In Which Carmen Watches the Nightlife
Mar. 19th, 2005 11:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xaaraI'm actually writing this as it's happening:
ETA: Cut because I just realized this is extremely long. Also: bad language. But entertainment is guaranteed.
Credit for quote-checking goes to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miliani_2000, who also witnessed the whole scene.
I finish watching The Ten Commandments (more on that later) and come up to my room. As I close my curtains, I hear the squeal of skidding tires, a car door slamming, and a loud instance of "Fuck, man!"
Another slamming door, another "Fuck!"
So, of course, me being me, I immediately pull my curtains back and peer out the window into the midnight quiet of my neighborhood. A short, compactly built man in his twenties is stalking down the street in the direction opposite the one the now-parked car from which he emerged faces. He has a crew cut, is wearing a button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, and walks with enough of a restraint to his gait that I think he's military.
His friend (or, y'know, the other person involved, because my friends sure as hell don't slam my car into a parking spot so they can get out and scream "Fuck you, man!" at me at midnight on a Saturday) comes charging after him. Man the Second greatly resembles Man the First--crew cut, unbuttoned shirt, whole ensemble.
"I ain't fightin' you, Larry," Man the First says, fleeing the scene with ever-increasing speed.
"You fuckin' bitch," Larry screams loudly enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. "You fuckin' stay here and listen to me. Goddamnit, I catch you and I'm gonna fuckin' knock you out."
Man the First accelerates further. "Man, Larry, just calm down, man. I ain't doin' this, man."
Larry, quickly gaining on Man the First, yells, "I'm gonna fuckin' knock you down, shithead. Man, fuck you. I ain't fuckin' playin'." As if to emphasize his point (which I'm sure Man the First understands quite well enough by this point,) Larry reaches down to the bottom hem of his shirt. I duck until I'm mostly below the level of the window, worrying that Larry has a gun and seriously considering calling the police. I'm relieved, however, when it turns out that Larry is only reaching for his waistline in order to unbutton his shirt and strip it off in a masochistic and completely unnecessary posturing maneuver.
Meanwhile, a third guy who would complete the triplet set with the first two appears from nowhere while I'm concentrating on the argument. I think he might be the driver of the car, now that I'm seeing all three of them--he looks like the only one who's not drunk. He sprints into the area a safe distance from Larry and starts trying to talk him down, while Larry exercises his full vocabulary, which apparently consists of the word "fuck."
"Larry, man, you don't want to do this. Don't do this. Let's just go."
When Larry turns around, Driver dances back a few steps. He's not that good at hiding his fear. Since I feel sorry for him and since I'm tired of listening to Larry and his stupid, "Fuck you, bitch," just before I'm trying to sleep, I reach for the phone to call the cops, but a Secret Service vehicle pulls up instead. It's probably some of the security from one of the nearby embassies--sometimes they handle situations like this.
It takes approximately a nanosecond of flashing light before Larry's quiet and attempting to shove himself back into his shirt. Two officers hop out of the car--one herds Man the First back toward the site of the original altercation; the other stands facing Larry and Driver. When Larry steps off the curb, hands open and palm-forward at the level of his shoulders in a gesture that is probably supposed to convey a platitude, the officer points at him and says, "Stay where you are," just like that.
"I'm sorry," says Larry, who has still not learned how to control the volume of his voice. Driver folds his hands in front of him and bounces from foot to foot nervously, standing to the right of and a little behind Larry. Larry continues, "It's just, my buddies and me got lost and we were having a little bit of an argument and it got out of control."
The officer gets that And that actually worked on someone once? look on his face and folds his arms. "I'm going to need to see some ID," he says. "Now."
Driver scurries back to the car and fishes around for a few seconds before rushing back with several plastic rectangles. "We're okay," he volunteers when the officer looks less-than-pleased about the whole situation.
Meanwhile, the second officer has managed to return Man the First to the scene and is wondering aloud what happened. "We just had a disagreement," Larry says, impressing me (and probably his friends), by using a four-syllable word that is not "motherfucker."
"That why you had your shirt off?" Officer One asks, nodding at Larry's still-unbuttoned shirt.
"Got excited," Larry says, which is probably the truth. After a fashion. "We got lost, and I got mad, and it just sort of--"
"Do you know what time it is?" Officer Two interrupts. "It's midnight, and this is a residential area. You're disturbing the neighborhood."
"And we're sorry," says Larry. The way he and his buddies are standing now--all more or less at ease, with Larry at the head of a vee-shaped formation--leaves not doubt as to their affiliation with the military.
"We're going to have to write you up," says Officer One. "You should feel responsible for what you've done here--there're little kids here, and you three're running up and down the street cursing at each other."
Driver decides that this might be the time to bow and scrape and so makes a protracted apology during the course of which he smoothly asks for directions to a place I don't overhear. The officer launches into a lengthy speech about disturbing the peace. And keeps talking. And is talking. And none of it is even sort of quotable--doesn't he know that two floors above him, a girl is just dying to get this all into her LJ?
Well, it seems that that's the end of the whole deal--Officer One hands Driver a piece of paper that is presumably a ticket and gets back into his car while Officer Two walks the trio back to their car. Two of them (Larry and Driver) walk down 37th street, while Man the First walks down Van Ness. Officer Two gets into the Secret Service SUV and drives off with Officer One. The trio's car is still sitting beside my house--I'm not sure what they're planning to do with it, or if they're planning anything at all.
