The responsibilities were endlessly haunting. Everywhere I went I had to be mindful of an air of authority that I had to maintain because I was a cop. Even off duty I was ordered to carry my service firearm and badge. In the summertime, when I would wear shorts and a T-shirt, my firearm was nearly impossible to conceal and extremely uncomfortable to support. I either had a bulge in my back or looked as if I had an excessively generous anatomical endowment in front.

Everyone always looked at me as a figure of authority and control. My job responsibilities called for that, yes, but even off-duty it was difficult to relax. When I would try to join my friends for a beer at a bar, something always seemed to spoil the endeavor. I remember

I froze. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. My mind went blank as I became almost paralyzed with fear. My legs felt numb and my mouth went dry. I almost went into a panic because I desperately needed to swallow but could not. I thought I was going to choke. I do not know at what point my finger slipped off the slide and onto the trigger. The sound of gunfire jolted me back into reality as two bright white flashes erupted from the muzzle of my Glock pistol. I blinked several times to readjust my night vision. Before me, sprawled backwards across the stairs, was the man who just moments before was determined to take my life. The knife slid lazily from his fingertips as he began to urinate. I knew that he was dead.

one such incident when I was recognized by a guy in a pub on the outskirts of town. I had arrested him about a month prior for driving drunk. He quickly spread the word around the bar that I was a "pig." The place filled with nervous whispers, and I could feel the weight of a thousand stares bearing down upon me. As I turned to visually address their increasingly uncomfortable stares, everyone's eyes darted awkwardly from floor to door. The whole place emptied faster than water from an overturned bucket. To me it felt as if someone had stenciled, "Kiss me! I have the Ebola virus!" on the back of my shirt. My friends and I tried to make the best of the empty bar, but try as I might I could not get comfortable. My bar stool felt like a child's toy--Sit and Spin. About fifteen minutes later we decided to leave. When I returned to my car I discovered my front windshield had been smashed and someone had defecated on my front seat.

Needless to say I found dealing with people's bad attitudes and their pre-conceived notions about me to be spiritually maddening. I already had enough difficulty retaining my composure while intervening in all their worst nightmares. Every situation was a blooming crisis, and I was the one who had to sort it all out. High stress levels from everyone involved compounded the burden of adversity Tempers flared up quickly and inevitably were directed at me! It began to feel as if every call I responded to deteriorated into a pissing contest. I had bottles and rocks thrown at me for simply pulling into a driveway. I had lit cigarette butts flicked in my face. I was tired of going home scratched and bruised up from struggling with a resistive suspect. I grew weary of my ears ringing with colorful expletives that were shouted in my face such as "ass-holed sellout" and "conformist *censored*bird."

Some common words found in the essay are:
Sheila Baker's, Kiss Ebola, , Protective Services, Sheila Baker, appeared doorway, kept coming, told stop, deadly force, drew weapon, police officer,
Approximate Word count = 2111
Approximate Pages = 8 (250 words per page double spaced)