U - Urban Legend - #AtoZChallenge

 About 25 years ago in the next town over, a woman was helping her husband home from the hospital. He had throat cancer surgery and was very weak, but was released to continue his rest in the comfort of his own home.

As they parked in their driveway, a man in filthy clothes approached their car to ask for money. She waved the beggar off as she went around to the passenger side to assist her husband.

The beggar, undeterred, continued to ask.

"Just a few dollars. I've almost got enough for a cheap room tonight."

She tried to maneuver around him, but he blocked their path.

"Come on. What's a few dollars to someone who lives in a nice house like this."

She could feel the heat rising in her face. "Can't you see I'm tied up with something right now. I said no. Go away."

The man stepped forward. "I can help you get him inside." He reached out to take her husband's arm. Her husband raised his cane and poked the beggar in the chest. Due to the surgery he couldn't talk, but he made an angry grunt as he pointed his cane to the street.

The beggar threw his hands up. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint. A few dollars from your wallet to help someone wouldn't even be noticed, but I see you're not that kind of people." He turned and continued down the street.

The woman got her husband comfortable in the house and made a call to the police to report the pushy beggar in her yard. They told her they already had someone in the area because they had received several calls about him.

She spent the afternoon preparing the living room for her husband's comfort and getting dinner ready. She had an easy microwave meal, but he could only drink a protein and vitamin mixture since his throat could not handle solid foods yet.

After dinner, she helped him up the stairs to bed. She got him settled in and went back down stairs to relax a little and get some alone time. It had been a stressful week. She poured herself a glass of wine and turned on a reality show.

After a few minutes, she heard a knock at the door. However, there was no one there. She was sure she had heard it, but dismissed it as imagination since she was so tired. Soon, she heard it again. As before, no one was there. She yelled into the darkness, "I'm not in the mood for this tonight."

She downed the rest of her glass and went to bed.

She crept quietly into the dark room and felt her way to the bed. She did not want to wake her husband. She got comfortable and then noticed the window was wide open. She knew her husband had a tendency to get hot, but he usually turned on the fan. She got up to close the window and switch the fan on, but it wouldn't work. She discovered that the plug had come loose and it was behind the dresser. In his tired state, he probably didn't want to mess with it. She reached behind the dresser and plugged it back in.

She crawled back into bed and gave her husband a gentle kiss on the back of his head. He gave a quiet grunt of approval. She was soon asleep.

A few hours later, she awoke to the sound of someone pounding on her front door. In her exhausted state, she shook her husband in fright and he made a few questioning grunts. She suddenly remembered his condition and said, "Never mind. Sorry. I got this." She grabbed her bathrobe and ran downstairs. She could see her neighbor Carol peeking in through the door as she frantically knocked.

She opened the door and Carol grabbed her arms. "Are you okay? What happened?"

She looked at Carol in confusion. "What…Yeah, we're fine. What are you talking about?"

Carol started to answer when two police cars and an ambulance pulled up. Carol ran out to meet them yelling "He's lying over here" and pointed around to the side of the house. The officers went around as the paramedics grabbed their gear.

She started to step outside to find out what was happening, but decided to explain the excitement to her husband first. She ran up the stairs and turned on the bedroom light. She screamed when she saw all the blood on the floor next to her husband's side of the bed. And her husband was gone.

She ran to the bathroom, but it was empty. She ran back to the bed and noticed a note on her pillow.

She picked it up as two policemen came bursting into the room. It read, "Thank you for the good night kiss, but a couple of dollars would have been better for everyone."

---

 

All this month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. A new post will go up every day (except Sundays) using a letter of the alphabet as the starting off point. My theme for the month is literary genres. I am writing in a different genre of flash fiction each day. Today's letter is U for Urban Legend.

N - Noir - #AtoZChallenge

Drake Stone fumbled around in his desk looking for another pack of cigarettes. Smoke still hung in the air of his cramped office from his last one. Had he known he was out he would have slowed to enjoy it more.

He stepped to his office door and bellowed, "Sheila, run out and get a carton of Pall Mall, would'ja?

His secretary yelled back, "I'm gonna need money this time. Mr. Stone. Petty cash is getting pretty low."

