Another side effect of summer in the ghetto is a visibly increased police presence, although this fails to prevent anyone from setting off fireworks in the middle of the road at 1 a.m. or getting in to drunken domestic disputes outside our bedroom window. In fact, I struggle to find anything that it has actually been successful in preventing, except of course for people parking on the street during street sweeping. Yesterday, though, was a different story. Finally, after a year of living at this apartment, we actually got to see some real, ghetto police activity.
It all started around 1:30-2 in the afternoon. Av and I were out on the deck drawing with sidewalk chalk (actually, I was drawing, she was just putting it in her mouth) when she started frantically yelling "DOGGY! DOGGY!)" I kind of blew it off and said "yeah, doggy" assuming that someone was just walking their dog down the street, probably letting it crap in front of our house without cleaning it like they always do. As the yelling continued, though, I looked up to notice that it was actually a police dog being led by two officers up to a house across the street. Accompanying them were at least seven plain clothed officers and one man dressed in a suit, with a gun and cuffs, who was apparently some sort of detective in charge of the entire operation. Intrigued, I ran inside and looked out the front windows to find three police cruisers parked in front of the house and about four uniformed officers minding each end of the side street.
As I watched the situation unfold back on the deck, I was not at all surprised, as the person living in the upstairs of this apartment is very obviously a drug dealer- and I'm not talking about your friendly neighborhood weed dealer, either. This guy is hard core. Spotting a drug house in the ghetto is pretty easy, it is the one with the most visitors, especially at night. The customers park down the street, away from the house, go in the back door and are never there for more than 10-15 minutes. Like I said, seeing a dozen cops surround the place was no surprise.
After about 5 minutes or so the situation officially turned in to an episode of COPS. The officers split up, manning each entrance while a few more meandered about the driveway and back yard. A few minutes later one cop noticed the curtains move in the window and gave his secret signal to the detective, letting him know that someone was inside. A few cop-knocks on the door later, the detective lost patience and began to yell.
"It's over, Patrick. We know your in there. I've got guys at every door. Just come out. Come out, Patrick or we're coming in. PATRICK! GET THE F OUT HERE OR YOUR F-ING DOOR COMES DOWN! Ahhh F-it, go in boys."
It was at this point that I decided to bring Av in to the kitchen and watch through the window (she was oblivious to everything that was happening, but I wanted to avoid stray bullets, just in case) as the cops broke down the door and stormed in to the house. There were a few crashes and some yelling, but it appears that the assailant didn't put up much of a fight because he was led out in cuffs a short time later.
There was police presence at the house for the rest of the day and around 6 p.m. a few detectives came outside with about eight bags of evidence, including a large blue duffel bag. Interestingly enough, it turns out the charges were not drug-related. According the the paper, the guy was responsible for a rash of break ins and robberies in the city over the past few months. Somehow I felt a lot better about the guy across the street having a house full of guns and cocaine than I did when I found out he was an armed robber. Although, I would imagine that the number one rule of burglary is to avoid robbing your neighbor's houses. That seems like a set up for failure.
So, now that I am over the excitement, my question now becomes how did they not find any drugs in there? There is absolutely no way, no way that this guy is not a drug dealer. No way. Unless he sells stolen TV's out of his house like a pawn shop, but I find that hard to believe.
The few people that I have told this story to have all reacted similarly, suggesting that I now live in a dangerous neighborhood that may be unfit for children. For some reason, this event yesterday does not bother me at all. I have lived next to that guy for a year and never had a problem. He may be a burglar and a drug dealer, but at the same time, he kept to himself. No one ever had any reason to call the police on that house. If anything, the little bastard garbage pail kids cause a lot more problems running around the neighborhood.
Things I Saw at the Park
I am quickly finding out that the summer is going to be a problem for us if we want to continue our park trips. Today was about 75 degrees and that place was crawling, I mean crawling with little bastard kids. There was even a field trip from a local elementary school at the playground. Yeah, nightmare.
Despite the stress and aggravation of having to share the park with a bunch of disease-carrying little twerps, it did provide an opportunity to showcase just how diverse the neighborhood, and the city as a whole, actually is. We headed over to the playground equipment once the field trip bus left and there were only a few straggler families left, but these families were about as different as could be. On one end of the playground with a portable grill was a group of about 15 immigrants who appeared to be Indian, or perhaps of Middle Eastern decent. I base this on the fact that they were dressed head to toe in robes and turbans, showing no skin despite the fact that the sun was pounding heat. On the other side was a pair of aristocratic women who made their wealth and lifestyle known by sporting polo shirts with popped collars, designer out door shoes and Cadillac- like strollers. They were so aristocratic, in fact, that their children were still carrying the family names. The three little girls, probably no older than 3 or 4, were named Elanor, Mable and Gretta. The boys, one about Av's age and the other around 5, were named Harold and Charles. Not Hank and Charlie, Harold and Charles. Congratulations, you have named your children after old people. Good luck in school, kids, maybe that will be an easy way for them to learn the first ladies of history, or perhaps famous puritan seamstresses. Oh yeah, and the kids had popped collars, too.
