So I’ve been trying to find a way to write about the night the police came to my house because we were having a block party but everything I try to write doesn’t come out as funny as it was when it happened and what I am going to end up giving you isn’t going to do the event any justice but I told you I would write about it so here.
Most Friday nights somebody in our neighborhood hosts a get together. It’s called Flamingo Friday. It starts at 5:30 and has a few rules that nobody really follows much. Like everybody has to bring enough food to feed their family, and they have to supply their own drinks. And the festivities end sharply at 8 pm.
We offered to host it 4 Fridays ago because I don’t know why, it just sounded good, but I learned that nobody really brings their own drinks and only half of everybody brings their own food. I also learned that Rabbit and I seriously know how to throw a party, people. You should have been there.
Early in the evening this conversation happened.
Jesse (my 3 year old, talking to my neighbor, Amy): The police are going to come.
2 minutes later…
Jesse: The police are going to come.
Jesse: The police are going to come.
Amy: Jesse is pretty sure the cops are going to show up.
Me: Yeah. I wonder what that’s all about.
So at around 9, guess what happened.
Wrong. Fooled you.
The cops didn’t show up.
What did happen was, just as I thought the party was winding down, one of the teenage kids across the street brought over a karaoke machine. The husbands hooked it up to our projector in the garage and began what can only be described as something that has absolutely no description. It was loud and I commented that if it wasn’t for pretty much the entire block being at my house right now I’d be sure somebody would call the cops on us for being noisy.
As the singing and commotion grew louder and louder a few other people discussed how funny it would be if Jesse’s prediction came true and the cops did end up busting up our noisy party.
And not 2 minutes later, at around 11 pm…
I was video taping when it happened and I’m sort of sad that the video didn’t turn out very good because all the sudden there were 3 cop cars screeching to a halt in front of my house.
Here are some of the things I heard coming from my crowded garage that was packed with at least 16 adult-sized people, half of them active-duty Naval officers.
A neighbor: Bad boys bad boys, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you…
Another neighbor: JESSE WAS RIGHT! How did he know?
Another neighbor: They’re just mad they weren’t invited.
Military cop: Who is the homeowner here?
Neighbor from the back of the crowd: UHHH… BALFOUR BEATTY. Their office is just outside of housing but I’m pretty sure they’re closed right now.
(Balfour Beatty is the company that owns and manages military housing)
Rabbit was chuckling: I live here.
Military cop (obviously his pants were too tight because he had no sense of humor): We’ve had a complaint about the noise. I’ll need to see your ID.
And that was it. There was not another word spoken as the officer looked carefully and deliberately at my husband’s military ID. Nothing. Not a warning to quiet down, not a suggestion to take it indoors, not a request for an invitation, no heartfelt goodbye…
The whole thing was weird and didn’t really make much sense at all.
Of course, everybody agreed that maybe we should tone it down a little so they made a conscious effort to keep it quiet after that. For about 10 minutes.
And the karaoke continued until 12:15, when I had to kick everybody out because Rabbit had to work for a few hours in the morning.
And the party-killing cops never came back and the karaoke singers sang happily every after.