The Morning After

When most people hear the phrase “the morning after” they think of embarrassed women walking out of a stranger’s apartment looking bedraggled in last nights clothing. I dare say it’s not a great look on them.

Here at the paper, the morning after looks different but I’m sure the same feelings of anticipation are involved. Wait, did I say anticipation? I meant feelings of pending doom … much worse.

It’s like when you’re watching a movie and that particular music comes on, the actor is in a dark hallway about to turn and we all know what’s about to happen … BAM – his head is cut off with a machete, the vampire has attacked, or some other cruel form of death is upon him.

That’s what the morning after feels like at a newspaper.

You come in never knowing what messages are on your phone, what emails are waiting there ready for you to open them so they can ruin your day. You just never know who you ticked off with yesterday’s article.

Yesterday, I stumbled upon a true gem. An 18-year-old had been arrested for reckless driving, taken to jail and locked away for a few hours. Unbeknownst to the officers at the jail, though, was the fact that the teenage boy had a loaded revolved in the waistband of his pants.

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Luckily, he chose to hide the gun behind some toilet paper rather than shoot anyone. But the situation was one that should have been easily avoided but was not. It revealed some serious protocol mishaps with the Sheriff’s Office.

Already today, I have received emails addressing my article and voicemails asking about my procedures — let me assure you, my procedures were awesome. I’ve even gone so far as to already send out a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request for the internal investigation the incident incited.

The morning after, not a good thing at all.

Fake Planet

Sometimes I forget how surreal this job can be.

Today I found myself sitting in my car in 80 degree heat waiting for a body to be brought from the water to the body recovery van parked in the driveway of a beach home.

The neighborhood was business as usual except for the lines of Sheriff’s Office vehicles, EMS trucks and the occasional sound of an investigator knocking on a door to see if they saw anything.

I was sitting at my desk typing away when the call came out at 9:13 a.m. Body found floating in the water.

I’ve seen dead bodies before, well parts of dead bodies. I’ve seen the tennis shoe-clad feet of a woman found stabbed to death, and the hand of a man being wheeled away from a deadly fire.

This morning, I saw the lump of a once 30-something-year-old man under a white sheet sitting on the wooden dock of someone’s backyard.

A man was working on his boat this morning when he saw the body floating face down in the water. Minutes later, the body was scooped up about four houses down.

I hate when things like this happen in areas with homes, mostly because it forces me to trespass. My philosophy is simply to go until I’m told no.

So today I walked right to the crime scene but stopped about 20 feet away, too nervous to go any further.

I’m usually fairly brave, but seeing the deputies working and the lump under the sheet not moving, I got very nervous. A deputy came over and curtly answered my questions then left.

Next, I was all about trespassing, specifically at homes without anyone home — No one to tell me no.

After I had another look at the happenings of the crime scene I turned to wait for the body to be loaded and headed to my car. Unfortunately, that was the exact moment the man who owned the home I was at arrived in his driveway.

I smiled, flashed my press pass and power walked away before he could say anything.

Then, for the next hour, I sat in my car waiting for the body to be moved. I waited, and waited, and waited.

An investigator who had seen me early started leaving until he saw me melting in my car. Luckily, he felt sorry for me and told me everything he knew, which granted me a pass back to the office.

What an unpredictable life I lead.

Sick-n-Twisted Kind of Mind

I think there is something wrong with me.

I’ve always been a little different. I mean I wore a Pokemon shirt with a skirt, tights and Chuck Taylor’s in high school when I should have been caring what other people think — it’s just not something I’ve ever concerned myself with.

The thing is, last night I was on the phone with a friend when he asked how my day was and I, in a very excited utterance, told him, “I got to sit in on a murder trial!”

He expressed his concern for my over-excited feelings toward homicide trials and it hit me: Is this reaction not normal?

The highlight of my day yesterday was sitting in court, seeing the bloody hoodie and watching the video of the suspect unfold before the jury and the audience.

Don’t get me wrong. The boy in court is 17 and is accused of killing another teenager. My heart broke when I heard the father begin to weep as the medical examiner explained just how his little boy was killed.

I sat there looking at this teenager trying to remember what I was up to at 17. My wisdom teeth were removed, I was excited about the Homecoming Dance and I remember stressing about college.

I never gave a thought to drugs, gangs or killing — but that is this young man’s entire life.

So understand, I have feelings and I have empathy for everyone involved. I’ve just learned to take myself out of the “reality” of the situation and look from an outsider’s perspective.

I never thought I would be fascinated by a picture of a corpse and the entry wound of a bullet, but I was on the edge of my seat in court. The process is truly fascinating.

But now I’m questioning myself.  Have I taken myself too far out of reality? Should a murder trial be just another day or am I taking my optimistic attitude too far?

Journalism, it’s a tricky, tricky business.