"Just get a couple of packs then."

Sheila answered, "It's really low."

"One pack?"

Sheila kept typing, "Nope."

"Damn it." Drake plopped back into his chair. Business had dried up like a drunk at an AA meeting. No business meant no money. No money meant he had to dry up too. He still had half a bottle of scotch in the bottom drawer of his desk, but no ice. The mini-fridge had to be unplugged to save power until the money started flowing again. He needed a client quick. No smokes was bad enough. Warm scotch would be even worse.

The phone on his desk split the silence like a scalpel starting a vasectomy. Drake lunged for the phone not waiting for Sheila to get it first. A case. 

"Stone Sleuthing. I can crack it. What can I do for you?"

Another bill collector. Drake slammed the phone down and spun around to cut the A/C. "Gotta start cutting back or we're sunk," he admitted. He reached into the lower drawer on his desk to retrieve the scotch. Ice or no ice, it was time for drink.

He slugged back the first glass and poured another two fingers when Sheila called out, "Someone here to see you, Stone."

Before he could answer, a tall blond with killer legs and "kiss me" lips charged into his office. She walked like she owned the place and Drake figured she was used to getting her way. He noticed the red, puffy eyes immediately and started to greet her when she reached out and took the scotch glass from his hand and downed it in one shot.

She gasped, "Excuse me, Mr. Stone, but if you have more pour me another."

Drake Stone fished out a second glass as he looked her in the eye. She never broke eye contact. Not common for a woman, but he liked it. He started to pour, but paused. "Before I do that, I need to know something, Miss…?"

She tensed, "DuRane…Bobbi DuRane."

Stone smirked, "DuRane, huh? Well, Miss DuRane, you have any smokes on you?"

Bobbi DuRane fished half a pack out of her purse and tossed them on the desk.

Stone picked up the pack and winked, "Virginia Slims? These are girly cigarettes."

Bobbi collapsed into the chair in front of the desk and pouted. "Well, I am a woman. Or didn't you notice?"

Stone lit up one of the tiny cigarettes and leaned back in his chair, "I don't think anyone has ever mistaken you for anything else. So, what can I do to please you, Miss DuRane? Or is it Mrs?"

She leaned in close over the desk reaching for the cigarettes and whispered, "I need your help."

Stone leaned in to match her intensity, "I may not be Sherlock Holmes, but I figured as much. How 'bout a little more detail, darling?"

She leaned in closer, "I think a crime has been committed."

Stone couldn't help but smile. She was going to be fun. "Well, I'm not here to hand out baking recipes. You're at the right place. Why don't you tell me what's troubling you?"

---

 

All this month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. A new post will go up every day (except Sundays) using a letter of the alphabet as the starting off point. My theme for the month is literary genres. I am writing in a different genre of flash fiction each day. Today's letter is N for Noir.

D - Dystopian - #AtoZChallenge

Allen and Michael had finally finished securing the glass entryway on the front of the store when Lora showed up with lunch. 

"Baked beans or ravioli?" she held up a can of each.

Michael unsheathed the knife on his belt and worked to open the beans. "These are going to get old pretty fast. We've got to get more food." 

Allen shook his head at his son. "I know these won't last forever, but we have enough for a few weeks. Things need to settle down a little out there before we go out again."

With cold ravioli sauce still on her lips, Lora spoke up, "Dad, I agree with Mikey. There's a grocery store less than a block from here. Let's go stock up."

Allen knew the store was a magnet for everyone in town in the same situation. There were just too many desperate people willing to do whatever they had to do to feed themselves and their families. "No. It's too dangerous. People are still panicking and being irrational. It's safe in here."

Lora retreated back to the comfort of her can of cold pasta, but Michael had always been willing to stand up to his father. "Dad, every minute that goes by, the less food and things will be there. It may be empty already. We have to move now."

Allen was unwilling to risk the safety of his children. When they had to flee their home due to the unruly mobs that had grown more and more unpredictable in the last few days, Allen intentionally chose this hardware store as their target. It didn't have much food, but there were lots of supplies that may come in handy later and it was a very secure building. The small gun counter in the back meant they had the means to protect themselves. Food was definitely going to be important, but that seemed to be the whole town's focus at the moment. The nearer anyone got to potential food sources, the more dangerous it was as people fought to be the person to take their discoveries for themselves.

