeted the officer and obtained what information he did have such as Name, Date of Birth, Last known alive time, time found and by whom.  He asked me if transport was en route.  Being the extremely mature and professional individual that I am, I ignored him and moved on inside the residence to examine the decendent.  Working from his head all the way down to his toes, I ruled out any signs of trauma or foul play.  Then I spoke with his family and learned that he did not have any medical history or a doctor.  At that point in time I have to assume jurisdiction because there are no doctors available to sign his death certificate.  So, in the presence of the cranky and impatient police officer I called for transport.  When I got off the phone, he asked me how long it would be before transport arrived.

My response: "Per their contract they have 45 minutes to respond."

His response:  "45 minutes!  I told you I was in a hurry!  Why didn't you call for transport sooner?"

My response:  "Officer, surely you can't expect me to rush my investigation just because you're in a hurry.  How would it look if this ended up being a homicide and we both missed it?"

Suffice it to say that he was seriously pissed me at me.  I'm okay with that.

Lesson 2:

I responded to a scene where this unfortunately individual was having a truly bad day.  He woke up decomposed after being dead for several days.  It was very sad.

When I arrived both the detectives and the crime scene unit was there.  This particular crime scene person has her good days and her bad.  This was definitely her bad day.  I waited for what seemed like an absurd amount of time for her to process the scene before I could examine the decedent.  When I was done, the transport people came in and rolled the body so that I could examine the back for any holes that shouldn't be there.  Both of us then photographed the back.  The body was removed from the scene but the crime scene person still had measurements to take of the scene. 

Problem.  I didn't have all day to wait on her.  There were other people probably waking up to find out that they had died and decomposed that needed my attention.  However, I had to search the cupboards in the kitchen to make sure that this individual didn't have any prescription medications hiding anywhere.  I began opening the first cupboard door when I remembered that I needed the crime scene investigator's permission because, after all, the scene was hers, the body was mine.  She looked over at me, very frustrated that I opened this cupboard door.  I explained to her that I just needed to look for drugs real quick so that I could leave.

Flabbergasted (no idea if that's spelled right) she said "Yes, but don't touch anything if you do find them because I have to photograph them".  (Hint.  Hint.  Remember that part.)  I told her there were no drugs, when I was done looking and then packed up my stuff and left.

The net day I got called into the Chief Investigator's office because both Crime Scene and the detective complained that I messed with their scene with out consent. 

Me:  Yeah that's not how I remember it.

Bossman: Well next time don't touch anything.

Me:  Okey dokey (eyes rolling)

Bossman:  What kind of scene was it?

Me:  A decomp.

Bossman:  They threw a fit over the scene of a decomp?  Was it a suspicious decomp?

Me:  No.

Bossman:  WTF?

Me:  That's what I'm saying.

A few weeks later I ran into the same crime scene investigator at yet another decomp.  Apparently we were running a special that month.  She was outside of the apartment trying her best not to get all stinky.  By the time I arrived she had taken all of her measurements and photographs and was waiting on my transport to arrive so she could look at the body.  Since I'm typically a fast learner I asked before I went inside:

Me:  Can I move things around, open doors, look for drugs, etc?

Crankybutt:  Yes.  I'm all done except for photographing the back.

I went inside, did my photographs, examined the body and then began looking for prescription drugs.  I found them on the coffee table, inside drawers and a couple of closets.  Each time I found them I called for Crankybutt to come back inside and photograph them.  I wouldn't want her to get in trouble for not photographing them.  After all, that's part of her duties.

And each time I dragged her back in there she grew more and more disgusted of having to go into that smelly room.  Gee.  I really feel bad for her.  :)

Under the category of "Things I wish I had said at death scenes:

I have to say that my favorite people to work with are police officers.  They are some of the funniest and strangest people I've worked with at death scenes.

About two years ago I responded to the scene of an individual who was in her forties and had very little medical history.  The scene was in an apartment building with an outside stairwell.  As I got out of my car I saw the officer who reported the death along with two young kids that were sitting on the stairwell with their legs dangling through the railing. 

"Oh that's so cute," I thought.  "He brought his kids with him to a crime scene."

I began my trek up to the third floor of the apartment building.  As I rounded my way up the second floor I got a closer look at these "kids".  They were dressed in business attire and were too old to be this officer's kids.

"Duh.  Interns"

By the time I made it up to the third floor I now had a very good look at the "interns".  Though they were baby-faced, they also had a badge, a holster and very pretty guns.

"I'm such an idiot."  Yes my friends, those "interns" were the detectives sent to investigate the death.  (So much for being a trained observer.)

