This is a post by one of OfficerResource.com’s forum members, SPD. -Xiphos

We’ve all done it . . . . . thought our bags were hanging low, and underestimated someone. But I seem to have made it into an art form – partially because I’m an idiot and partially because I’m huge and think little people can’t hurt me very easily. But mostly because I’m an idiot.

My unit was doing drug warrants with our state drug agency (who apparently was going on tour or something) and a few DEA guys. No idea why the DEA was there, but they were VERY motivated about this. They didn’t help with the buys – but someone figured it’d be good to have them come along just for funsies.

Our drug unit was small (5 guys), and we each got sent with a warrant team (about 6 guys each). We were the local guys who were showing them where to go, and pointing out the houses. We were basically there just to assist. This was Oklahoma Bureau of Narcotic’s (OBN) deal.

We get to our first house, and I have no idea who it is – I wasn’t in on this buy. We go in, and it turns out it’s one of our “mentally challenged” locals. He gets an apartment on the government dime, and a dope dealer had set up shop in his residence. The dealer (very small time) was a female, and was none too hot. But the retarded guy – we’ll call him Joe – apparently really liked her.

We go in, and arrest the girl, and there’s dope on the table in the living room. Joe decides to get protective of his ‘woman’ and starts making a fuss. Well, he’s like 5-10, maybe 150. You can’t really get too awful mad at the guy – he has the mind of a kid and we really just deal with him as such, “Just sit down, Joe.” “No, Joe, you’re not going to throw us out of the house.” “Yes, Joe, we are going to take this dope and ‘Jill’” Anyone else making this big a stink would have been put in an uncomfortable position and taken to jail.

But oh no, we (and by ‘we’ I mean ‘me’) keep shooing him away when he tries to interfere. I don’t want to be standing victoriously over the retarded guy bragging about how I hooked him up.

Well he finally works up the nerve to try to physically stop us from taking the evidence. I grab him in an escort hold and he takes a swing at me. It’s an awkward swing – what you’d expect from a retarded guy. I kinda shake him, and tell him to stop. He agrees. I turn to look for a chair to sit him down in and “CRACK!”

When I turned my head away from him (still hanging on to one arm in an escort) he pops me one in the jaw. Well, great. Now I gotta fight the retarded kid. I’m gonna be famous now.

I arm-bar him to the ground, and he just starts making what I can best describe as cat noises as I cuff him. Everyone except maybe two of the 7 guys there had seen this and one jumps in to help me cuff Joe.

While I’m putting the cuffs on, I feel something strange in my mouth that I cannot immediately identify.

My mind goes to all those times when some crack head tries to swallow his dope, then can’t figure out how that bag of crack got in his mouth – and those aren’t my pants!!! Am I one of those guys now? How did something get in my mouth and me not know about it?
HOLY SHIT – IT ACTUALLY DOES HAPPEN!! I’ve been wrong all these years. I just know I’m going to spit out a bag of crack. I hold my breath, and spit out this strange object.

At first, it really kinda does look like a crack rock. It’s kinda yellowish white. Then it hits me like a skinny retarded kid: that’s part of my tooth. I run my tongue along all my chicklets and realize one’s missing. I counted twice.

Well, all the OBN guys have to come over and see what I’m staring at so intently at in my hand. Everyone realizes about the same time that the 150 lb retarded guy just knocked the tooth out of the 6-4 265lb SWAT sniper ninja former Marine grunt.

Now, I’ve seen some quick draws with pistols in my day – but nothing like the speed with which this group of guys simultaneously whip out their cell phones and start texting the entire LE world. By the time I got out of the house, my phone was blowing up like a space shuttle. To top things off, I called my supervisor to ask what to do with the retarded guy (I didn’t want to take him to jail . . . . . . he’s a retarded guy). He said haul him, and he confirmed it with our DA. Crap. I call for a transport. I have a little difficulty talking on the radio. Not because I’m hurt – but because my damned tongue can’t stop rubbing on the missing tooth. It’s like it has a mind of its own. Stupid tongue.

So before I ever step foot back in the car everyone I know is calling. “Did you really get knocked out by a midget?”

“I heard you were getting your ass kicked by a cripple in a wheel chair and the DEA guy had to save you!”

You get the idea. It kept growing. I was famous very quickly. When we got back to the command post, ALL of the command staff was waiting to see me with my broken tooth. My skipper was laughing his ass off, because everyone knew Joe.

I got my tooth fixed the next day, but the story lives on about me getting whooped by the retard. Every time I see anyone from the state drug agency, I’m not my name. I’m the guy who got beat down by the retard.

Remember – just because their brain doesn’t work that well doesn’t mean they can’t knock one of your teeth out. You don’t want to be that guy. Don’t let your guard down.

BTW – in case you were wondering, this story is how I got my avatar.

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