Whatever


My doorbell rang last night at 10:45pm. My alarm was on, the porch lights were off and Blind Justice was dithering away on the TV. The Kitty was even asleep. Dogger didn’t make a sound. In her world, if she can’t see you, you don’t matter.

BingBong

“What?”. I’m sitting there in bed pretending that there is a reality where a blind guy would be given a gun and badge and then do so in New York City - obliviously this was shopped to The Sci-Fi network who turned it down because it was a bit too much Fantasy for them, do to the total bullshitness of the plot – anyway.

BingBong

I go downstairs and wonder if I should have brought something sharp with me. I also have to think that maybe it’s an emergency and the person has a real need. I feel bad about thinking it must be a bad guy. I remember where I live and I get over it. I start bitching to the unseen botherer “if you need a phone get a damn cell phone, leave me alone”. The alarm precludes me from opening the door so I get ready to talk to the door in the most imposing manner I can muster. I think in general, I pretty much am armed, kind of. Make me open the door, wise guy. Sound and Fury signifying, well, sound and fury and cops and you know, pissed off, scared white girl stuff. Don’t Go There.

I turn on the lights. Getting into character. Loudly, like I have a bat in my hand and I’m going to swing first and ask questions later: “I’m CLOSED. What Do You Want?” I said through the door (Closed? I’m closed? Am I running a business here? Whatever).

”Doyouwantyouryardtrimmedandmowedtomorrow?” mumbled. Central casting sent down a junkie.

It’s a woman. It may be the same woman I gave a quarter to because she was standing in the street keeping my trash can company and regaling it with tales of how much of a not junkie she was. This time there were no “I’m not a junkie I just look, smell and behave like one” boilerplate to her speil.

Again, totally getting into the ass kicking character and now feeling really brave and safe behind my locked door and functioning house alarm. Even I can kick the ass of the average female junkie that occasionally gets lost on my street, especially if I do not have to come face to face with her. And if said street junkie/meth freak is thinking about waking me up and scaring me at a quarter to eleven at night? I may very well kick her ass through my locked and alarmed door. Wake me up and make me miss my show? Beyotch, it is on.

“WHAT?” I said

doyouwantyouryardedgedandmowedtomorrow?” she mumbled again.

She is out of her Gawd Damned mind. I said, “I DO NOT”. I turned off the lights and waited for her to scamper off, or key my car or take a dump on the steps. The last time some junkie looser came to my door at an inappropriate hour was last summer when some junkie loser woke me up at 7am on a Saturday to see if I would lend him a spoon.

You know, I bet they don’t bother the drug dealer with this nonsense. You ring the drug dealers door bell at a quarter to eleven at night and wake the drug dealer up? And he’s likely not to even to bother answering the door - he’s going to shoot at you from his bed or if he’s on the way to the refrigerator anyway, answering the door with a sawed off and a “shoot first ask questions after you’re dead” policy in hand. The drug dealer used to have a big scary guy sitting out in front of his house all the time just to ward off people like that. The look out had a “crush your throat with my bare hands and feed you to the dawgs” door policy in place and it kept out the riffraff. It certainly cut down on the street junkie traffic to my door. I think the drug dealer is trying to look less like a drug dealer now and he doesn’t have the look out sitting on his porch anymore.