police – Page 3 – The View from a Drawbridge

Today I reported a con artist to the police. It was your typical Craig’s List con, a guy offering a house to rent at a price that was too good to be true. But I figured what the heck? Never hurts to ask. So I contacted him.

He tells me the address, and gives me this story about how he and his family moved to another state and he’s not worried about the amount of rent as much as he wants a good tenant that he can trust who will take care of the place as if it were his or her own. Naturally the place is locked, but I can go by and look in the windows, and if I want to rent it, I can fill out this form that asks for a ton of personal information, send him 500 dollars, and he’ll mail me the keys. Yeah, right.

I went on line to the city property records and discovered that the house was owned by land trust, so the guy probably thought it was vacant. But out of curiosity, I drove by. Someone’s SUV was in the driveway. It’s occupied. The tenant most assuredly does not know that his address is being used as a scam, because that would just draw the police right to his door.

So I decided to play a little game with the guy. I wrote back to him, acting all excited. I told him that I drove by the house on my way to work. I didn’t get a chance to look in the windows, but just from the outside I could tell that it was a cute little place, and I loved the neighborhood. (And in point of fact, it was a cute place. I would have liked nothing better than to be able to rent it.) I told him I was definitely interested. One question, though. If I rented the place, would I be able to remove the tire swing? I’d hate to attract the neighborhood kids, and God forbid one of them got hurt. That would open us both up to liability.

He responded almost immediately by asking me to fill out his form again. I said I would, but he hadn’t answered my question about the tire swing. He responded again. “Yes, you can take down the tire swing.”

Busted. There is no tire swing, and the owner would know that. So I called the police and reported this. I figured it would be a slam dunk. We had his IP address and his cell phone number and the ad he placed for an address that we could easily prove not to be his own, but instead they told me there are millions of those scams out there, and there was really nothing they could do about it.

That’s the frustrating thing about cons. The cops have limited time and resources to pursue this stuff, so they tend to look the other way. They have bigger fish to fry, and the petty con artists know this. It makes me sick to think that somewhere, some little old lady is having 500 dollars of her social security check stolen from her even as you read this.

So I decided to mess with the guy one last time. I e-mailed him again and told him that I had just busted his scheming, con artist butt, and that the police would be contacting him directly. Within seconds, his add was pulled off Craig’s list. I cheered.

I know he’ll just create a new account and pull this same foolishness under another name in a different city, but for a brief, shining moment, that ad was down, so someone didn’t get conned. And he probably had to change his prepaid cell phone number. What a hassle. For a split second, the good guys won. And it felt really, really good.

Incidentally, NEVER respond to a Craig’s List rental ad if a) they don’t list the address right up front, b) the price and/or amenities seem way too good to be true, and c) the property manager is not local. The funds you save could be your own.

[image credit: lifehacker.com]

Could we give Black Men a Break, Please?

One of my coworkers had to drive to work the other day with a shattered passenger side window, courtesy of his son and a baseball. Kids will be kids.

He had only been at work on the bridge for a few hours when he got a phone call from the police, asking him to come down to his car. He walked down to the foot of the bridge to find a police officer standing there with an African American man.

You can probably guess where this is going. “What seems to be the problem, officer?” my coworker said. It seems that a woman in the neighborhood had seen this man breaking the window of my coworker’s car.

“Uh, no…” He explained to the officer that in fact his son was the culprit.

When the woman who had called in the report was questioned more closely, she admitted that no, she hadn’t actually seen the man breaking into the car. She had just seen the broken window, and this man who had “no good reason” for being in this exclusive neighborhood, and had drawn the “inevitable” conclusion from there.

For the love of GOD, can we please look around and realize this is not 1950?

Sometimes I’m embarrassed to be white.

Meeting Linda Mae

A few years ago, on a very cold winter night, I got home from work shortly after midnight and as I pulled into the driveway I saw a little old woman standing on the sidewalk in front of my house. She was barefoot, in her nightgown, standing with her feet wide apart, her arms at her sides, and her head tilted. As I got closer, she continued to stare vacantly at me, but she didn’t move and said not a word.

I confess I was a little creeped out. She kind of looked like a zombie. I had no way of knowing if she’d freak out and hurt herself or me. So I gave her a wide berth and went inside and got my boyfriend. We both went back outside and he said, “Ma’am, can I help you?” She looked at him and said, “Nnnnn….” We looked at each other. He said, “It sure is cold out here. Are you cold, ma’am? Why don’t you come on in and get warm, and I’ll fix you a nice cup of tea.”

