How to be very very stupid:  Lesson #1873

Yesterday my quiet corner of the neighborhood was the scene of an armed police confrontation.  And I started it.

The house catty-cornered to ours across the intersection is a rent house, and has been a “party house” for a succession of fraternity and sorority members.  The current set seems to include four or five guys—I never have figured out exactly how many live there and how many just visit.  They haven’t thrown many loud parties, for which I’m very thankful, but they do have two big, loud dogs and their SUVs and pickups clog the street at all hours.

I went out the north door about five-thirty to go pick up M from day care, and saw three guys sitting in lawn chairs on the roof of the house, which wasn’t bad of itself.  The bad part was that one of them had what looked like an air rifle up there with him.

I didn’t think much of having people with guns—any guns—outdoors in a city neighborhood.  Whether they were up to real mischief or simply pot-shooting at the endemic squirrels and grackles, any misses would have to come down SOMEwhere, and in our neighborhood, “somewhere” is always going to have houses and people in it.

So I called the cops.  After I was past their house, I pulled out my cell phone, called 911 and told them there were three males sitting on the roof of the house at ********, and that one of them had a gun up there with him.  No, I didn’t know what it was other than a long gun and not a pistol.  Yes, they were sitting on the roof of the house.  Yes, I saw them because my house is across the intersection from theirs and I saw them as I walked out the door.  No, I didn’t know whether they lived there or not. (This is true; I’ve never met anyone who’s lived there since the last owners moved out three years ago, and don’t care to.)  Yes, I can give some description.  White males, probably under 25, the one with the gun had dark brown or black hair, another was wearing an orange ball cap.

By the time M and I got back, maybe fifteen minutes later, the police had a helicopter circling the area, I suppose to keep an eye on things, verify that I saw what I said, and be ready to chase if anyone ran.  M and I went on inside and kept to ourselves.  Ten minutes or so later I heard shouting outside and went to look through the peep-glass in the front door, to see exactly what kind of commotion had started.

Three patrol cars had blocked off the street and at least two officers stood in best firing-range posture, guns trained on the guys on the roof and positioned to create a crossfire.  The roof guys were sitting VERY STILL up there with their hands raised VERY FAR in the air.  I decided that nobody needed my help at this point and I’d be best off not stirring any more in this stew, so I went back to reading my blogroll.

Some minutes later L came home from work and said that as she walked past, the roof guys were standing in the street handcuffed, and the cops were looking Not Amused.  I told her what had gone down, and she found it funny as a rubber crutch.  I was rather tickled myself.  We both shook our heads over the egregious stupidity of anybody thinking he could sit out in public, in the middle of a city neighborhood, waving a gun around and not have SOMEbody call the cops.  May they learn a Life Lesson or two from the experience, WITHOUT having to win a Darwin Award first.