The third family was an absolute model in awful, unqualified parenting- and this is coming from me, at one time perhaps the world's most unqualified parent. Yes, joining the quiet, sweltering Middle Eastern family and the poorly named aristocrats were a couple who were clearly former teenage parents now in to their early 20's spending a day with their probably 3-year-old son, Johnny. The mother, sporting a Playboy Bunny tattoo on her ankle, was dressed in a pair of Daisy Dukes and a tight, tight tank top that exposed both her belly button ring and a sweeping butterfly tattoo on her back. Since her shorts were so tight, the only place she could find to keep her cell phone was in her cleavage. The dad was very over weight and dressed like most over weight 20-year-old men do in the summer: wife beater and basketball shorts. Aside from swearing like sailors and telling inappropriate stories about who they 'chilled' with last night and how so and so are 'trippin'' if they think this or that was going to happen, the couple was actually fairly attentive toward their child. Unfortunately, they were merely being attentive to all of the ways he was misbehaving and didn't seem to care. For example, he hit one of the aristocratic kids in the face with a handful of rocks (which made me laugh, of course) and later went down the slide immediately after one of the Indian boys, effectively punting him across the playground when they got to the bottom. His parents didn't seem to care much, although the rock throw did get him a weak 'Don't do that, Johnny." After a few minutes it became apparent why the kid was acting up so much when his mom brought him over his large iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts and told him to take a sip. Who in their right mind gives a kid coffee- a LARGE coffee? That is just asking for it.
Later, dad left to go smoke a cigarette. When he came back, he decided that he had the energy he needed to tackle the playground. As mom and kid watched, he ran around to all of the equipment, sliding down slides and swinging on monkey bars like an 11-year-old. I was nervous for the structural integrity of the playground, as I am pretty sure he exceeded the weight capacity on his own.
I would like to make it clear that none of these people ever bother Av, and most times they are pretty nice to us. She even played with Mable for a minute today before losing interest and wandering off to go have a conversation with a pile of rocks (she is a weirdo). I merely wanted to paint a picture of exactly how diverse this place is. This, I think, will be a good thing as Av gets older, although, I would like to think that we can move off of this shitty street before she gets too old.
Despite the stress and aggravation of having to share the park with a bunch of disease-carrying little twerps, it did provide an opportunity to showcase just how diverse the neighborhood, and the city as a whole, actually is. We headed over to the playground equipment once the field trip bus left and there were only a few straggler families left, but these families were about as different as could be. On one end of the playground with a portable grill was a group of about 15 immigrants who appeared to be Indian, or perhaps of Middle Eastern decent. I base this on the fact that they were dressed head to toe in robes and turbans, showing no skin despite the fact that the sun was pounding heat. On the other side was a pair of aristocratic women who made their wealth and lifestyle known by sporting polo shirts with popped collars, designer out door shoes and Cadillac- like strollers. They were so aristocratic, in fact, that their children were still carrying the family names. The three little girls, probably no older than 3 or 4, were named Elanor, Mable and Gretta. The boys, one about Av's age and the other around 5, were named Harold and Charles. Not Hank and Charlie, Harold and Charles. Congratulations, you have named your children after old people. Good luck in school, kids, maybe that will be an easy way for them to learn the first ladies of history, or perhaps famous puritan seamstresses. Oh yeah, and the kids had popped collars, too.
The third family was an absolute model in awful, unqualified parenting- and this is coming from me, at one time perhaps the world's most unqualified parent. Yes, joining the quiet, sweltering Middle Eastern family and the poorly named aristocrats were a couple who were clearly former teenage parents now in to their early 20's spending a day with their probably 3-year-old son, Johnny. The mother, sporting a Playboy Bunny tattoo on her ankle, was dressed in a pair of Daisy Dukes and a tight, tight tank top that exposed both her belly button ring and a sweeping butterfly tattoo on her back. Since her shorts were so tight, the only place she could find to keep her cell phone was in her cleavage. The dad was very over weight and dressed like most over weight 20-year-old men do in the summer: wife beater and basketball shorts. Aside from swearing like sailors and telling inappropriate stories about who they 'chilled' with last night and how so and so are 'trippin'' if they think this or that was going to happen, the couple was actually fairly attentive toward their child. Unfortunately, they were merely being attentive to all of the ways he was misbehaving and didn't seem to care. For example, he hit one of the aristocratic kids in the face with a handful of rocks (which made me laugh, of course) and later went down the slide immediately after one of the Indian boys, effectively punting him across the playground when they got to the bottom. His parents didn't seem to care much, although the rock throw did get him a weak 'Don't do that, Johnny." After a few minutes it became apparent why the kid was acting up so much when his mom brought him over his large iced coffee from Dunkin Donuts and told him to take a sip. Who in their right mind gives a kid coffee- a LARGE coffee? That is just asking for it.
Later, dad left to go smoke a cigarette. When he came back, he decided that he had the energy he needed to tackle the playground. As mom and kid watched, he ran around to all of the equipment, sliding down slides and swinging on monkey bars like an 11-year-old. I was nervous for the structural integrity of the playground, as I am pretty sure he exceeded the weight capacity on his own.
I would like to make it clear that none of these people ever bother Av, and most times they are pretty nice to us. She even played with Mable for a minute today before losing interest and wandering off to go have a conversation with a pile of rocks (she is a weirdo). I merely wanted to paint a picture of exactly how diverse this place is. This, I think, will be a good thing as Av gets older, although, I would like to think that we can move off of this shitty street before she gets too old.
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