Allen was actually surprised at how well his children were handling things. They were scared and had their panicked moments, but the atrocities they saw on their grisly adventure to get to this store still bounced around in Allen's head. No one had mentioned anything they witnessed out there in the chaos.

Allen scooped out the last of his beans and declared that he was going to take a nap. He hadn't really slept since he saw the mushroom cloud in the distance and could not go on like this forever. No power, no radio or TV, and no phone service meant no news of what was going on. He knew he had to be alert, but it was time to try to sleep so they could come up with a plan for tomorrow.

As soon as he stepped to the back of the store, Michael whispered to Lora, "Let's give him 30 minutes and we'll sneak out the service entrance. We'll be loaded up and back before he knows we're gone."

---

 

All this month, I am participating in the A to Z Challenge. A new post will go up every day (except Sundays) using a letter of the alphabet as the starting off point. My theme for the month is literary genres. I am writing in a different genre of flash fiction each day. Today's letter is D for Dystopian.

On the Road Again

There is a very common stereotype that Asian people cannot drive. And like many stereotypes, it did come from somewhere. Now that I have lived in a couple of Asian countries for the last few years, I am beginning to understand where it comes from.

It is not true at all that Asian people cannot drive. In fact, they are excellent drivers. However, if you get even a glimpse into the world in which they have to drive in their home countries, you can quickly understand why they drive radically different than the people in the Western world.

The attitude on the roads here in Vietnam can only be described as “different than America” or possibly “predictable chaos”. I have found the Vietnamese people to be friendly, selfless and humble, but as soon as they get onto the roads that all seems to go out of the window. It’s every man for himself here. If you leave a gap at a traffic light of a couple of feet or so, you can expect somebody to pull in diagonally in front of you. If you aren't already moving two seconds before the lights go green, people will get angry. If you are crossing the road at a crosswalk, people will not stop. You will be beeped at, swerved around, wheel clipped, shunted and stressed out at every given opportunity. But you have to get out there if you expect to cross.

This is not a joke.

This really is how it works

Move forward at a steady predictable pace.
And NEVER stop or step backward.

Traffic lights are a guideline. I am told that they are new here although I cannot find the facts as to when they were first introduced to back this up. What I can say is that they are few and far between for a city the size of Da Nang (1.1 million) or Hội An (150,000 and less than a dozen traffic lights or stop signs). It’s a normal thing for people to run red lights. Quite often people will start aggressively beeping horns at you if you have the audacity to stop at a red and block their way. At many junctions, it is a free-for-all, with the Vietnamese drivers having perfected the art of not slowing down. You would be amazed at just how last second people can leave the intersection to avoid an obstacle. Razor-thin margins of close calls are expected every time we venture out of our house.

Hesitation will get you killed

Define for me who has the right-of-way here

Lanes? What lanes?

So, if you grew up in this chaos and were then dropped on the streets of America, your driving may seem quite erratic to the people around you.

Despite this rectum-clenching scenario I just described, I am very excited about the events of this week.

I got my driver's license.
Sort of.

This is a license to drive a car. I have no use for this. I drive a motorbike (illegally for the last year--SHHHHH!). But it was the first step in the long process of getting a motorbike license. Similar to how you have to buy the farmer a couple of beers before he'll let you kiss his cows.

First, I had to get my American driver's license converted to a Vietnamese license. This involved a trip to a government office in Tam Ky. Then a couple of weeks later, I had to travel to Da Nang to get a medical check-up. I talked to over a dozen different doctors about my medical history, my family, my purpose in Vietnam, my job, my intentions on staying and my ranking of bún chả, mì quảng, and phở noodles. I was weighed, poked, monitored, blood pressured, blood was drawn and I was drug tested, urine tested, and questioned endlessly.

Tiniest urine sample vial I've ever used.
LESSON LEARNED: My penile aim is impeccable.
I got a tight stream, yo.

After three hours of grunting at Vietnamese doctors, I got my paperwork proving I was healthy enough to drive a motorbike in Vietnam. Or even on one of the moons of Jupiter.