He took her by the hand and helped her up the steps. We sat her down and wrapped her in blankets. She looked to be in her 90’s. We asked her for her name, and she told us it was Linda Mae. She didn’t know her last name or her address. As my boyfriend fixed her some tea, I called 911.

She began to look frightened, so my boyfriend knelt down beside her. “Miss Linda Mae,” he said, “We just called someone who’s going to come out and make sure you’re okay, and try to help us find out where you live, okay? Everything’s going to be fine. You found a safe place to be. We’ll take care of everything.”

It must have been a slow night for first responders, because the next thing we knew there were two ambulances and a police car out front, and no fewer than 7 very large men came in and surrounded Linda Mae. I could tell she was scared half to death, so I told her all these nice men were here to make sure she was okay. They checked her pulse and blood pressure, among other things, and declared that she was in good health. But now what to do about getting her home? She still didn’t know her last name or address. No one had called in a missing person.

It was about one in the morning by now, and the ambulances left, leaving us with one police officer. He went outside, and we tried to make small talk with Linda Mae, but that’s hard to do with someone who has no past or future. We asked her if she liked the tea and if she was warm enough now, but then topics of conversation kind of dried up.

Finally the officer came back in and said they found her address. He had dispatch do a search for any past records of someone named Linda wandering off, and sure enough it had happened twice before. She lived about 4 blocks away. Another officer went by her house to verify that they were missing someone, and the residents were surprised. They hadn’t even been aware that she was gone. So we bundled her into the police car and said goodbye, knowing she wouldn’t remember us in the morning.

I often think of Miss Linda Mae. I worry about her. I know it must be hard to care for someone with such severe dementia, but given her history of wandering, you’d think they’d have rigged the doors so that a bell would ring or something. Instead they slept peacefully on while she wandered a semi-dangerous neighborhood, shoeless, coatless, late at night in the dead of winter. She could have gotten hypothermia, wandered into traffic or even worse, stumbled upon people who would not have had her best interests at heart. My boyfriend says that it was meant to be that we found her when we did.

But the strangest part about it was realizing that an encounter that touched us so profoundly was completely lost on this woman within hours. It had slipped from her mind like sand through an hour glass. We had no form or substance for her, like a wisps of smoke, quickly disbursed. I can only hope that she is well and that her last days are safe and free of fear.

It also makes me wonder if I’ve ever impacted someone else without realizing it. As is the nature of things like that, I suppose I’ll never know.

(Image credit: baby-boomer-depot.com)

The Definition of Integrity

The dictionary defines it thus:

in·teg·ri·ty [in-teg-ri-tee]

noun

1. adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty.

It is the quality I admire most in a human being, and when I see a lack of this quality I’m always shocked and horrified. It takes courage to stand up for what you know is right at that crucial moment when most people would look the other way and let someone else handle it. My nephew Ryan showed an amazing amount of integrity the other night, and I couldn’t be prouder.

It was his 24^th birthday, and he was at a bar celebrating with his friend Nancy. As the evening wore on this group showed up, and one of the guys kept calling this girl a wh***, sl** and b***h. So Ryan walked over to her and told her she was an amazing person and didn’t deserve to be talked to that way. Then he returned to his table.

The guy’s friend came up to Ryan and said that he could talk to his wife however he wanted and that there was nothing some faggot could do about it. So Ryan stood up and told him that he might be a fag but that he was more of a man then they will ever be because he knows how to talk to a woman. The guy punched Ryan in the face. He fell back into Nancy’s lap, but he kept getting back up to fight back (not exactly successfully, he says) until the bouncer threw that group out. For the rest of the night Ryan got drinks and anything else for free from the bar and other patrons (including a big bag of ice for his fat lip). So, he says, “I didn’t win the war (I might not even have won the battle) but I’m holding my head high this morning knowing that I stood (and kept standing back up) for that woman and any woman who had ever been treated like that.”

There are several things I love about this story:

I don’t condone violence, but Ryan did not go over there to start a fight. He went over there to tell the girl she was amazing and deserved better. I suspect that no one had ever done that for her before. I hope it sinks in, because if her husband is treating her like this in public, heaven only knows what happens in private.
Even after he realized that standing up for what he believed in was going to equal personal pain, he continued to stand up.
Although he did not “win” the fight, he came away feeling proud of the person that he has become, and every patron in that bar reinforced that.