I introduced myself and got the basic demographic information on the decendent, such as Name, Age, Date of Birth, and so forth.  Then we went inside.

Now these Detectives were cute.  I won't lie about that.  But they were also a little weird.  Of course, if you were to ask them, they'd probably tell you I was weird.

When I'm at a scene, my examinations are pretty straight forward.  First I run my hands along the head to make sure there's no obvious head injuries, such as a bump or blood that shouldn't be there.  In this case, she passed the clean glove test.  Then I look at the eyes for petechiael hemorrhaging which could mean a couple of things.  It could mean that she was strangled.  It could also be an indicator of congestive heart failure.  In this case, she didn't have that either.  As I made my way down to her abdomen (where I rule out the presence of holes that shouldn't be there) I heard a strange sound from one of the detectives that was standing next to me.  He was making this weird techno sound and when I looked up he was swaying his hips to the beat of the techno sound.  I shit you not!  I thought he was doing some weird porn dance.

I looked up at him.  "What are you doing?"  Then I scolded him.  "Don't do that around my dead person."

I pointed to a corner of the room.  "Get away from my dead person." 

He chuckled and then began going through some stuff on her book shelf.

"Is that yours?" I asked.  "I don't think so.  Don't touch that.  She wasn't murdered and it's not gonna give me a cause of death.  Please, respect the nice dead lady's things."

I felt like I was baby-sitting.  And what was really scary about the whole thing, these guys were my age.  I feel old.  Detectives shouldn't be my age.  They should be older.  Much, much older.  That's how it was when I first started, that's how it should stay.

Things I've said at death scenes

A little disclaimer:  I've never said any of these things in front of family members, friends or witnesses.  Only to police officers and the transport people. 

1.  "No.  I'm not a doctor.  But I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night."

2.  "Wow!  That had to hurt."

3.  "Aww.  Look at all the cute little buggies."

4.  "What's for lunch?"

5.  "Yep.  He's dead."

The Polygraph

When I applied for a position as a Crime Scene Technician, the application process was pretty lengthy.  Brutal, might be a better way to describe it. 

First was the initial application.  Then there was the phone interview.  Then I had to go out to Arizona and take a written test, followed by a panel interview (for those who might not know, a panel interview is where a group of people take turns asking questions).  After the panel interview I had to fill out a back ground sheet listing places I lived, people I've lived with, I'm sure I had to list again my places of employment and education. 

After I filled out the bakground sheet I had to meet with an individual who's responsibility it was to review the information I provided and determine if I could go on to the polygraph test or if I listed something that was considered an automatic disqualifier.  For example, people who don't make their child support payments but spend hundreds of dollars a month gambling would be automatically disqualified. 

This process was gruelling.  She made me empty out my closet full of skeletons and explain each and every thing I did or thought about doing in my past.  Have you ever wanted to cry or felt like you should cry because you walked off with an office pen in your purse?  What about all those times that you felt just a little sick and probably could have gone to work but you called in sick anyway?  The interview started around 9 am and was done by 10am.  It felt like an entire lifetime had passed.  I got back to the hotel and told my husband that I needed a drink. He told me that we could go in an hour to get some food and then I could have a drink.  "NO!", I said.  "I NEED A DRINK!  There's a bar open in this town somwhere!"  By 10:45, I had my first drink, a dirty martini, straight up with Gray Goose.

The next day was my polygraph test.  A continuation of the previous day only this time I was hooked up to a machine.  The gentleman conducting the test seemed nice and most of the questions were pretty straightford.  And then he threw me a curve ball. 

Him:  "Have you have ever had sex with a barn animal?"
Me:    "No."  Did he seriously just ask me that?
Him:   "Have you ever thought about having sex with a barn animal?"
Me:    "No."  WTF?

At the end of the test there was this unbearable silence in the room.  He sat there, probably only for two minutes but it felt like longer, hemming and hawwing over whatever information came across the screen.

Me:  "Is there a problem?"
Him:  "Well, it's probably nothing,"

Oh God!  Oh God!  What?  What now?  I told you bastards everything!  I've never felt more violated in my entire life.  What?  What?  What!

Him:  "I'm just curious.  What were you thinking about when I asked you if you'd ever had sex with a barn 
          animal?"

Seriously?

Me:  "I guess I was wondering if the chickens counted?"


I think I'll file that one under "Things I wish I had said at the time."  Truthfully, I don't remember what I said.  I just remember running as fast as I could back to a bar.

Where to go after Graduation?