It says it on there somewhere.
Just trust me. Shut up.

After all that, it was just a matter of passing the driving test. And this is where it got difficult.

Now, I know how to ride a bike. I've been doing it for over a year in all this chaos. Illegally, but still. In the States, I rode a Harley.

Much more machine than the toys they have here.

I am not in the least concerned about my ability to handle the motorbikes of Vietnam. However, I was quite concerned about the test. For several reasons:

• They provide the bike which is made for tiny Asian people (not 6'3" Americans)
• Every bike has little idiosyncracies (tricky clutch, varying brake strength, touchy accelerator, etc), but you are not allowed to practice with the bike they give you. Get on and go.
• You must wear their helmet. It did not fit on my head.
• Most people (73%) fail.
• My knees hit the handlebars.
• My big feet kept triggering the foot brake.

These are just some of the problems I encountered when I went to the practice lot. There is a place in Da Nang that has all the markings on the ground for people to go practice. You go to a bike rental shop and rent a bike like the ones used for testing and go practice. This was how I learned that I hated the bikes we would have to use. But I practiced for hours anyway. I felt ridiculous and told my wife there was no way I would pass this test.

Two days ago, we went to the testing facility. This place is only open once a month. If someone fails, they have to wait a month before coming back again. They test for everything in that one day.

Behind the facility for big trucks, buses and cars.

We were taken in the back to tackle some treacherous stairs to the bike testing place.

If you are handicapped, you must be confused
about needing a license.

The testing site was rigged with ground sensors. If you touched the line, the system knew it.

An instructor (with a translator) walked us through the course. First was the figure 8, then a straight section followed by a zig-zag and ending with a heavily speed-bumped area. Just stay within the lines. We start with 100 points. Every violation deducts 5 points and we needed 80 to pass. This means we were allowed only 4 or less. Side note: If you put your foot down once, you fail.

One of the other Americans testing with me asked, "If we go outside the barrier, the tire hits that cord twice. Once going out and once coming back. Does that count as one or two violations?"

The instructor looked sternly at him, "Why do you ask this?

"I just want to know how many marks that will be against me."

The instructor turned away shaking his head and yelled, "Stupid question. Does not matter. Do your best. You either pass or you do not. Let's start."

We all looked at each other. No more questions I guess.

The first of my friends to try was a South African man and he was pulled off the track before he did one circuit on the figure 8. Done. Failed before he even hardly got started.

The next was a 60 y/o man from Idaho. He pulled a perfect score. So, it could be done. I was assigned my bike and did a quick circle in the parking lot while being yelled at by the instructors. I just wanted to get a quick feel for the bike. My legs were splayed straight out to prevent hitting the handlebars. I pointed my feet out to keep them away from the brakes and I noticed the gas caused the bike to jump when the transmission finally caught.

I started into the 8 knowing that I better keep a steady speed because moving the accelerator would have unpredicable results. I hit two violations within seconds of entering, but managed the rest of the course with only one more. I finished with an 85. I passed!

I still am not a legal driver until the license is in my hand. I am supposed to receive it on October 31.

No more running from the cops. I've had to do that a couple of times in the last year. YAY me!

I'm ready to be legal. I'm looking forward to not having to hide in the small town we live in. We will actually be able to get out and drive without having to worry. It's time to see the rest of Vietnam.

Chinese Kidnapping

Red and I have stated many times that we are much happier in Vietnam than we ever were in China. But we have been gone long enough that we often forget how awful some of it was.

This morning, I stumbled upon on old Twitter thread where I live-tweeted the time I thought I was being kidnapped. It all came back to me. One of the most confusing moments I had while living in Beijing.

I'm in a school van in Beijing going to a federal office to finalize my work visa and the van just stopped in the middle of a 3-lane road

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

The school where I worked had put me in a van to be taken to the Entry-Exit Bureau to get my papers completed. Halfway there, I found myself in the middle of a road rage situation. Remember, I did not speak Chinese and couldn't even communicate with my driver.

