little dramas

The doors opened for the morning. The guy with the key directed each person in line to the appropriate window: crash reports, other police reports, etc.

A red faced man in jeans and a plaid shirt stood at the counter next to his lawyer, who was interpreting for him. They were trying to get reports on domestic violence incidents going back several years and were mostly coming up empty.

The woman at the counter noticed a few of us waiting behind the increasingly anxious pair and asked what our requests were. We each got our forms and started to fill them out.

As I was filling in request forms for crash reports, a young woman limped in, leaning on a cane. She got her form and sat down with a clipboard. After looking at it for a minute, she looked up towards the counter. “How do I fill this out? I was a gunshot victim.”

After a “come here” gesture, she hobbled back to the counter. Her tight stretch pants showed a lump where a bulky wound dressing was taped to her skin. Shot in the butt. An old woman sitting next to me looked up and made the same observation. She sighed and shook her head.

I got called to the cashier. My reports were ready. The young woman with the cane waited for hers. Just another morning at the police records office…