Okay, here it is.  You've just earned your Master's Degree in Forensic Science with an emphasis in Technical Investigations (fancy for Crime Scene Processing).  You're out in the real world, cut loose from the safety net that college life offers.  What now? 

In my case,  I panicked, pulled my hair out, ran around naked through my living room screaming "Where's the beef?  Where's the beef?, until I ran straight into a wall knocking myself unconscious, only to wake up with my cat staring at me like I'm a side dish.  Is it true?  No, but on the inside I felt like that's what was going on.  So, the question remains:  How did I find my first job as a Death Investigator?

I had two career options available to me through my graduate school education.  One option was for crime scene processing.  The other option was for death investigation.  One morning before class started, I asked one of my instructors (a retired police officer) at what point in time should I begin looking for work.  He told me that if I was looking for work with a police department, the absolute fastest he'd every heard anyone of getting hired was six months from the time the application was submitted.  So, his advice to me was that if I wanted to be employed in my field before I graduated to start looking for work at least six months prior.

For anyone who wants to pursue a career in forensics, or even if you're just curious.  I posted some links for forensic science websites.  These are legitimate websites to go to for prospective places of employment, and I've used them with a fairly decent amount of success.  These websites are where I went to look for work, and through them I began submitting applications for employment. 

And of course, the job offers just came rolling in because, after all, I was special, I almost had a Master's Degree.  Well, not quite.  The rejections came piling up, but I just ignored them and kept on going.  The other technique I employed was to send out unsolicited cover letters and resumes to medical examiner and coroner's offices all over the counted.  I know what you're probably thinking.  Isn't that bad?  Didn't I read somewhere that sending out unsolicited resumes won't get you anywhere?  Sure.  I've read that too.  Still, it didn't stop me from trying.

More often than not, I never heard back from any of the offices I sent a resume to.  On one occasion, I sent a resume to a coroner's office and they sent it back to me with the cover letter and the envelope that I had mailed it in, with a stern advisement that they do not accept unsolicited resumes and that I would have to check their website for job postings and then come down to the county human resource office and apply in person.  It might have been good advice, if I lived in that state.  But honestly, I couldn't get past the fact that they sent back the original envelope I used.  What the hell was I going to do with that?

By the time I graduated I had one job possibility in Arizona.  I was being considered for a crime scene technician position by a police department and had learned of that position through one of the forensic websites I have attached to this blog.  While I was waiting to hear from that office, I sent out another stack of unsolicited resumes to medical examiner's and coroner's offices all over the country (clearly I hadn't learned my lesson the first time). 

You'll never guess what happened.  One of the coroner's offices that I sent a resume too, contacted me and asked me to come out for an interview.  As it so happened, they had an opening but only used a local county website to post the position, and not one of the national forensic websites I had been using.  Ladies and gentlemen, my first job, my dream job, came only three months after I graduated by way of an unsolicited resume.  How about that?

All in all my job search spanned over a total nine months.  I won't lie, it was quite frustrating through the entire process.  But, it all worked out for the best.

Random Thoughts

Oh where, oh where have my followers gone.  Oh where, oh where could they be?  It's really kind of depressing, everytime I log on to my blog I see on the right side of the screen "No followers.  Be the first."  Sigh.  That's all right.  I think this is only my third or fourth day blogging.  Eventually, if I blog they will read.  I hope.  Otherwise I'm just rambling into space wondering if anyone listening.  It's like I'm married again.

What's nice about my job is that it is a daily reminder that no matter how bad my life is or what I have to deal with, there's someone out there who is having a much worse day.  For example, a few weeks I responded to the home of an individual who woke up that morning both dead and decomposed.  Suddenly I forgot all about my problems that day.  He clearly won the competition on who was having a bad day.  In fact, I still can't remember what was stressing me out that day.  I have completely blocked it out.

How I Became a Death Investigator, Part 2

Regarding my comment in the last post about how I secretly cut out newspaper articles on crimes and kept them hidden away. I forgot to mention where this genius idea came from. I borrowed it from the movie True Crime that starred Alicia Silverstone. Her character also did the same thing. For what it's worth, I'm sure I only did it for a couple of weeks before losing interest.

My first job after graduating with a degree in Criminology & Psychology was as a customer service representative for an insurance call center. That was just fabulous and exciting stuff. NOT! Although the company did treat me well and I promoted quickly to supervisor, I knew early on that this career field was not for me. So, with the support of my now ex-husband, I went back to school in pursuit of a photography degree. This decision did not gain support from my family at all. It even irritated my ex-husband's family to an extent. At that point in time I knew two things for certain. I loved photography and it wouldn't be long into my second round at a higher education before I figured out what I really wanted to study.