The only thing I do NOT like about this story is that the police weren’t called and the guy wasn’t charged with assault. Without that sort of legal paper trail, people like that will never be held accountable for their actions, and will never have the opportunity to learn that wives are not property that can be abused by the very fact of “ownership”.

But another thing happened with the telling of this story—I was reminded that my nephew has turned into a fine young man. My late sister would be so proud.

(Me and my favorite nephew, 2006)

Dumber than a Box of Rocks

This happened on the bridge on my day off. Thank God.

Two bridgetenders were standing on the catwalk outside our tenderhouse when they looked down to the street level and saw a man vault himself over the railing and plunge 40 feet into the rapidly flowing, extremely deep river below. A woman who witnessed this from the sidewalk began to scream. Can you imagine the adrenaline dump?

My coworkers immediately ran out to see if the man popped up to the surface, but saw no sign of him. They called 911, and within minutes there were police cars and ambulances on the scene. There was even a helicopter.

Then they saw the man floating away on a paddle board. Apparently he had paddled to the bridge, stowed the board on the concrete and wooden fender system, climbed up the bridge, then jumped back off. When he was apprehended by the sheriff’s office boat, he denied the whole thing. He was quite smug about it. He even gave the bridgetenders a thumb’s up sign as he paddled away. Witness statements were taken and he was hauled off to jail.

In emergency response alone, he probably cost the city tens of thousands of dollars. These first responders could have been better employed elsewhere in the city, helping people who actually needed them. And this fool was very lucky to survive. If he had hit the fender system on the way down, he’d have broken every bone in his body. Or he could have easily been swept away by the current and drown before anyone could rescue his stupid butt. Or he could have broken his neck on impact or been knocked unconscious and been unable to swim. All of those things happen all the time with jumpers on that bridge.

If he has any brains at all (which is highly questionable) he now realizes that maybe this was not the brilliant plan he originally thought it would be. Then again, sometimes there’s just no antidote for stupid.

Just Another Day in My Life

So I went over to my friend’s condo to check his mail while he’s out of town. It was early in the morning, and I pulled up at the bank of mailboxes and stepped out of the car. Then I heard this scream. Not an excited scream like two teenage girls who are playing around. Not even a movie scream. This scream made the hair on the back of my neck stand straight up. I got back in my car and locked the doors.

Looking over my shoulder, I noticed a nearby condo door that was wide open, and I could see two pairs of feet. These people were rolling around on the floor, obviously locked in mortal combat. I immediately dialed 911. I was describing the events to them as they were unfolding, but I got the sense that they thought this was a crank call, probably because my cell phone is from another area code, and because, well, the story got very strange.

What happened next was that they took their fight outside. At first I assumed the small woman was the victim, but then she ripped the shirt off the guy…no wait. That was not a guy! That was a woman, now topless, defending herself on the front lawn. And the little woman was throwing all her possessions into the yard while screaming as if she’d been bludgeoned. And then little woman threw an iron straight at naked woman’s head! It shattered in the parking lot (the iron, not her head).

Meanwhile I’m hunkered down in my car while talking to 911 and trying to be invisible in spite of my front row center location. It seemed like an eternity before the cops got there. By the time they arrived, naked woman had put on a shirt and had walked away. I talked to the officer on the phone and told him what I witnessed from the report. But neither of them would admit anything, so he decided not to press charges.

Finally I drove away, and since the road is one way and I had to stop and check in on my friend’s condo, it took me several minutes before I had circled back around to the front gate. I was thinking that I live a relatively sheltered life. I mean, things like this just don’t happen to me. Thank goodness they don’t, too, because I was getting nauseous from the adrenaline dump.

As the gate slowly opened up for me, who do I see but the little woman with her 12 year old child in tow, waiting for me. She takes one look at me and lunges for the car, cursing and screaming like a banshee. She must have seen me talking on the phone during her little boxing match. But now, seeing her fury directed at me, I must admit I nearly soiled myself as I accelerated away. It’s so ironic that this woman now clearly wanted to go for my eyes when I had gotten involved originally because I thought her life was in danger.

The last thing I saw was the look on her child’s face. She was mortified and my heart broke for her. What will her life be like with that type of role model? It makes me sad just thinking about it.

Chaos: The New Normal?

A coworker of mine was describing a situation in which he and his brother were watching TV and they got into an argument which then escalated into a fist fight, and the police had to be called. Just a regular Tuesday night at Chez Coworker, apparently. I remember thinking, “Huh. My whole life, the police have never been called to my house. Am I normal, or is he?”

