Yeah, so, it’s pretty quiet in our hood, Glen Park.
The closest thing we’ve had some excitement on this block is one of our neighbors told me that I need to bring in our trash cans sooner after trash pickup day. If the cans are still sitting out the following day, “someone” might call “the city” and complain.
That neighbor is named an older gentleman named Bob. I remember his name because he lives with his husband who is also named Bob. I know, right? It something right out of a sitcom: The Bobs.
So anyway, our house is on a dead-end street, and the neighbors are relatively quiet, for the most part. Well, until Monday night [cue dramatic music].
Mighty, mighty good man David and I were in bed around 11:30 p.m. when I heard a car drive up the street, followed by a car door slam and some muffled voices. The car drove away and then we heard grunting; loud grunting. Twice. Upon hearing it I started snickering, “Hulk angry. So tired and drunk. Grrrr. Hulk can’t find keys.”
But then the grunting turned into a call for help. “Dad! Dad, help me!”
“That’s not good,” I said.
Then there were muffled voices again and then silence for a few minutes. THEN, sirens: Four cop cars, a fire truck and an ambulance.
Within seconds, I had all the shades up and windows open trying to see what happened and trying to overhear anything. I turned into a character from “Desperate Housewives.” None of this shit is my business, but I can be a nosy jackass. Unfortunately, the trees surrounding our place really blocked my view. The trees that I’m usually so thankful for because they give us some privacy became a pain in my spying ass. I was forced to go to bed without any answers. The horror.
Yesterday morning I got up and started poking around on police blotters until I found what I was looking for. A stabbing! The guy had been stabbed, and instead of taking him to a hospital, they took him home? Nicely done. I’m sure some Bactine and a Hello Kitty band-aid will totally take care of a knife wound.
I was amazed at the turnout: four cop cars, a fire truck and an ambulance. Damn! How bad was it? Was he stabbed while committing a crime? According to the police blotter, a few minutes before the stabbing was called in, a fight was called in up the street. Maybe he was in the fight?
While I was researching what I’m sure is the crime of the century, David came into the room to tell me he’s taking Homer outside for his morning walk.
Me: “Oh! Good idea! Do some investigating? Tell me if you find anything or if the neighbors say anything.”
David: “Ummm, suure.”
10 minutes later …
David: “I didn’t find anything.”
Me: “Bummer.” [looks at Homer] “Homer, you are no Scooby-Doo.”
I assume the person taken away in the ambulance is the 20something guy who still lives with his folks directly across the street from us. He comes home late a lot. One night I listened to him get into an argument with a cab driver. I have no idea about what, but the cab driver kept pulling away and then stopping, like maybe he was debating getting out of the car and kickin’ some ass.
This kind of stuff happened all the time when I lived in my studio apartment on the corner of Haight and Ashbury. In fact, it got to the point where I slept through almost all late-night police action. And when we lived in Dogpatch, it wasn’t uncommon for police cars to go racing down our street. But it’s been super quiet since we moved here. The only crime I know of in this hood is there have been a string of robberies at the Glen Park Bart Station. Some assholes are robbing people of their smartphones when they leave the station. David was thinking about carrying around my old pink flip phone just in case he got robbed.
Villain: “Give me your phone.”
David: “Sure! I need a new phone anyway.” [hands over what is the basically a rotary phone nowadays]
So, after digging up my dirt on the police blotter, I wondered if maternity leave is turning me into a super nosy neighbor, but I think it’s more likely that deep-down there’s a little bit of the reporter in me that will never go away. But, if I start telling the neighbors that their trash cans need to face a certain way, then I know I’ve turned into one of the Bobs.