A car behind us understandably started blowing his horn for us to move off of this very busy road.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

As has been my experience in most of this part of the world, there is not much accommodation made for other drivers. People stop and sometimes even park right in the middle of busy roads. I didn't know why we had stopped but was very concerned that he had not pulled to the shoulder. We were fully blocking a lane of traffic.

The driver of my van jumped out and started screaming at the driver of the car behind us.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

Why? My driver was clearly in the wrong.

They are standing in the middle of the road (basically an interstate highway) screaming at each other as cars whip by at 80 MPH.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

I was debating whether I would be safer staying in the vehicle or getting out and standing on the shoulder. However, the lack of ability to communicate often made me give people the benefit of the doubt and just go along with whatever was happening.

I don't speak Chinese, so I have no idea what is going on, but now the driver is trying to get me out of the van to join them on the road.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

OK. I guess I am getting out.

Now the driver of the honking car is screaming at me to get into his vehicle and the van driver is encouraging this. Am I being kidnapped?

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

They were both ushering me to the second car. "What is happening? Oh, how I wish I could ask some questions!"

OK. So now I'm in a stranger's car going...somewhere? I don't know what's going on. I really need to learn Chinese.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

I probably should have been texting my wife in case she never saw me again or texting my school to ask questions, but all I could think about was "This has the potential to become disastrous. I better keep tweeting so there is a record of the events."

Alright. We're getting off the main road. The rest of today ought to be interesting

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

 I just resigned myself to the fact that I was along for the ride now. Come what may.

The shouty driver just dropped me off at the Entry-Exit Bureau. The place I was headed anyway. Angry Chinese drivers are very accommodating.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

Um…thank you. I guess.

So, this case of road rage escalated into him giving me a lift to my destination. Even though I still don't know why.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

I never did learn what that was all about.

At the very least, I have learned that I would be very easy to kidnap.

KIDNAPPER: Get in the car!
ME: Okay.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

Probably something could be learned here. But it's been over two years since this event and I haven't been kidnapped a second time. So, I think I'm good.

Evil Urban Empire

This is NOT the view from my house.

For a little over a month now, I've been living in the big city of Indianapolis. This is the biggest city (844,000) I have ever lived in. I was in San Juan, Puerto Rico for a year, but it only had 400,000.

There are some major differences between living in the country and living in a big city, but I'm proud to say I have always made the transition fairly well. It's true that I can't pee in my front yard anymore. In fact, I don't even have a front yard. Or a back yard for that matter. Also, as much as I don't like people, I have found it very easy to ignore the multitude of them I am surrounded by. Actually, this is easier to in the city than it was in the country.

Growing up, I really didn't give big city life much thought, but there was one thing I knew. All country people and small town folk know.

You just aren't as safe in the city.

Before leaving my hometown (pop. 400), the worst actual crime committed against me involved someone stealing my garbage and dumping it on the side of the road a mile away. I still don't know what that was about, but I cleaned it up while the police watched. I never found out who did it and the police didn't believe it wasn't me.

Years later, on my first trip to San Juan, I got mugged.

Now, I was in a bad neighborhood and we had been warned to stay indoors after dark, but Dave and I couldn't bear our first night in the Caribbean locked inside someone's house. We just wanted to take a walk. It didn't end well.

Years later, when I actually moved there, someone broke the window on my SUV and stole my wife's purse, which happened to have her wedding ring in it as well as all her identification. These things didn't happen back home in small-town Southern Illinois.

When I moved to Indianapolis, (less than 5 weeks ago) it took all of eight days for my apartment to be robbed. They didn't just rob me, they took something very personal. My pet.

That is a python named Dr. Finklerstein that

we have had for over three years.

When I first moved in, I was told the entire complex was getting new windows. Management would send me a note the day before so I could prep my apartment by moving everything away from the windows.  They didn't send me that note. I left my apartment one day to discover they were putting in windows downstairs. I asked if they were doing the upstairs as well and discovered that I needed to go move some of my things. I then left for the day.

Get in the POT!!!

When I came home, I had beautiful new windows, but later discovered that Dr. Finklerstein was not in his terrarium. I searched all through the house as Kirsten cried on the couch, "That dirty Mexican took him." 

I don't know how she became so racist.

