Tuesday, May 21, 2013

A balloon, all alone.

On my ride out last week, the first call was a low priority, a request to deal with a balloon.  Not a hot-air balloon, but a regular one. A popped one.

A resident had found it in a patch of scrub near his home. It wasn't the balloon itself that bothered him, more the powder spilling from it.  Another unit got there before we did, a rookie, and this is the conversation that ensued between him and my officer, AJ:

AJ:  What does it look like?
Charlie:  Errr, a balloon.
AJ:  No, fool, the powder. Is it black?
Charlie:  No, it's white.
AJ: So if it's heroin, it's China White. Balloons and heroin go together, but it maybe cocaine. How close are you?
Charlie:  Standing right over it. Why?
AJ:  It could also be anthrax.
Charlie:  Holy s*#@, really?
AJ:  Nah, just messing with you.

Turns out it was none of those things. Just some flour some kid (probably) had put in a balloon to throw at one of his buddies.  I guess you'd call it a false alarm, of sorts, but I did suggest AJ taste the stuff just to be sure.  He declined, and we went on our way.

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