Thus began my first class back to school, a basic photography class. A fellow student taking that class told me one day, while we were both trying desperately to roll film so that it would develop correctly, that she was a graduate student in the Forensic Science program. My response "So you're one of those smart kids with a science background." She chuckled, "Sort of. I have a degree in Psychology." Light bulbs! Light bulbs! Oh my God! There's a way to get a degree in Forensic Science with out having a background in a natural science! Sign me up! I'm there!

She told me all about the program, who to talk to for admission requirements and some of the definite prerequisites that have to be completed, such as a basic chemistry and biology class at the college level. One year and a gruelling GRE later I was a graduate student.

My first semester there I learned that I could either pursue a career as a CSI or I could pursue a career as a Death Investigator. At the time either option sounded great to me. But during the first week of the course, Death Investigation, one of the investigators from the local Medical Examiner's office came and spoke to my class about being a Death Investigator. Light bulbs! Light Bulbs! It hit me like a ton of bricks, for lack of a better cliche, and I just knew that I wanted to be a Death Investigator.

To my family and some of my friends this revelation was a little unnerving and after being asked why, over and over again, I would want to go into Death Investigation, I finally said, "So that I can run up to all of my friends and say (in a hushed whisper), 'I see dead people'". Thank you! Thank you! M. Night Shyamalan! And the creepy kid who starred in Sixth Sense.

It wasn't hearing those words that made my family and friends accept my decision. Truthfully, I think it was more a feeling of defeat on their part. They had given up understanding.

Of course, quotes like that can, unexpectedly backfire. For example, one of my ex-husband's friends thought it would be funny to tell a girl I had just met and say "This is my friend Allie. She see's dead people." Her reply, "Oh my God! Are you a medium?" I almost laughed when she asked me that but now I'm glad I didn't because if you could see the look on her face you'd know she was dead serious (no pun intended).

"Not exactly," I said. "I do see dead people. In the flesh. And, sometimes not of the recently departed." A look of total cluelessness came over her face. Okay...let's try this again. "I'm a death investigator." That response wasn't real satisfactory for her. I think she would have liked it better if I had said I was a medium. Sorry Chica! I'm not that special.

How I became a Death Investigator

I'm often asked two questions about how I became a Death Investigator. First, people want to know what inspired me to into such a depressing field. Second, they want to know what my educational background.

If I'm guilty of anything it's letting Hollywood influence me on any level. Right away I should have known better. But at least I can say that C.S.I was never a factor in my decision. Nope for me the two movies that influenced me the most were Silence of the Lambs, and the genious that is M. Knight Shyamalan, Sixth Sense. Now granted both of these movies came out long before I ever knew I was going to be a death investigator but it's still interesting how they became an influence. Because this story is too long for one post, this post will be about Silence of the Lambs.

Probably, while I was still a freshman in college, I saw Silence of the Lambs. Clarice Stearling became my idol. Young, female and with a dual degree in Criminology & Psychology, and there she was on her way to a fabulous career with the FBI, investigating serial killers before she even graduated. I saw that movie and just knew I was going to be a kick-ass FBI agent. Shortly after watching that movie I became obsessed with being a prodigy of my own. I went to the book store and bought every True Crime book I could find written by FBI agents/Former FBI agents who investigated serial killers. I even kept news clippings about local murders that I stashed under my bed, because "Oh my god!" I was going to read through those clippings just one time and figure something out that the highly trained police had missed and solve the crime. Yeah me! Eventually I lost interest in the news clippings and became obsessed with something else...what I have no idea. I'm just relieved I lost interest because, in retrospect, that was kind of creepy.

Anyway, I worked pretty hard in college and had internships with the U.S. Attorney's office, the U.S. Probation Office and the Juvenile Probation and Parole Office. Then it came time for me to pull out the stops. I submitted an application for the very coveted FBI Honors Internship. Sadly, I received a rejection Christmas Eve of 1998. Oddly enough, it was the nicest rejection letter I have ever received. No sarcasm. I promise. I don't remember what exactly it said, I just know that it was 150 times nicer than the rejection letter I received from a small private college in Pennsylvania that told me "...you lack the promise and motivation of the kind of student we're looking for". Kiss my Master's degree! Assholes!

