Count them

I live in an apartment in a quaint downtown of The City. For approximately 10 block up and down my street, there is one 12-story building, two 6-story buildings, and the balance are historic 2 1/2 story brick storefronts from the origins of The City. Most of the ground floors of these older buildings are occupied by small businesses, a few sit vacant. But of the upper floors, most of them are vacant. A few, such as my building, have had the upper apartments renovated (or at least made livable) and now have residents.

On my particular block, almost the entire east side of the street has residents living in the upper apartments. When I first moved to my apartment, it was suprisingly quiet and safe. My neighbor was a hispanic blue-collar worker – he didn’t speak great English, and I’m not certain even if he was “legal”. But, we were neighbors, and we looked out for each other, our vehicles.

I sleep with my bedroom window open, and one evening several summers ago, I woke to the ple-thunk sound of my door handle being tried and released. I scrambled out of my sheets to watch a guy making his way down the row of cars, trying random door handles as he went. A couple of friends cheered or jeered him from the opposite sidewalk, as they all made their way to the next block south.

Well, I called the police on my cordless, and struggled to pull on my shorts while explaining to the police what had happened. In a few moments, I was standing on my sidewalk, relaying a description of the individual, who continued to look for open vehicles, while his friends made their way toward a bar on that block. As I was on with the police, my neighbor came down and asked if I had seen that, too.

I feel I am putting more emphasis on my neighbor, but my point is the bar.

There’s a bar on my block. In fact, it is the second storefront to the north. Its an irish pub by look, but in practical use, its really just a nice place to grab a scotch. It has been there for years, and while patrons often force me to park around the side of my block on certain nights, I have never had any cause to complain about it’s presence. The owner smokes ribs and wings, which create a delightful smell on the sidewalk in the afternoon, and he is very participatory in the downtown parades – especially St. Patrick’s Day.

On the block south was a bar called LYZ. Its a gay bar. I say that not to bash gays, but because its the only tangible quality that differentiates it from the bar on my block, except for 1000 feet of distance. Police were frequently called to the place, and its patrons – gay or otherwise – were less than the cream of the crop. About a year and a half ago, when our downtown was in something of an economic slump, the State picked THAT BLOCK on which to build its new office building, and I was delighted when this troublesome bar was forced to close.

At that location.

They are at a new location.

Almost straight across from my apartment.

My number one complaint about their presence is the number of cabs that pull up at a quarter after 12, and blare on their horns to signal their fares inside. My number two complaint is the unruly and noisy behavior of its patrons when they leave in the morning. (My third complaint is that my car has been robbed twice since they moved in – but I have no way of proving a connection).

Last night, my slumber was again disturbed by the rancoiterous blarings of two drunks, obviously having some kind of disagreement. But, as I was sober at the time, I couldn’t understand a word they were shouting. I rolled out of bed to peek and see if they had stopped moving, or were moving on.

They had stopped. And thats when the one slapped the other to the ground, and swung at him again.

I unpluged and powered-on my cellphone. Pressed the NINE button and held it.

This was the most conversational 911-dispatcher I have ever chatted with. I know that she worked at a bar that used to be on my side of the street some years ago. I also know that she doesn’t get downtown much anymore, and she had no idea people lived in the flats above the businesses.

At any rate, I described that two, no, now three drunken-disorderlies were exchanging blows, and gave her complete descriptions. She asked if they were using weapons – they were not. She reassured me that they were probably just working off some steam, but she would still dispatch a unit.

Well, as the drunk so often do, the next thing I see is all three of them sit down together on a nearby bench. Of course, thats when the police arrive.

SIX cruisers and a SUPERVISOR! For a drunken fist-fight!!

Five minutes later, after only one officer got out of his car and asked them if everyone was okay, all seven vehicles did little illegal u-turns, and sped off in new directions.

Having gotten this far with the story, I don’t know if I am pointing out why I am going to the City councel to have the bar’s liquor license non-renewed, [another reason, Gon] why drunkeness should be avoided, or the lunacy of our Police department. Maybe I am saying I didn’t get the best nights’ sleep.