I have been asked a few times through my life – earlier on in it, naturally – if I would consider following in my father’s footsteps. For those not in the know, pops was a copper, meaning he busted perps and dragged their sorry asses all the way to jail*. I never had any intention of doing so, but I never actually thought why. Now I do think about it, it’s pretty obvious.
I am large and reasonably intimidating, given the correct lighting and viewing angle, but I am also a tremendous physical coward. How I could ever possibly maintain any level of success in a job where you’re required to confront some of the worst shits of humanity is beyond me. Talking to people? No. Asserting yourself? Nah. Chasing people down the road? No chance.
I mean, tasering a murderous bouncer so hard he apparently shoots himself does sound like the most hilarious thing in the world, but it just never appealed. Shooting people on the basis that they’re not white enough? As alluring as could be. Refereeing the World Cup final I would like to do a bit, but at the same time I don’t think I could handle being vilified by the Dutch as a people. I mean, I like the Dutch. I don’t want them to hate me.
So it turns out they’re pretty obvious reasons. Should really have laid them out to whoever asked me, the few times I was actually asked. Even if it would involve some level of prescience on my part.
*Sat at a desk. Filed paperwork.