Someone else I know regularly shouts and makes intimidating gestures, causing tension, fear and anxiety in his household. He says that he’s of Mediterranean descent, so he can’t help it. That made me wonder about all the Italians and Greeks and Turks that I’ve passed on the street who have managed to behave themselves and act with courtesy and respect. Who’s the stereotype?

And then there’s the girl whose husband tried to choke her. But she’s still with him, because she loves him. I tried to imagine sleeping under the same roof with someone, even for one night, who had tried to kill me. I’m not getting any pictures.

Another story: this guy left his car keys on the counter and went to sleep. One of his relatives took the car without permission and got into an accident. The guy wakes up, sees the damage to the car, asks who was responsible, and no one admits to it. And they all (every one of them is an adult) still live with him. Oh no. Not me. Not even for a second. I’d have gathered them all in one room and said, “Either someone confesses and makes arrangements to pay for damages, or every single one of you is out on the street.”

Another woman racked up thousands of dollars in phone bills by calling her boyfriend who was in the military overseas. She was the only one in the house who even knew someone overseas, so there was no doubt who was responsible. Not only did she not pay the bills, but since the phone was in her parent’s name, their service got cut off, and they haven’t been able to have a house phone for years because of it. Not to mention the fact that their credit is ruined. It’s the great unspoken thing in the family, but apparently she has no remorse whatsoever. That same girl’s sister stole her own 10 year old child’s birthday money.

All of these things have me wondering, who is living a life outside the norm? Me, for being shocked by all of the above, or them? Are most of the people on the planet just animals with no moral compass whatsoever? Should the Jerry Springer Show be considered a documentary? And to think there are people out there who still refuse to believe we’re related to primates. Sheesh.

Bridge Goes Boom

One of my coworkers reminded me of an incident that occurred a few years ago on our drawbridge. I can’t believe I had forgotten about it. It was very bizarre. Makes me wonder what else I’ve forgotten. Hmmm…

Anyway, two workmen from the Department of Transportation were leaving the bridge after doing some repairs when they came upon a barnacle-encrusted hand grenade on the sidewalk. Yes, I really said hand grenade.

In their infinite wisdom they decided to pick it up and carry it to the park at the foot of the bridge. Getting smarter by the minute, they then tried to detonate it themselves. I’m sure the future branches of their family tree will be quite grateful to know that they were unsuccessful in their efforts. Finally they decided to notify the police.

The police had the good sense to take this situation a trifle more seriously, and they sent out the bomb squad, who determined that this was a Viet Nam era device. They managed to detonate it without harming anyone or anything, unless you count the significant crater that it produced in the park.

Based on the evidence, here’s what everyone assumes happened: Someone came home from the Viet Nam War with a souvenir. They probably put it in their garage or attic where it was forgotten about for decades. Then it was rediscovered when the owner was more mature and he realized that, hey, it might not be the best idea to have a live grenade in the house. But how do you get rid of a thing like that? He brought it to the bridge and threw it in the river, where it sat for another few years gathering barnacles. Then one day someone was fishing off the bridge and brought something unexpected up in his cast net. Realizing what it was, he took off, leaving it on the sidewalk like the responsible citizen that he is. Luckily a jogger or a dog walker or neighborhood kid didn’t come across it before the DOT guys did. That bridge gets a lot of foot traffic.

Just to be on the safe side, the city had divers explore the river in that area the very next day. It wouldn’t do to have a live ordinance dump rusting away under the drawbridge. Fortunately nothing further was found.

You wake up every morning assuming that your day is going to follow a certain routine. You just never know, do you? Sheesh.

Tag: police

Eyewitness Misidentification

According to the Innocence Project, “Eyewitness misidentification is the single greatest cause of wrongful convictions nationwide, playing a role in 72% of convictions overturned through DNA testing.” I completely believe this, because I’ve lived it. I make a lousy witness.

The man was convicted of his crimes. even though he didn’t look anything like I thought, I am sure they got the right man. His finger prints were all over several of those fraudulent plane tickets.

Ever since then, I have never taken eyewitness testimony seriously. I think of myself as an observer of the world, and if I can screw something up that dramatically, anyone can. Food for thought.

Karma’s a B****

Time to clean house. Sometimes justice prevails. Now, who do I see about getting my money back?

Bigger Fish to Fry