When I told my grandmother that my beat for this semester’s reporting class at USC Annenberg is crime, gangs and cops in Southeast LA, she said, “Can Morning go with you?”

“No, Grandma,” I responded. “I don’t think reporters can bring their husbands along.”

My sister has also expressed some concern. I tried to calm her nerves by reminding her of the mace I always carry with me. “Drive bys, Hanna, drive bys! Mace is not going to help you during a drive by!” Fair enough.

I laugh at my family’s reactions, but I am nervous. I’m going on a ride along with a cop from the Huntington Park Police Station in a few hours. I am supposed to sign a release before I get in the car. Do I have to? I want them to be responsible for my life!

I chose Saturday night because I figured there would be the most action then. But maybe “action” is a bad thing. What exactly do I do if my partner for the night starts shooting people? And what if someone starts shooting us? As my sister pointed out, my mace isn’t going to cut it.

I also don’t know what to wear. My professors say we must dress in business attire. Do I wear a suit to a ride along? I don’t think so. If I were a real reporter, I would wear jeans and sneakers. But jeans make me look like a young, graduate student, which I am but am trying to mask. I have dress slacks but they require dress shoes. What if I have to run, duck or stop, drop and roll? High heels aren’t going to cut it either.

Maybe it’ll be boring, and I should bring a book.

The bathroom situation is also concerning me. I wish we had gone over this in class.