And I've complained that nothing interesting ever happens in this neighborhood.
ETA: Cut because I just realized this is extremely long. Also: bad language. But entertainment is guaranteed.
Credit for quote-checking goes to
miliani_2000, who also witnessed the whole scene.I finish watching The Ten Commandments (more on that later) and come up to my room. As I close my curtains, I hear the squeal of skidding tires, a car door slamming, and a loud instance of "Fuck, man!"
Another slamming door, another "Fuck!"
So, of course, me being me, I immediately pull my curtains back and peer out the window into the midnight quiet of my neighborhood. A short, compactly built man in his twenties is stalking down the street in the direction opposite the one the now-parked car from which he emerged faces. He has a crew cut, is wearing a button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, and walks with enough of a restraint to his gait that I think he's military.
His friend (or, y'know, the other person involved, because my friends sure as hell don't slam my car into a parking spot so they can get out and scream "Fuck you, man!" at me at midnight on a Saturday) comes charging after him. Man the Second greatly resembles Man the First--crew cut, unbuttoned shirt, whole ensemble.
"I ain't fightin' you, Larry," Man the First says, fleeing the scene with ever-increasing speed.
"You fuckin' bitch," Larry screams loudly enough for the entire neighborhood to hear. "You fuckin' stay here and listen to me. Goddamnit, I catch you and I'm gonna fuckin' knock you out."
Man the First accelerates further. "Man, Larry, just calm down, man. I ain't doin' this, man."
Larry, quickly gaining on Man the First, yells, "I'm gonna fuckin' knock you down, shithead. Man, fuck you. I ain't fuckin' playin'." As if to emphasize his point (which I'm sure Man the First understands quite well enough by this point,) Larry reaches down to the bottom hem of his shirt. I duck until I'm mostly below the level of the window, worrying that Larry has a gun and seriously considering calling the police. I'm relieved, however, when it turns out that Larry is only reaching for his waistline in order to unbutton his shirt and strip it off in a masochistic and completely unnecessary posturing maneuver.
Meanwhile, a third guy who would complete the triplet set with the first two appears from nowhere while I'm concentrating on the argument. I think he might be the driver of the car, now that I'm seeing all three of them--he looks like the only one who's not drunk. He sprints into the area a safe distance from Larry and starts trying to talk him down, while Larry exercises his full vocabulary, which apparently consists of the word "fuck."
"Larry, man, you don't want to do this. Don't do this. Let's just go."
When Larry turns around, Driver dances back a few steps. He's not that good at hiding his fear. Since I feel sorry for him and since I'm tired of listening to Larry and his stupid, "Fuck you, bitch," just before I'm trying to sleep, I reach for the phone to call the cops, but a Secret Service vehicle pulls up instead. It's probably some of the security from one of the nearby embassies--sometimes they handle situations like this.
It takes approximately a nanosecond of flashing light before Larry's quiet and attempting to shove himself back into his shirt. Two officers hop out of the car--one herds Man the First back toward the site of the original altercation; the other stands facing Larry and Driver. When Larry steps off the curb, hands open and palm-forward at the level of his shoulders in a gesture that is probably supposed to convey a platitude, the officer points at him and says, "Stay where you are," just like that.
"I'm sorry," says Larry, who has still not learned how to control the volume of his voice. Driver folds his hands in front of him and bounces from foot to foot nervously, standing to the right of and a little behind Larry. Larry continues, "It's just, my buddies and me got lost and we were having a little bit of an argument and it got out of control."
The officer gets that And that actually worked on someone once? look on his face and folds his arms. "I'm going to need to see some ID," he says. "Now."
Driver scurries back to the car and fishes around for a few seconds before rushing back with several plastic rectangles. "We're okay," he volunteers when the officer looks less-than-pleased about the whole situation.
Meanwhile, the second officer has managed to return Man the First to the scene and is wondering aloud what happened. "We just had a disagreement," Larry says, impressing me (and probably his friends), by using a four-syllable word that is not "motherfucker."
"That why you had your shirt off?" Officer One asks, nodding at Larry's still-unbuttoned shirt.
"Got excited," Larry says, which is probably the truth. After a fashion. "We got lost, and I got mad, and it just sort of--"
"Do you know what time it is?" Officer Two interrupts. "It's midnight, and this is a residential area. You're disturbing the neighborhood."
"And we're sorry," says Larry. The way he and his buddies are standing now--all more or less at ease, with Larry at the head of a vee-shaped formation--leaves not doubt as to their affiliation with the military.
"We're going to have to write you up," says Officer One. "You should feel responsible for what you've done here--there're little kids here, and you three're running up and down the street cursing at each other."
Driver decides that this might be the time to bow and scrape and so makes a protracted apology during the course of which he smoothly asks for directions to a place I don't overhear. The officer launches into a lengthy speech about disturbing the peace. And keeps talking. And is talking. And none of it is even sort of quotable--doesn't he know that two floors above him, a girl is just dying to get this all into her LJ?
Well, it seems that that's the end of the whole deal--Officer One hands Driver a piece of paper that is presumably a ticket and gets back into his car while Officer Two walks the trio back to their car. Two of them (Larry and Driver) walk down 37th street, while Man the First walks down Van Ness. Officer Two gets into the Secret Service SUV and drives off with Officer One. The trio's car is still sitting beside my house--I'm not sure what they're planning to do with it, or if they're planning anything at all.
And I've complained that nothing interesting ever happens in this neighborhood.
