The Secret to Probation

I’ve been a probation officer for about 13 years now, and I’ve supervised hundreds—maybe thousands—of people on probation for all types of offenses ranging from Driving While License Suspended to Murder. I like to tell people that 90% of my caseload takes up 10% of my time. Those are most often the people who have never been through the judicial system before and are so horrified by the whole arrest/book-in/jail/Court/probation process that I don’t need to say a word to them to keep them from reoffending. People make mistakes. I understand that. Probation is a second chance. The ultimate goal of probation is to rehabilitate, not punish. Take advantage of that chance in a positive way, learn a little something from the experience, don’t repeat the mistake, and everything is cool. I don’t think any less of anyone who has been on probation, made an effort, and learned from it.

However, 10% of my caseload takes up 90% of my time. These are sometimes the career criminals that somehow keep getting probation, despite their repeated failures to successfully complete a term of probation, but more often than that, these are the people who see probation as an easy way out of the consequences for their criminal behavior, and who have no intention of altering their lifestyle in any fashion. These are the people who exert more energy trying to fool me than they do finding a job or leading a productive lifestyle. These are often young people, recently out of high school, who feel it's their God-given right to get drunk, smoke dope, and raise hell every night. These are the people who apparently think I’m a drooling idiot.

I doubt any of these folks are reading this, but in case they are, I have some tips for them. This is like getting the freakin’ answers to the exam before you take the test. So pay attention.

Don’t lie to me. I know this is like telling the sun not to rise, but I get lied to all day every day, and you’re not a particularly good liar. You know what else? I like to learn answers to questions before I ask them. Then when I ask you the question, and you sit there and lie to my face, I know what kind of supervision this is going to be. You ruin an amazing amount of credibility when you tell me you’ve never been arrested before, when I have your 35-page criminal history sitting right in front of me. There are consequences to your behavior, but if you’re honest with me, the sanctions are much less severe. I’ve even been known to not violate someone’s probation when they’ve been upfront and honest with me about a violation. *GASP!* I know. It’s shocking. But true. Lie to me, though, and I feel no motivation to help you. If I lied to you even a fraction as much as you lie to me, you’d raise nine kinds of hell with anyone you could find to listen to you.

When I tell you to do something, do it. I’m not telling you to set yourself on fire and juggle chainsaws for my amusement. I’m telling you to comply with your conditions of probation. I work for the Court. The Court instructed you to do some things while you’re on probation. They’re not negotiable. You agreed to them when you signed your plea agreement. I don’t care if you need to tell yourself that you only signed the plea to get out of jail, if that allows you to sleep better at night. That doesn’t change the fact that you signed it. You entered a contract, agreeing to do certain things in exchange for not going to jail. When you don’t uphold your end of the contract, there is no reason for the Court to uphold its end of it. I also don’t care if your attorney supposedly told you that some of your conditions of probation don’t apply to you. Your attorney doesn’t work for the Court. I do. Your attorney doesn’t work for our probation department. I do. When you don’t do what I tell you to do, I notify the Court. It’s called a probation violation. I’ve yet to see anyone tell the Court that their attorney said it was okay to not abide by all their conditions of probation. I can’t wait to see it happen someday, though. What will happen next will be worth the price of admission.

Don’t show up to my office drunk. Or high. Or stoned. Even if my department permitted alcohol and drug use—which we don’t—do you really think it’s a good idea to show up intoxicated to a meeting with your PO? Does absolutely nothing in your brain trigger that this may not be a good idea? News flash, moron: chewing gum doesn’t mask the odor of alcohol. Neither does chain-smoking a pack of cigarettes on your way to your appointment. Allergies may cause some people’s eyes to become bloodshot, but they don’t cause pupils to dilate and constrict, so I’m not buying that one, either. I’m required to obtain 20 hours of substance abuse training each year. Multiply that by 13 years, add in my own life experience, and it takes me about four nanoseconds to detect that you’re under the influence of something. And if there is any doubt, it’s nothing for me to have you blow into a machine or pee in a cup.

By extension, don’t show up to your substance abuse counseling agency drunk. Or high. Or stoned. If it takes me four nanoseconds to detect your impairment, imagine how fast a highly-trained—and often a recovering addict—substance abuse counselor can detect it. Arguing with the counselor about the level of counseling he just recommended while your pupils are the size in pinheads and you just failed a drug screen only makes things worse. You signed a release of confidential information with the counseling agency. Guess who’s going to be the first person the counselor calls (well, after he calls the police)?

Don’t expect me to put more effort into your probation than you do. I’m not here to hold your hand or wipe your ass. I’ll point you in the right direction, but if you think it’s my job to find you a place to do your community service work, schedule the work for you, pick you up at your house and drive you there, buy your lunch and a pack of cigarettes, and have you sit in the car while I do your community service for you, you’re sadly mistaken. You know what due dates the Court imposed on you. When those due dates come and go, and you haven’t done what you’re supposed to, don’t act shocked when you wind up in jail.

Don’t drive to your appointment with me on a suspended license. Come on. At least give me a challenge.