"He took him home to eat him! Snake is a delicacy in Mexico, you know?"

Um...actually, I don't know if that's true.

I searched through all the dresser drawers, behind the shelves, in the boxes that were only half unpacked and as much behind the water heater as I could see. He was nowhere to be found. And my apartment isn't very big.

I finally relented and did what Kirsten was begging me to do. I called apartment management.

The immediate reaction of the woman on phone was of concern for a loose python in the building. I gently tried to reassure her that this was not the case. I've had this snake for three years and he has never gotten out of his enclosure. I told her that I didn't want to accuse anyone, but it seemed odd that he just happened to disappear on the day someone was in my apartment. I understood they couldn't really do anything about this, but I wanted to make a report in case others reported things missing. I also told her I would not be letting people in my apartment unsupervised anymore. Apartment employees included.

The snake has never escaped from his cage EVER. It's weird that the one time people are in our house the snake disappears...
— Kirstey Minor (@KirsteyKitten) December 27, 2013

While Kirsten was tweeting her rage, I continued looking. Every day for the next week, I expected to see him stick his head out from behind the water heater. I think I got obsessed with the water heater because it was a heat source. I just expected him to gravitate toward it. I finally gave up. Kirsten must be right. Someone fried him up into python nuggets. Or took him home to give to their kids like I did. We're a strange house.

Almost three weeks later, I discover him sleeping on a pile of clothes in a box I had yet to unpack.

I immediately call management to let them know the snake has been found. She responded, "Great. I'll let your neighbors know."

Wonderful. They notified all my neighbors.

At least we'll have something to talk about in the spring when I actually venture outside.

911 - Horror or Humor

I was a 9-1-1 Dispatcher for about 2 years. It was one of the most interesting jobs I have ever had. It was also an incredibly frustrating, yet fulfilling job. I got to assist in helping a lot of people, but also had to put up with mountains of idiocy. I received many ridiculous calls which I will get to in a moment, but first let me remind you what 9-1-1 is for.

9-1-1 was established to give people quick access to emergency personnel. This would make it possible to get in touch with the proper authorities quickly. The number is to be used for emergencies that require immediate assistance.

For example:

• Car crash with injuries
• Currently happening home invasion
• Domestic violence
• Person spotted with weapon
• Fight or riot
• Fire
• Medical emergencies

Inappropriate uses of 9-1-1

• Barking dogs
• Burglarized property
• Power outages
• Drug sales
• Loud parties
• Weather or road conditions
• Legal advice
• Keys locked in vehicle
• Car trouble

Despite the knowledge people have that 9-1-1 is an emergency number, most of the calls received are not emergencies. When people call in for trivial things, it ties up the lines and prevents real emergency calls from getting through.

I am not suggesting that people should not call the police, but 9-1-1 is for immediate emergencies. Even coming home and finding your home burglarized is not an emergency. The thieves have already left. No one is in danger. Call the police and they will respond, but save 9-1-1 for if you catch them still in your home.

The worst time to work was during major storms. Everyone would start calling in to get weather reports, ask when their power would come back on and inquire about what roads were passable. While trying to get these idiots off the phone, there is a surge of real emergencies happening. Cars are sliding off the road. Fires are breaking out. Power lines are going down. However, the lines are tied up with non-emergency questions often causing us to be unaware of actual situations that require our attention.

Despite how frustrating the non-emergency calls could be, sometimes they were quite entertaining. I never ceased to be amazed at the reasons people would call in. Here is a sampling of some of them I can remember. Some were actual emergencies, but most were not.

---

"You might want to get out here. There are two dogs in the street having a 'verbal argument.'"
"Do you mean they're barking?"
"No, it hasn't gotten that far yet."

---

"Is it illegal for my neighbor to install a security camera and point it at my house?"

---

"I have told my son to go to bed  three times and he won't do it. Please send an officer out to talk to him."

---

"Without asking me, my doctor implanted a device in my arm so I can be tracked by the CIA. That's illegal, right? Can I press charges?"

---

"My son is 14 and had a headache. I gave him some aspirin, but..."
"But what, sir. Is your son alright?"
"I swear I thought it was aspirin."
"What did you give him, sir?"
"It was my Viagra. His erection just hit the four hour mark where the commercials say you should seek help. He's crying that it hurts. What do I do?"

