I have a butter knife in my pocket...

That's what I uttered to the police 10 minutes ago as they stood on my
front porch.
Perhaps I should start over. About an hour ago I was sitting on my couch
minding my own business and uploading photos. I had finally gotten the
family all tucked into bed and could catch up on my internet guilt free.
Suddenly, the front door bellwhimpers out a few bars of its musical
tune. I freeze knowing that (1) no one visits us and (2) no one would
ever visit us this late. Of course, no one in my house stirred, so I
thought our door bell had a short in it and must do this every so often.
Then it rang again.
I tried to slip quietly through the house (not) and make my way to the
front door. Cursing the lack of a peep hole, I went to one of the big
picture windows and peered outside. Sitting in front of my house was a
big white pickup. As I watched, the truck backed up and still stared at
our house. The driver of the truck then angled the truck so it pointed
at the part of the house where my grandfather's bedroom is and started
flashing the lights and honking the horn. After a couple of minutes of
this the truck pulled into my neighbor's driveway, but I couldn't see
what they did because it was dark and I was hidden behind a curtain.
Finally, the truck peeled away.
Well, that pretty much did me in. We've never lived in the best
neighborhood, and my mom constantly telling me work stories has
confirmed the societal dregs that live in this town. I grabbed a butter
knife and slid it into my fleece pocket and began making periodic rounds
of the house. Every so often I would look out the window again. Well,
guess what. I saw the truck pass our house again.
Not one to be fucked with, I woke my mom, explained to her what had
happened, and told her I was calling the cops. 15 minutes later San
Angelo's finest were on our porch listening to me rant. You'd be
proud...I managed to not use any curse words. They did ask me to keep my
hands where I could see them once I explained I had a butter knife on
me.
Honestly, my whole point in calling the cops was to have them come to
the house and send a message to fuck off to whoever kept driving by.
What we actually got were results. As I was typing this, the cops called
to tell me they had found the person, and that they had explained they
had had the wrong house. Props to the San Angelo police for actually
casing the neighborhood (and sending both a marked and unmarked car) and
finding the person. Very impressed.*

*I guess I should also be impressed that they didn't get trigger happy
and shoot me when I pulled a butter knife out of my pocket.
--
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