Because, after all...

..."danger" IS my middle name.


Wheeeeeee! Whatta day. I'm tellin ya, the fun just never stops.

So. I've toldja that my job takes me to some of the...ah...shall we say less desirable parts of town. Think about the worst part of town ya know. I mean, the absolute worst. That's probably where I was.

So, I'm sittin outside...on the stoop of an apartment in one of the meanest complexes in the city. I'm sittin outside because the inside is...just...well...pretty much beyond description. Let's just say that the stoop on this place was a friggin palace compared to the inside, ok? And, did I mention that it was 90+ fuckin degrees with somethin like 90% humidity today?

No?

Well, it was. It was miserable.

I'm sittin there, doin that thing that I do, when all of a sudden, this young kid comes racin around the corner of the apartment building like his ass is on fire and runs into the adjoining apartment. Three seconds later, one of Peoria's finest comes flyin up in his car....right up the sidewalk between the apartment buildings. Two seconds later, two more of Peoria's finest come flyin up the sidewalk, jump outa their cars, guns drawn.

Holy fuckin shit.

The first cop yells to me, "Did you see a kid runnin by here?"

Ok, so here I am...an old, fat, sweaty white woman in the middle of...well a neighborhood where old, fat white women are rarely found. And I'm pretty sure that old, fat, sweaty white women who just happen to be snitches are rarely ever found again. If ya get my drift.

I'm surreptitiously tryin to point behind my clipboard, towards the apartment right next door. Hopin nobody else notices what I'm doin.

Now, keep in mind...there's a lotta people millin around...there's some funk-rap shit blastin out from big screen tv in the apartment behind us and the three cop cars are all runnin. All this, plus the blood poundin in my ears makes it really hard for me to hear much of anything.

The cop evidently didn't see my surreptitious hand gesture, so I think he asks me again if I'd seen anyone. I dunno. I couldn't hear him.

I get up and walk over to where he's standin. He says, "Did you see a kid in a white tank top run by here?"

I say (very quietly and without movin my lips), "He ran into that apartment", as I nod my head very slightly in the direction of the apartment.

At which point, all three of Peoria's finest converge on said apartment and begin beatin on the door and window. Nobody answers. What? Ya thought somebody mighta invited 'em in for tea and crumpets or somethin?

I sit back down and try to continue doin that thing I do, tryin my best not to look flustered (even though I was about to piss my pants). The little gal I'm talkin to turns to me and says, "This happens all the time. It's not a good environment for kids."

As the police start kickin the door in, I swipe at the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand and say, "I don't think it's too great an environment for adults, either. I'll be goin now. Call me if you need anything."

And I walked....really fast....out to my car, tryin to make sure I put my considerable girth between them and my license plate.

Thank gawd I never got around to gettin those personalized plates.

I think I'll have a martini.