Arghhhhh.
As you can see, it's way to damn early on a Saturday morning, and I'm awake. Why, you ask? Becaseu I live in a "changing neighborhood", and my street number is, I believe, similar to that of the (alleged) crackhouse nearby.
So here's the deal: It's 5 something a.fucking m.The bell rings. Whaaa? I stumble to the window, open it, there are two guys outside. "Did you just ring my bell?" "Yeah, is Josie Lo there?" "No... listen... no one is here. Please, please don't ring my bell at 5 in the morning." "Awright, sorry." and they went away, and i staggered back to bed.
This is the second time someone's rung my bell at a very odd hour of the night.
So I'm lying in bed, thinking, I gonna tell folks about this at my next CAPS meeting; I'm gonna tell my trainer, whose brother is a special ops cops, to watch the address; I'm gonna put up a fucking sign that says "This is not the fucking house you're looking for. Go the fuck way and don't ring my bell at 5 goddamn a.m. on a Saturday morning!" (I am nothing if not articulate at 5 in the morning.); I'm gonna put a huge-ass lock on my front gate, and possibly land mines; I'm gonna.... And then I thought, fuck it, I'm gonna call the police NOW.
And here's the thing about calling the police: Your standard drug lord/gangbanger has the 911 band monitored. I know that sounds paranoid as hell, but apparently its true -- so much so, that the city information number (311) expects anonymous 911 calls and transfers them over so your standard drug lord/gangbanger can't trace where it's coming from. So I did that, and they took the info, and they sent someone around to sweep the street. Which, I'm sure, did nothing. But I don't care. I called. I'm tired of taking the path of least resistance/look onthe sunny side of life/always expect the best in your fellow members of humanity tack at dealing with living here. No, I have no evidence they were lookng for drugs, just a suspiscion. No, I don't want to be the Ugly White YuppieScum who comes into an ethnic neighborhood and freaks out, calling the cops for any damn reason, trying to make this neighborhood another Lincoln Park. But hell, I'm not stupid. And if this pisses people off, so be it. I live here, dammit. I'm not going anywhere. Get the hell used to it. And if that disrupts your drug-dealing activities, well, too damn bad.
And I wish I could say that I was standing here proudly, consequences be damned, but I'm not. I'm a little freaked. How difficult is it to figure out that the cranky white chick you just woke up called the cops? (For that matter, do drug lords/gangbangers monitor blog traffic? Oh, the perils of living outloud...) Can I expect another dead pigeon on my doorstep? Is anything going to happen to the house? How's my insurance covereage for Rampaging DrugLord damage? I'm overreacting, I'm sure, but hell, it's scary (and 5 fucking a.m., so I'm not exactly in my right mind.)
Argh. Harumph. OK, I ventted my spleen, I'm going back to bed. Bastards.
Just for reference, this is the sort of stuff I haven't posted inteh past to avoid worrying people like my parents. Oh well. Hi, mom and dad! It's all great! Love you! No worries!
Are you happy now, Newton? I'm posting moe than postcards. Oh, and I hope you're looking forward to your visit!
As you can see, it's way to damn early on a Saturday morning, and I'm awake. Why, you ask? Becaseu I live in a "changing neighborhood", and my street number is, I believe, similar to that of the (alleged) crackhouse nearby.
So here's the deal: It's 5 something a.fucking m.The bell rings. Whaaa? I stumble to the window, open it, there are two guys outside. "Did you just ring my bell?" "Yeah, is Josie Lo there?" "No... listen... no one is here. Please, please don't ring my bell at 5 in the morning." "Awright, sorry." and they went away, and i staggered back to bed.
This is the second time someone's rung my bell at a very odd hour of the night.
So I'm lying in bed, thinking, I gonna tell folks about this at my next CAPS meeting; I'm gonna tell my trainer, whose brother is a special ops cops, to watch the address; I'm gonna put up a fucking sign that says "This is not the fucking house you're looking for. Go the fuck way and don't ring my bell at 5 goddamn a.m. on a Saturday morning!" (I am nothing if not articulate at 5 in the morning.); I'm gonna put a huge-ass lock on my front gate, and possibly land mines; I'm gonna.... And then I thought, fuck it, I'm gonna call the police NOW.
And here's the thing about calling the police: Your standard drug lord/gangbanger has the 911 band monitored. I know that sounds paranoid as hell, but apparently its true -- so much so, that the city information number (311) expects anonymous 911 calls and transfers them over so your standard drug lord/gangbanger can't trace where it's coming from. So I did that, and they took the info, and they sent someone around to sweep the street. Which, I'm sure, did nothing. But I don't care. I called. I'm tired of taking the path of least resistance/look onthe sunny side of life/always expect the best in your fellow members of humanity tack at dealing with living here. No, I have no evidence they were lookng for drugs, just a suspiscion. No, I don't want to be the Ugly White YuppieScum who comes into an ethnic neighborhood and freaks out, calling the cops for any damn reason, trying to make this neighborhood another Lincoln Park. But hell, I'm not stupid. And if this pisses people off, so be it. I live here, dammit. I'm not going anywhere. Get the hell used to it. And if that disrupts your drug-dealing activities, well, too damn bad.
And I wish I could say that I was standing here proudly, consequences be damned, but I'm not. I'm a little freaked. How difficult is it to figure out that the cranky white chick you just woke up called the cops? (For that matter, do drug lords/gangbangers monitor blog traffic? Oh, the perils of living outloud...) Can I expect another dead pigeon on my doorstep? Is anything going to happen to the house? How's my insurance covereage for Rampaging DrugLord damage? I'm overreacting, I'm sure, but hell, it's scary (and 5 fucking a.m., so I'm not exactly in my right mind.)
Argh. Harumph. OK, I ventted my spleen, I'm going back to bed. Bastards.
Just for reference, this is the sort of stuff I haven't posted inteh past to avoid worrying people like my parents. Oh well. Hi, mom and dad! It's all great! Love you! No worries!
Are you happy now, Newton? I'm posting moe than postcards. Oh, and I hope you're looking forward to your visit!
posted by SAJ at
5:40 AM
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