Someone Call 911

To my way of thinking, much of the activities conducted in the name of “Law Enforcement” these days are much like shooting fish in a barrel. Don’t get me wrong here, the police and other authorities generally provide an acceptable level of civil security but, if you dig into the details, you will find a certain level of incompetence and indifference with regard to even the most basic crimes.

For instance, let me drive down Interstate 75 at 15 MPH over the speed limit and I will most certainly owe the local jurisdiction a hundred or so dollars in the form of a speeding fine. Lets face it, the police love to enforce traffic laws because it generally involves a fairly low level of personal risk and it generates a great deal of revenue.

Next comes crimes involving “moral turpitude.” Oh boy do the local cops enjoy these indescressions. Have a few too many drinks, smoke a joint, or hire a prostitute, and they are on you like white on rice. Again, I’m not promoting the abuse of alcohol, drugs, or risking acquiring a sexually transmitted disease here, but since these so called “crimes” generally involve abusing your own body or are committed among consenting adults, I believe that way to much of our law enforcement resources are devoted to preventing people from making poor personal decisions while the real criminals run unfettered through our communities.

I believe that too much money and time is spent on these areas of law enforcement because the police know that it is easy to nab the perpetrator in these instances and there is a large financial reward in pursuing the conviction for the government. If these same resources were instead focused on real crimes like burglary, assault, and theft, our society would be a much better, safer place. The bad news is that these types of crime take a lot more time and energy and yield very little in the way of financial return for the authorities

That really sucks, because practically every single time (with one exception) that I have been the victim of a crime involving person or property, the police have either acted like I am imposing on them by asking for their assistance or they refused to get involved without making my life very difficult.

In 1979 three of my friends and I had the misfortune of interrupting a robbery in progress in a Pizza Hut in Atlanta near Georgia Tech. Before the event was over with, one of the robbers had taken my money, my watch, and pistol whipped me with a cheep gun, breaking the barrel off of the weapon on the back of my thick skull. All of us escaped that evening with our lives, but I bled all over a leather jacket my father had given me from the 1950’s and I never heard another word from the police after filing the initial report at the scene.

In 1981 someone broke into my home in an Atlanta suburb. Besides damaging the door they entered through, the stole a variety of irreplaceable personal items like my class rings and other jewelry—things that were invaluable to me and netted them $10.37 at the local pawn shop. The police reluctantly responded but didn’t even bother to dust for fingerprints—they just filled out a form. I never heard from them again.

In 1992, while attending a Georgia Tech basketball game in downtown Atlanta, someone smashed the passenger side window of my S-10 Blazer and removed the CD player from the dash, ripped the lid off the center console, and stole my bag cell phone. Upon discovering the damage, I walked one hundred yards down the street and asked an Atlanta police officer who was stationed in the intersection directing traffic if, when he was finished with his traffic duties, he would kindly come over and fill our a police report and investigate the scene.

His response? They didn’t respond to auto break-ins unless there was personal injury or assault. I would have to drive four or five blocks to the police station and they would fill the report. Again the officers acted like we were putting them out and refused to even dust the car for fingerprints, even though I had made my ex-wife keep her panicking hands off of everything and ride in the back seat to the police station. Incompetent idiots they were, and I never heard another word from them.

In 1999 someone broke the drivers side rear window on my Suburban ($350 worth) and stole my portable telescope and a couple hundred dollars worth of CD’s. I phoned my report into the police and they again refused to bother to look for any evidence. Us mean old rich white guys just got to suck it up and get with the program I guess is their attitude—you ain’t got insurance to cover that?

On New Years evening, 2002, I was on the beach in Mexico Beach, Florida. Mexico Beach is one of the last areas in the world where you can ride a horse on the beach, walk your dog, have a bonfire, and legally shoot fireworks. Some friends and I were on the beach setting up some fireworks for the enjoyment of our fellow revelers in “The Lookout Lounge” where our evening festivities were being held.

I was out front setting up a couple hundred dollars worth of South Carolina “mortar tubes” which are the best-darned fireworks available anywhere. I mean near professional quality fireworks. My girl Pat and another couple we had just met that evening (Benji was an air force staff sergeant) were standing fifty feet behind me where they were setting up and firing some little bottle rockets.

I turned around to say something to them just in time to witness a teenager step out a passing group of young punks and proceed to start yelling and screaming and sucker punch Benji for no reason. I vaguely remember covering the fifty feet between the melee and myself in about two seconds and I did a flying tackle on the 150 pound offender with my 225 pound frame and he went down like a ton of bricks. His co-conspirators then preceded to beat the back of my head with their fists and delivered a couple of blows with a tequila bottle that fortunately did not break.

When the dust settled, the county sheriff hauled two of the three punks off to jail and Benji and I belatedly shot our fireworks and celebrated new years. In Atlanta, the cops would have hauled everyone to jail and let the judge sort it all out. The only thing that saved me was the large number of witnesses and the fact that I never threw a punch, I just tackled the guy. Hurray for good law enforcement , FOR ONCE IN MY LIFE.

This past Tuesday I was over in Brunswick running errands and I made my bi-weekly visit to check on some vacant rental property I own. The bad news is that someone had kicked in the side door on one of my units. The good news is there was nothing to steal inside and other than the door they didn’t cause any damage.

As usual, I called the police and as usual, they acted like i was imposing on them to actually expect them to attempt to enforce the laws. “It could be a couple of hours before we can get a unit out there” said the dispatcher. “Never mind,” I said. I drove back home, got my tools, went by Ace Hardware, and a couple of hours later I had the door repaired.

I have a little message for the police…

KISS MY GLUTEUS MAXIMUS!