Yesterday must have set some sort of record in the public disturbance category here. By sundown, there had been four (4) police cars here because of yet another screaming argument among the downstairs neighbors. By eleven, I thought it was safe to go to bed and get some sleep.
Oops, it was Saturday night, which means the folks at the biker bar across the street were feeling especially festive. The horrid, classic-rock cover band that plays there is so loud that I’ve memorized most of their playlist, and this is across a busy, 4-lane street and a couple of parking lots. Add the sound of a Harley roaring off every five minutes until 2 a.m. (Don’t get me wrong; I’ve nothing against bikers. But here’s a little tip, fellas… After you’ve been drinking at the bar isn’t the time to show off how loud your bike is, or did you not notice that you’re half a block from the police station?)
Oh, wait. The police don’t care what goes on at the biker bar, because an ex-cop owns it, and the place seems to have some weird sort of immunity. Noise that one can hear half a mile away? No problem. Drunks on bikes, tearing down the street in the middle of the night? No problem. :rolleyes:
Finally, a little after 2:00, I got to sleep. At 3:31, I woke to the sound of some guy right outside my building roaring, “DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN, YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Great, here we go again. Profanity flies back and forth, she laughs at him; he smashes out the headlights on her car, accuses her of cheating on him and threatens to break her arm. Sigh, dial 911. Good thing the cops are only half a block away, so they don’t have far to drive every time they get called over here.
I hear a police radio squawking outside in a matter of minutes, and roll over to go back to sleep. Then the cop proceeds to have an amicable chat with the guy AT THE TOP OF HIS VOICE for the next thirty minutes. WTF? Either arrest him, or make him go home, or something, but both of you shut the hell up at 4 a.m. outside my fucking bedroom window! :mad: