Tuesday, May 23, 2006

I love my hometown's police blotter. It runs the gamut from whiskeytown to bizarre to quaint and back to good old reliable whiskeytown. Some highlights today:

8:59 a.m. — Someone on the 800 block of Sequoia Circle reported that a woman with headphones was walking a Great Dane in and out of traffic while screaming irrationally.

5:34 p.m. — A caller said two men and two women were drinking in the park. He said one of the women hid a bottle of whiskey in her bra.

7:21 p.m. — A man on Black Oak Road said six to eight people were fighting with baseball bats near his residence.

7:58 p.m. — A man said someone broke a window out of his trailer. He wanted the "CSI Unit" sent out, but didn't know his own address.

12:55 a.m. — J*** S*****, [age], [address], arrested on suspicion of felony impersonating another person to pick up carpet behind [a carpet store]. She remained in custody this morning on $10,000 bail.

No coincidence that the blotter is always full of booze, brawls, and the batty. Last time I really went out drinking in my hometown, there was a barfight in the random little crap bar my man and I decided to quench our thirsty maws in. A barfight that started because two guys were going to go outside to fight and when the first guy turned around before leaving the bar, the second guy headbutted him and broke his nose. Blood sprayed everywhere. Suddenly, everyone was fighting, and I mean everyone, except for us. No exaggeration. My man and I sat tight, minding our own business, and kept drinking, because we thought it would be over in a flash. But the rolling masses of tweakers and drunks and rednecks and tweaker drunk rednecks made their way to our corner table, tipping it over as we swooped up our drinks (saved our beers!). Beer bottle in one hand, heavy glass candle holder (AKA what I will cave your skull in with if you touch me) in the other, overturned table in front of us, and only wall behind us, we stood fast and firm as the bartender yelled obscenities and sprayed anything that moved with sodawater from her magic wand.

Then, like it started, it was suddenly over. And everyone got up and went back to their tables and resumed their drinking. It was bizarre, even for this born and bred redneck-tweaker-town veteran. The cops, with a substation 2 blocks from the bar, showed up 15 minutes after it ended and took copious notes on the blood on the sidewalk and on the door. And after they left the guy who started it all sailed back through the length of the bar, middle fingers raised high in salute, and zipped through the front door with an angry mob chasing behind him.

As we were leaving, a guy who could only be described as Wade Garrett from Roadhouse:















sauntered, no limped (for real, yo), up to us and said, "This place used to be called the Blood Bucket in Gold Rush Days. Do you know why they used to call it the Blood Bucket?" "Um," we answered, "is it because there were a lot of fights and the blood could fill a bucket?"

Instead of telling you what he said, I'll just let you ruminate on what he could have said, mijo.

2 Comments:

Blogger bunny said...

Wow, that's a story! Our small city's crime report is mundane and far outweighed by the rest of the metropolitan area. But I do admit that most of the interesting entries are of the drunken brawl variety. Strangely, always outside of bars in the wee hours. I wonder why that is?

May 24, 2006 at 5:18:00 AM PDT  
Blogger CJKnaak said...

Fighting is fun.
Still fun for humans.. that's why we aren't evolved enough to live forever, yet, like God..
and the aliens shun us still.
Fighting is fun.
I'll be the first to admit that.
When dialog and understanding takes place of fighting one day and mankind has developed giant heads and are born from test tubes..
Well..
I'll be in the dirt.

May 28, 2006 at 9:11:00 PM PDT  

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