Don’t call me anything but my name. I much prefer being called Eric over being called Mr. Ivie, but after I’ve told you my preference, if you still feel more comfortable calling me Mr. Ivie, I can tolerate it. However, I’m not your “bud”, “dude”, “boss”, “chief”, “hon”, or “sweetie.” I don't care what you call me behind my back to make yourself look good around all your friends, but when you're in my office, quit trying to kiss up to me.

Ladies, don’t bother fake-crying in my office. Or showing skin. Neither works, and you just look like an idiot. Or a whore. Depending on what you do.

I’ve heard countless excuses over the years, too. And I’m not the only one. A friend of mine, who is a probation officer in another state, actually made up a game of Bingo, where each square is a common excuse that we hear. That’s how universally well-known your excuses are. So let me save you the time and effort, and I’ll let you know how those excuses translate to us PO’s:

“I’ve been trying to call you! You’re a hard person to reach!” = If you even called at all, which I seriously doubt, you tried calling at 1:30am, or on Saturday, or on Christmas Day. You certainly didn’t call during normal business hours or leave a voice mail message if I happened to be busy when you called.

“All you guys want to do is violate people.” = You’re going to violate your probation. (It involves an incredible amount of time, manpower and taxpayer money, involving me, the prosecutor, the Clerk’s office, the Court staff, a defense attorney, the judge, law enforcement, and the jail to file a probation violation, prove it in Court, and incarcerate someone. It takes me about five minutes to successfully discharge someone from probation. Which option do you think I prefer?)

“I only had two beers.” = You drank all night long. The police don’t believe this excuse. Neither does your probation officer.

“I can’t pee with someone watching me.” = You’re going to test positive for something.

“I peed right before I came here.” = You’re going to test positive for something.

“I should be clean.” = You’re going to test positive for something.

"I was around some people smoking marijuana, but I didn't smoke any." = You're going to test positive for marijuana. And max out the scale. Because not only did you smoke it, you also brought it, rolled it, and used your own personal bong.

“I’ll pay with my tax refund.” = Between the time you make that promise and when you see me next, your car will break down, your kids will need braces or medication or glasses or school clothes, you’ll get real sick or injured and miss a month of work, the State will intercept your refund and apply it toward the $20,000 in child support arrearage that you owe, or any number of other reasons you’ll give for not paying. No one ever pays with their tax refund. Ever.

“The house isn’t usually this dirty.” = Yes, it is.

“That’s my [brother’s, wife’s, dad’s, son’s, cousin’s, friend’s, etc.] beer” or “I don’t know whose beer that is” or “I had no idea that was in there!” = That’s your beer. And you knew damn well it was there.

“I live with my parents, and my dad drinks a lot. I can’t really tell him to get the beer out of the house because it’s his house.” = You drink his beer, too.

“I live at [one address] but I stay at [another address].” = You’ll never be at either place because you don’t want me to find you.

“I don’t have a problem with alcohol or drugs.” = You absolutely do.

“I DON’T HAVE AN ANGER PROBLEM!!!” = Really?

“My parents live with me, and I take care of them.” = You’re 40 years old, still live with your parents, and you take money from them because you can’t pry your lazy ass off the couch to find a job and/or consistently show up to work. Chances are real good that if I visit you at home at 2:00pm, I’m waking your ass up.

“I wouldn’t lie.” = You’re lying.

“I swear [to God, on my kids, on my parent’s grave, on everything holy, etc.]!” = You’re lying.

“That’s the God’s honest truth.” = You’re lying.

“The cop had no probable cause to stop me.” = You blew three times the legal limit, yet you still think you have an absolutely clear and unbiased recollection of the night of your arrest. You’re going to be a real treat to supervise.

“I fell asleep for a second while I was at a stoplight.” = It’s called “passing out.”

“The cop only stopped me because of [my race, my gender, my age, my religious beliefs, his quota, being a dirty cop].” = You were doing 85 mph in a 65 mph zone, on a stretch of interstate that is a notorious pipeline for drug runners between Indianapolis and Illinois, in your 1982 Impala with no tail lights, a cracked windshield, and a license plate that expired six months ago barely hanging on by one screw on your back bumper. Meanwhile, you and the three geniuses in the car with you were all tokin’ on a fatty right as you blew past the officer you never saw sitting in the median in his fully marked police car with his radar gun pointed right at you with no other traffic within 1000 yards of your vehicle. When he finally got you to pull over ten miles later and was nearly knocked over by the cloud of marijuana smoke pouring out of the car while you and your buddies sat there sweating bullets with red and glassy dinner-plate-sized eyes, he asked if you had anything you shouldn’t have, and if he can search your car. You lied and slurred, “No, I don’t have nothin’ illegal, Occifer, sir. I’m just on my way home from Bible study. I don’t care if you search my car, though, ‘cause I know you’re just gonna do it anyway.” Then you were “shocked” when he found 80 lbs. of dope in your trunk because you just borrowed this car earlier today from a buddy who you only know as “T”, and you have no idea how those drugs got in there.

“This is just all about money.” = You’re not going to learn a damn thing from this.

The secret to succeeding at probation (and life in general)? Be honest, treat others the way you want to be treated, and take responsibility for your behavior. It’s not hard. Ninety percent of the people I supervise get it. The other ten percent will keep me employed forever.