I didn't get a chance to rush in here and post this...but in a span of 24 hours, the cops had to visit the street my dad lives on. Incident #1 goes like this...
#1: This past Monday, my Dad happened to get back to the house the same time Dave and I did. We're all taking our time actually getting out of the car, and as I'm stepping outside to go up to the porch, an eerily quiet caravan of emergency vehicles came down our street in a not-so-hurried sort of way, flashing lights turned off. Veering towards the sidewalk, the ungainly procession swerved away again and pulled up right across the street from my house, both police cars, the ambulance, and the big fire engine.
I felt my breaths shallow, and I feared they would jump out of the ambulance with a stretcher and carry out our neighbor John. John is an older man who lives with his 30-year-old son who has a mild mental handicap; but John has cancer, and is the type who says they've lived long enough and are not gonna put their body through hell just for another couple of years. He's our Trash Gnome, taking out our trash can on days we forget the trash truck is coming, raking our leaves in the autumn when it starts to pile up, visiting our good-tempered pooch while she's confined in the backyard on school days.
To all our surprise, the son, Tom, staggered out with the men, looking dazed. He climbed in the ambulance where I couldn't see anything besides a relaxed paramedic team inside and a clear blue oxygen mask on his face. His father ambled behind the vehicle moments behind him, his white beard accentuating his expression of long-suffering and exhaustion. He handed over a can of something I couldn't identify in the dark or at the distance. Dad came up and stood next to Dave and I. "WD-40. I'll bet you anything Tom was using it to get high or commi suicide or something." The day before, Tom had asked for some WD-40 for his bike chain. It was...sobering.
#2: On a lighter note, 2903 Norwood also received a visit, but for a very false alarm. Apparently, a Good Samaritan neighbor mistook 2903's daughter home for the day as a burglar and called 911 before going over to investigate. I guess she had the screen door propped open while moving out some Christmas stuff and propped the shed door open, too, in order to move stuff in and out most effectively. GS neighbor saw the propped screen door and footsteps a little after lunch time over at 2903's house; upon further investigation, he found the daughter, but the cops still came.
And, oh yeah, I forgot this one detail: that girl is me. Yeah.
The cops came by a few minutes later - sirens and lights off, only one police officer, he came through the wooden side gate. I established my credibility by being able to control my dog effectively (for once in your life, Honey, thank you for being so quick to obey!!) and he asked me a few questions. I felt one of those toys you wind-up with a key, and the tighter you turn, the faster they go. Well, someone attached something like that to my mouth as I gabbled almost-English words at him, describing the situation. He asked for ID, which I very promptly provided, then went on his way. A matter of seconds after he pulled away, my father called.
"Hey honey - how's your day going?" And I just laughed and laughed, unable to respond...
[sidenote: I GOT THE JOB AT GIANT EAGLE! HALF THE BATTLE IS OVER! NOW FOR THE EVEN HARDER HALF!!]
#1: This past Monday, my Dad happened to get back to the house the same time Dave and I did. We're all taking our time actually getting out of the car, and as I'm stepping outside to go up to the porch, an eerily quiet caravan of emergency vehicles came down our street in a not-so-hurried sort of way, flashing lights turned off. Veering towards the sidewalk, the ungainly procession swerved away again and pulled up right across the street from my house, both police cars, the ambulance, and the big fire engine.
I felt my breaths shallow, and I feared they would jump out of the ambulance with a stretcher and carry out our neighbor John. John is an older man who lives with his 30-year-old son who has a mild mental handicap; but John has cancer, and is the type who says they've lived long enough and are not gonna put their body through hell just for another couple of years. He's our Trash Gnome, taking out our trash can on days we forget the trash truck is coming, raking our leaves in the autumn when it starts to pile up, visiting our good-tempered pooch while she's confined in the backyard on school days.
To all our surprise, the son, Tom, staggered out with the men, looking dazed. He climbed in the ambulance where I couldn't see anything besides a relaxed paramedic team inside and a clear blue oxygen mask on his face. His father ambled behind the vehicle moments behind him, his white beard accentuating his expression of long-suffering and exhaustion. He handed over a can of something I couldn't identify in the dark or at the distance. Dad came up and stood next to Dave and I. "WD-40. I'll bet you anything Tom was using it to get high or commi suicide or something." The day before, Tom had asked for some WD-40 for his bike chain. It was...sobering.
#2: On a lighter note, 2903 Norwood also received a visit, but for a very false alarm. Apparently, a Good Samaritan neighbor mistook 2903's daughter home for the day as a burglar and called 911 before going over to investigate. I guess she had the screen door propped open while moving out some Christmas stuff and propped the shed door open, too, in order to move stuff in and out most effectively. GS neighbor saw the propped screen door and footsteps a little after lunch time over at 2903's house; upon further investigation, he found the daughter, but the cops still came.
And, oh yeah, I forgot this one detail: that girl is me. Yeah.
The cops came by a few minutes later - sirens and lights off, only one police officer, he came through the wooden side gate. I established my credibility by being able to control my dog effectively (for once in your life, Honey, thank you for being so quick to obey!!) and he asked me a few questions. I felt one of those toys you wind-up with a key, and the tighter you turn, the faster they go. Well, someone attached something like that to my mouth as I gabbled almost-English words at him, describing the situation. He asked for ID, which I very promptly provided, then went on his way. A matter of seconds after he pulled away, my father called.
"Hey honey - how's your day going?" And I just laughed and laughed, unable to respond...
[sidenote: I GOT THE JOB AT GIANT EAGLE! HALF THE BATTLE IS OVER! NOW FOR THE EVEN HARDER HALF!!]
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