My Man Series #1- My Policeman

Chapter 7

I followed Mr. Whitlock into his back office. I'm having to fight the urge not to bring my fingers to my mouth and bite on my fingernails as my belly turns with nerves.
I have a terrible habit of nail-biting. I tried everything I read to stop that habit, but it was sometimes, most times, out of my control. My grandma used to put hot sauce on my nails, thinking I wouldn't appreciate the taste. But it didn't work.

As an adult, I constantly make sure my nails are painted because it helps a bit, I don't like the taste of nail polish, so I find myself not chewing on them as much as I once did.

“Take a seat, Avery.” Mr. Whitlock swung his right arm out and gestured to the small seat in front of his dark wooden desk.

I have the time to look him over. His once black hair is now thinning out and turning grey. His mustache has little grey hairs sticking out, but appears to be nicely kept. He is a middle-aged man that appears to keep him self in shape.

“How many years have you served with the 911 center?” He asked while taking a seat behind his desk before picking up a sheet of paper that I believe to be my resume.

It's short.

And that's not a bad thing. I'm twenty-four years old and have worked at the 911 center in my hometown since I was eighteen years old.

As I child I used to listen to crime podcasts and I realized I wished to work in crime. I just didn't know at the time what kind of job I had preferred until I checked into becoming a 911 operator. My old boss, Mrs. Joan, taught me everything she experienced. She took me under her wing and trained me.

I'm a true crime junkie. You would think hours a day of true crime would have me put off, but that's not the case.

At all.

I love putting on a crime documentary before bed. The ID Channel is a favorite of mine.

“I worked at the 911 center back in my old town from age eighteen, sir. I'm now twenty-four. Six years.” I answered, looking straight at him as I laid my hands in my lap.

“And why, after six years, did you leave?” He questioned me and tossed my paperwork on his desk.

I knew he would ask me this question. It's one of the fundamental questions they ask during an interview. What made you leave your last job? I'd rather not bring up what happened again, but I don't think I should be lying to a hopefully future boss.

I don't want him to assume I just got a wild hair, packed my shit up and left for no reason.

Therefore I explained the situation.

“I didn't wish to leave, sir. My boyfriend and best friend had an affair behind my back, and I just wanted a fresh start. I loved my coworkers and didn't wish to leave them, but I everywhere I went people would look at me with pity.” I ground out.

I really didn't want to tell him that. I don't need him to start pitying me, and I definitely do not want him to go gossiping around town about my past situation.

Therefore, I demanded that he not tell anyone.

“I would rather what I just said stayed between you and me sir.” I whispered.

It didn't sound like a demand like I had wanted it to, but that works all the same.

“Of course. I won't say a word, Avery.” Mr. Whitlock smiled a small smile before turning back serious once more. “What made you want to become a 911 operator?”

“I was always interested in true crime, sir. As a kid, I loved listening to podcast of older cases. I didn't know which field I preferred to get into until I went to visit the 911 center back in my hometown and met my old boss. She was one of the nicest women that I have met in a very long time, and she took her time with me. She let me go visit her there a few days a week. She wouldn't let me listen on calls like I wanted, but she would tell me about some of hers and explained how she helped the callers in those particular situations. We are the little guys. We don't get the glory of being the ones to catch them, but what we do here matters. Without us, sometimes those callers would not get the help they need-” I quickly shut up once I realized I just ranted on. He asked me one simple question, and I gave him a whole paragraph answer.