---

"The 12 year old kid up the street rides by my house every morning on his way to school. I have told him to go another way, but he keeps doing it. I don't want him on my street."

After several calls we went out to investigate. The kid's crime? He was black.

---

"The sun reflected off the metal trailer of the semi that just passed and blinded me. Get someone out here to stop him before he kills someone!"

---

"If a dog craps in my yard without my permission, am I allowed to shoot it?"

---

"I have a restraining order against my husband and every time I call him, he answers. He has caller ID and knows it's me. He's not supposed to be talking to me. Arrest him."

---

The guy across the street says the cops are on their way to arrest me for having sex in my front yard. I pay property taxes and can do what I want in my yard. It's my yard and my wife.

---

"I came home from work and found half a car in the ditch in front of my house. Can I keep it?

---

"I came home from work and caught my daughter having a naked video chat with someone on my XBOX. Can you tell me how to find out who it was?"

---

"Every week on trash day, my neighbor puts her trash can right next to mine. I don't want her garbage associated with my house."

---

"My girlfriend told me I couldn't do cocaine in the bedroom anymore. Can she say that since it is my house?"

---

My neighbor's dog attacked my cat again. I killed it and threw it through his bedroom window. Who do I report this to?

---

"Send the cops here now! Seven lesbians just jumped out of my daughter's window."

---

"My daughter just called me and said her boyfriend is beating her up!"
"What is the address?"
"Aberdeen. Please hurry!"
"Sorry, but we don't have an Aberdeen Street."
"No. Aberdeen, Texas!" 

---

"Some Indian guy just called here and asked for my social security number. I gave it to him and now my husband says I should call you to find out who it was."

---

"Please send an ambulance. My husband has a deep cut on his stomach."
"I'll send one right away. How did he get cut, ma'am?"
"Well...I stabbed him."

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I loved that job, but it really knocked down my already low opinion of humanity.

I Can't Get that TALKING HEADS Song Out of my Head

Saturday morning, I woke up excited to start the day since I knew I was going to be seeing Red again. I know we just saw each other on Wednesday, but we can't help it.

I take my shower and log on to Facebook as I do every morning and start scrolling down the Wall to see what has happened since the last time I was online. Being a Saturday morning, there were several people praising the fact that the weekend was here, a few people announcing their Saturday plans, the usual gripers and the obligatory pictures of someone's kid that no one cares about as much as the parents' think they do. However, the post from my next door neighbor did catch my eye.

Luckily, she stated "(not bretts)" so I knew it wasn't my house. I had heard the horrible storm the night before, but wasn't aware of this. I threw on some clothes and stepped outside.

I soon learned that there had been some excitement on my street throughout the night and I had slept through the entire thing. My neighbors had awoken to someone pounding on their door in the middle of the night. The heat from the fire caused their house to be in danger as well. They got out of the house alright, but their home sustained some damage.

Siding melted and cracked one of the windows

Despite the damage they received, they fared much better than the house on the other side.

The house on the left was significantly closer
and had a family of six inside.

The family got out alright and is now staying in a local hotel courtesy of the Red Cross. They lost all their clothing, most of their appliances and several other things.

The present story is that this fire was the result of a domestic dispute which ended with the boyfriend setting fire to her house to "show her."  I don't really know what happened, so I will not go into further details, but this is the general consensus in the neighborhood.

Well, he showed her. And the two families next door.

There was NO peace in this house that night.

Despite the fact that everyone seems to know that this was arson, there does not appear to be sufficient proof, so it looks like he will get away with it. I still do not know the entire story, but the whole thing disgusts me.

---

Beyond the damage done on my street, people keep asking me how I didn't hear all the commotion going on outside my house. There were fire trucks, police cars and sirens going off. There was an ambulance parked in my driveway. Windows were exploding and the whole street was outside watching.

I keep a fan near where I sleep to drown out noises. I don't want to be woken up by neighborhood kids playing outside my window. It's helpful when my daughter has a sleepover, so I am not kept awake by giggling girls. I've learned that it works a lot better than I ever expected.