What the…? A.K.A Why I Hate The 94th Precinct

So, I’m sitting at my computer. It’s late morning/early afternoon. Someone rings my bell. Not the bell on my apartment door, the one downstairs. Normally I don’t answer the bell during the day because I’m home alone. But, Mr. Blue Collar is home on vacation(YAY!) and it might be UPS or something so I ring the bell.

Enter Big Crazy Polish Guy. He walks in and points to the apartments in the back on the first floor and says something in Polish. Now, though I live in a predominantly Polish neighborhood, I don’t speak the language. I know a few words. Even so, I don’t think I would’ve understood this guy if he was speaking English. Anyway, he has a bunch of hyacinths in his hand and is carrying a black duffel bag. He began knocking on the door of someone I knew wasn’t home.

Now, in the old days there wouldn’t have been much of a story. We would’ve thrown his ass out(rather roughly) and told him if he ever came back we’d break his head. But nowadays, you can’t do that sort of thing. His crazy ass would probably sue the crap out of us. Alas! We’ve become a society of litigious crazy folk. But I digress…

I tell the guy to leave in a loud and firm voice…nothing. I tell Mr. Blue Collar what’s going on and he tries to get the guy to leave. Nada. Just a steady stream of Polish. I think, at first, that he must be trying to explain himself. Either way, dude needs to get the fuck out. For all I know he’s unstable.

So, we call the cops. We try calling the local precinct first. The 94th Precinct. Might as well sit back and wait for divine intervention for all the good it’ll do you. They have an automated system now. “Press one for _____”. Ugh! So, we call 911. At least then we can talk to actual person and they can get someone from the precinct over here.

We call not once, not twice, but 3 GD times before anyone decides to show up. This is about a half an hour after the first call. Mr. Blue Collar is outside waiting for the cops. We have the door bolted and the chain on. Meanwhile, Mr. Crazy is walking up and down the stairs, still talking. Sometimes in a calm voice, other times yelling. I don’t know who he was arguing with, but I think he was losing. And whose door do you think he finally stops at? You got it. He decides he needs to have a heated debate with my decorative door hanging.

Finally, the cops show up. Now, we told them the guy is speaking Polish. Do you think they send a Polish-speaking officer? Of course not! That would make sense, and we can’t have that shit! I’m so angry and frustrated, I shout out the window, “If he were an axe-murderer we’d be fucking DEAD!” My new crazy best friend isn’t arrested. They just shoo him away. Wow, I feel much safer now. Phew!

It was obvious to me, a lowly Blue Collar Mamma with a high school education, that Mr. Crazy was crazy. Like, possibly emotionally or mentally disturbed. And the best that our heroes could do for him(and us) was shoo him down the block. Fantastic. Anyway, Mr. Blue Collar and I have decided that if something like that happens again, we’re just gonna go old school, force the guy out of the building, then call the cops. At least then I won’t have to worry about the safety of my door hanging.

(Seriously, it was scary. He didn’t seem like a friendly crazy. And I know everyone in my building. This guy wasn’t here to see any of them. He was really confused about where he was. It would’ve been sad if it wasn’t so freaky)


4 Responses to What the…? A.K.A Why I Hate The 94th Precinct

  1. Rexa says:

    I’m willing to bet he got the wrong building and thought was in the right place the whole time. In any case, if he wasn’t such a stupid kind of crazy, he would’ve simply called on a cellphone whoever he was trying to reach.

  2. Mia says:

    Ah, how I miss home sometimes… NOT! They won’t do anything with the crazy people, there’s no place to take them. =-(

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