Anyway, back to the FBI-'cause they're way cooler. If I remember correctly, the rejection letter basically commended me on all of my accomplishments. The way it read was very sincere and completely unexpected. After all this is the FBI we're talking about. I really expected that, if rejected, their letter would read something like this "Dear applicant. Thank you for your interest. However after review of your background we have determined conclusively that, YOU SUCK! Thanks for the laughs, LOSER! Sincerely and still laughing our asses off, The Cool People!"

As tragic as the rejection was for me I still figured that I could get work with the FBI because I had the same background as Clarice Stearling, and if this fictitious person could do it, so could I. But graduation came and went and I realized that just about every Tom, Dick & Harry applying for the FBI, had my qualifications. I was not special.

So what does one do with a dual degree in Criminology & Psychology. Well, there's always options for graduate degrees in Sociology or Psychology-but I had no interest in pursuing that. There's also the option for applying with the local police department. I also had no interest in that which is probably good because in all honesty, no sane person would ever give me a gun. Plus there's the psych test they make you take. Hell, I can't even pass a personality test (story for a different time).

What was my first job after graduating? I worked in a call center for an insurance company as a customer service rep. Yeah me! (note sarcasm here). And this is where I write "To be continued". Hopefully you're still awake.

Random Thoughts

I said in my last post that, as a child, I never went around pronouncing random objects dead. That's true. However, as an adult, I have my moments.

One night I came home after working 16 hours straight. As I stumbled through my apartment trying to turn lights on I heard a crunch under my feet. Flipping the light switch I quickly examined the remains of one of my cat's toy balls where the crunch had been. The thing you should know about my cat is that she is very much my little princess. I'm not married and I don't have children of my know so she is my child. Her name is Gwendolynn Anne Marie Stefanie Collins (no I haven't been sampling the toxicology specimens).

Normally Gwennie is right by my side when I come home from work but tonight this wasn't the case. I looked down at the bits of plastic, shrugged and said "Time of death 2330 hours". Then as I bent down to pick up the plastic bits I looked over and there she was, standing in the doorway of my bedroom with a horrified look on her face. It was as if Gwennie was trying to say to me "Momma. You killed my toy."

Writing this reminds me....I think I owe her a few more "guilt" toys.

I am a Death Investigator

The hardest part of this blog is, obviously, getting it started. So, I'll start at the beginning. I am a medicolegal death investigator and I have been working in this field for almost four years now. I have truly enjoyed working in this field and I can say honestly that I have seen things I couldn't make up. I have been witness to awful and painful situations but I have also been a witness to families that pull together in their most trying times. But sometimes, after a really long day, where, for example, I have had to work with a family who has just lost a child, I come home at night and ask myself, "How in the hell did I get here"?

I've spent some time recently and I think I've narrowed it down to a few childhood memories. For the most part, I was a typical child. I didn't run around the neighborhood torturing animals or pronouncing random objects dead. I played with Barbie Dolls and had imaginary parties with my stuffed animals. But there are memories that make me wonder if those particular experiences played a factor in how I became a medicolegal death investigator.

I grew up in a small town in Ohio, not far from Kirtland, OH. This first memory is a reminder that no matter how small a town you may live in, it does not make you safe from crime or danger. During the time that I lived there there was a mass murder that took place in Kirtland that centered around a deranged religious leader, Jeffrey Lundgren. He murdered a family that had been part of his "group" and buried them in a barn. It's one thing to learn about crimes like this on the news but my father took my sister and I to see this barn.

I wish I could tell you that when I saw this barn it was an overcast day with lots of fog and an ominous feeling surrounded the area. In all honesty, I don't remember what kind of day it was or if it was ominous. I can tell you that I remember him driving us near the barn and pointing it out to us from the car, but that's it. That's all I remember. Still, I have to wonder what my father was thinking when he drove us past that barn.

The other memory I have is of the discussion my parents had with my sister and I on the importance of working in the fast food industry while we were in high school. They wanted us to know what it was like to in a job where we got dirty, came home covered in grease, tired with sore backs so that when we went off to college we would work hard and achieve employment in a career where we both had nice, clean office jobs. I can't speak for my sister, but in my case, that logic and reasoning seriously back fired. Sometimes I would give anything to stink like hamburger grease. It would be an upgrade from what I smell like now.

Of course, given my field, my father is more obsessed with death scenes and murder than he was in the past. I'm not saying he's a serial killer. I think he's just trying to bond with me. For example, he recently went to Florida with his girlfriend, and while there, emailed me photographs of the general location where Caylee Anthony was found. I sent him a response that went something like this:

"Dad, you're in Florida. Go golfing! Do something normal! FYI I see enough crime scenes at work...next time send me a picture of the ocean!