Tuesday, May 18, 2010

why bother

Where I live at, you almost don't even bother calling the police because they may or may not show up or they'll take their time.

I called 911 for the first time in awhile when I was driving up the street and had to cut down one of the sidestreets because there was a huge brawl in the middle of the street near a known drug corner. I called not because I really felt like it would do any good, but because there were already people on the ground and I didn't want to feel guilt later on for not doing anything.

The next day I get pulled over on the same street for going a smidge over 30. I'd already been having a frustrating day and didn't even pretend to cry because I was already there. He didn't tell me how fast I'd even been going until he wrote up the ticket and I was furious. So you've got complaints about speeders? what about when I call because there's fighting in the street and drugs and it takes 45 minutes for anyone to show up? Oh, I guess there's no revenue in that.

So that's what I told the cop and I've probably screwed myself over just in time for my court date at the end of the month for yelling at him. I never yell at people. But it gets to the point where I'm fed up with trying to be nice, because I know they don't care either way, because it's an easy way to generate money for the do-nothings that suck us dry. I know this isn't the right attitude, and I'm trying to have a better one, but damn it's hard.

6 comments:

Randal Graves said...

Well that's a completely depressing post.

Commander Zaius said...

If its any consolation I leave in the middle of a yuppie suburb three miles away from the sheriff headwaters and had issues with the county sheriffs finding the neighborhood.

A couple next door was having big issues that brought the wife to our house pleading that I go talk with her husband who was threatening to kill himself.

This being over my head I left the woman with my wife and told her to call 911 and walked to their house.

The husband was in a bedroom refusing to open the door, and while the cops were only a short distance from the neighborhood it took two hours and FOUR phone calls from them to find the place.

By the time they finally came the situation had resolved itself, and were told that the last time they called. But when the finally arrived they had to make a point of parking dramatically at an angle in the street.

Hi, surfed over from Randal's place.

David Barber said...

Cops are the same in the UK. I have a friend who lives in a nice area and was woke up in the night by noises outside. He looked out his bedroom window and saw three guys robbing the garage of the house across the way. He called the police and said that he was actually watching the crime as he spoke to them and they would catch them red handed if they sent someone straight away. Two hours later they arrived. You've gotta love a copper....not!

I too clicked over here from Randal's blog. HI!

Ricky Shambles said...

I know, the pizza guy can never find my house either.

Seriously, lived in a neighborhood in downtown Toledo for a couple of years across the street from a rowdy club and an empty lot. Great apartments & view, and the cops were 3 blocks away, but somehow EVERY Saturday at 3am there were fights, often accompanied by gunshots, and somehow EVERY Saturday it took the cops over half an hour to get their asses over there to break it up. Coincidentally, they were also experts at writing tickets.

Anonymous said...

Who's Randal? :-)

Seriously, given that being a big city cop seems like a real downer job-unless you're either an adrenalin junkie or just like confrontation-you'd think that these guys would make an effort NOT to piss off the 'good' residents by doing pukey little stuff like writing tickets for essentially nothing.
You want the 'good' residents to stay and be a good example and be your eyes and ears.

I just don't get it...........

Brian Moore said...

I'm over in Shaker Heights, and I have to agree with everyone you said -- especially in the open letter you linked.