For the calea conference?

Because I'm not.

After working my ever loving ass off for two years as the accreditation co-whore, my reward was supposed to be a paid trip to Ft Lauderdale, starting today, to receive the formal reaccrediation award, that big blu and white monstrosity that hangs in the PD lobby.  Initially I wasn't too tickled about having to waste a decent trip hobnobbing with a bunch of kool-aid drinking bureaucrats who hadn't seen the inside of a squad car since the 1970's, but I was assured by my boss that as long as I made the formal events I could do pretty much what I wanted the rest of the time, namely hang out on the beach and try to find a range somewhere.  I'm not a golfer, but I could dig me some full-auto.

Then, a month ago a city bigwig who had precisely nothing to do with accreditation, decided he wanted to go.  I think it had to do with something about networking with othe rmunicipal cop-despisers.

I got bumped.  You stay here and work, they said, although I am admittedly really enjoying my post-calea assignment as the hmfic of the traffic squad.

Fine.

Two weeks ago, one of my snitches in city hall called and told me that the aforementioned bigwig wasn't going after all.  Still holding some hope of a working vacation, I hauled boogie to the chief's office and asked if I could go.

No, too late to switch the plans.  You're not going.

Fine.

I'm not out for cookies and ribbons, and the vast majority of my 11 years in LE has been spent toiling in dignified obscurity, but I am a little miffed.

Rant off.  Thanks for letting me vent.