A Saturday Night in Dixie

Saturday evening while a friend and I were watching TV at his house — we’ll call the homeowner “Bocephus” — a white car pulled up across the street and parked. The male driver — and that’s all we could tell about him through the undergrowth in the dark – then climbed into his own back seat and started fiddling with his cell phone.  Note to would-be burglars:  Those things give off a lot of light!

Admittedly,  Bocephus lives in what is described as a “sketchy” neighborhood where the very active Neighborhood Crime Watch tells residents to “report everything.”  So he asked me to get my phone and call 9-1-1.  I got my phone but had him call.  It was enough that the call would be traced back to me without my having to say I was worried about a white car when I wasn’t.  He told the 9-1-1 operator the car was “suspicious” and to send a squad car then refused rather sassily to give his name.  Did I mention he was using my phone? 

So then Bocephus grabbed two loaded pistols and tried to hand me a third one saying, “You’re NRA trained, cover me.” I said, “Yep,” or some other standard NRA-trained response.  I didn’t actually take the gun because I happen to know one of Bocephus’s goals in life is to get other people’s fingerprints on his firearms.  Just saying.  Then he slipped out into the starless night.

We had turned off the TV and turned out the lights, and I was standing in front of the window.  I couldn’t be seen but I also couldn’t see a thing.  Personally, if I had been a burglar I wouldn’t have parked in front of the targeted  house OR climbed into my own backseat.  And frankly I also wouldn’t have bothered with anyplace where the people were watching a DVD of The Man With Two Brains, but that’s just me. 

Time passed.  No Bocephus.  The dogs were with me.  They weren’t barking.  No shots and been fired.  I hoped I was living up to my social responsibility as backup.  Then the back slider opened.  “Is that you?” I asked.  He said it was and told me how he’d snuck down the driveway to within three feet of the back of the car.  He called 9-1-1 again on my phone and gave them the car’s license number.  We waited some more while he complained about the response time.  “You made her mad when you wouldn’t give your name,” I suggested. 

But a marked SUV with lights flashing did show up.  We watched while the policeman had the backseat driver (haha) open the door and talk to him.  The policeman didn’t pull him out of the car like on Cops, but he did go back to his own car for awhile.  Bocephus said they were checking the license number.  ”I know,” I said, “They have SMOTS.”   ”Is that what it’s called?” he asked.  “It was called that in The Blues Brothers,” I replied.  People who have conversations like that are actually allowed to summon the authorities. 

Apparently the driver wasn’t on SMOTS because they let him get into his front seat and drive away.  Then the police drove away without yelling, “You in there, quit bothering us!” at Bocephus’s house.  We turned the lights back on and watched the rest of The Man With Two Brains.

Next morning:  vindication!   The neighbor across the street found an empty ice cream carton on his lawn.  You realize that littering is a crime in this state.   

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0MXU3J6Qbs