On October 2012, I got TASERed. The door to freedom mocked me from less than ten feet away — but there was no escape. I shouldn’t have done it, but I had asked for this and it was too late now.
Two police officers, one on either side of me, gripped my shoulders, trapping my arms. A booming voice behind me shouted “TASER! TASER! TASER!” and then everything went black.
It was only a month ago that I had signed up for the local Citizen’s Academy in my home village. Each week, we had scenarios with the Fire Department, EMT, and mostly the Police Department.
I enjoyed all of the sessions, especially the evasive driving exercise (I got to drive a squad car!) and the simulated response to a break-in. My partner, an elderly man, and I waited at the bottom of the steep carpeted stairs as we waited for our turn for the scenario.
We heard the rapid pops of the simunition rounds. After a few moments of silence, we heard the commanding officer say: “Well….uh…you managed to shoot the hostage.”
After a few moments, they summoned my partner and me. We crept up the thread-bare carpeted stairs, our guns drawn. Stepping into the office, we encountered a large man in a hoodie, menacing a hostage (apparently, he’d gotten better) slumped over a desk. We ordered the pretend perp to stop, but he rushed at us. I raised my…
