So I live in what you might call a de-gentrifying neighborhood. The city of Alexandria shut down much of its public housing recently, and instead is subsidizing former public housing tenants to live in regular, private apartment complexes, courtesy of federal grants. This would include my apartment complex. Consequently, I’ve noticed an increasing density of 40s on my dog-walk route. Gangbangers hang out in front of the place in the summer, and we get several car vandalisms per week. One weekend, they hit every car on the street in front of my house, alternating between tire slashings and windshield smashings: tire, window, tire, window, etc.

Foxchase (my apartment complex) won’t hire security, so we call the cops every time we see them congregating again. The cops don’t do much of anything.

Tonight, my neighbor called the cops on the new tenant above him, after about a dozen noise complaints over the last few weeks.

At the time, my girlfriend and I were having desert. (Warning: slightly cheesy couples stuff ahead.) She decided to get playful, and tried to wipe some chocolate on my face. I resisted, and so we’re doing this play-fight thing in my kitchen, which also happens to have a window.

About two minutes later, there’s an obnoxiously loud knock at my door. Like a “who the hell would pound on my door like that” kind of knock. I open the door, and someone throws a foot into it. Next thing I know, the door swings open, and there’s a cop in my face, with his damned gun drawn, and his finger on the trigger.

“WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?”

I say, “Um….”

At this point, I’m thinking, “Shit. Mel and Betty Sembler have finally got me. This guy’s going to plant drugs in my apartment, and I’m going to jail for a very, very long time.”

The cop marches into my apartment, right past me, into my kitchen, and starts looking around. Gun still in the air. No explanation. Then he leaves.

He does this two more times over the next hour. The third time he didn’t have his gun drawn, but still had his hand on it as it sat in the holster. During that hour, about five more cops showed up. All had their hands on their guns, or had their guns drawn.

One of them was an older woman. She asked the copy who confronted me, “What’s going on?”

He replied, “Man. I don’t know. I just hit the wrong apartment and almost killed someone.”

That “someone” would be me.

Finally the cop returned to my apartment. He asked again, “What’s going on, here?”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

“My neighbor made a noise complaint. They’re upstairs. I have no idea why you’re in my apartment,” I said.

He then explained. He came to my apartment building in response to the noise call. As he was getting out of his car, he says, happened to look into my kitchen window, and saw my girlfriend and I rough-housing. Naturally (I guess), he assumed I was beating her. So he decided it would be a good idea to draw his gun, pound on my door, and butt his way into my home.

As all of this was happening, my neighbor and the public housing refugees above him were having a shout-fest in front of the other cops.

After about an hour, all of the cops eventually left.

As it was explained to me (by my neighbor), a woman lives above him, with two kids. One of the kids is constantly running around during the week, which is noisy, but he tolerates it. On the weekends, the boyfriend comes over, as do many of his friends. That’s when the music and the party kicks up. Hence, the noise complaint.

Tonight, boyfriend and one of his boys were upstairs as all this took place. Just after the cops left, the two of them descended down the stairs. One said to the other, eying my apartment and my neighbor’s, “they’re dead.”

Later, I went out to my car to get a few things. A little nervously, to be honest. My girlfriend and my neighbor’s girlfriend were understandably scared shitless, and the two standing in the hallway to commiserate as I walked to my car. The boyfriend and his buddy entered the building again, ascended the stairs again, walked by the two women, and spit on my neighbor’s door, at the feet of his girlfriend.

The cops eventually showed up again. So we left. Girlfriend, dog, and I are tonight staying at her house, in a better neighborhood.

Two thoughts on all of this:

1) Of all the complaints Foxchase residents have filed over the last several months, the first I’ve ever heard of them taking serious action was tonight. When the dude drew his gun. Against me. For, um, playfully preventing my girlfriend from wiping chocolate on me. Excellent work, fellas. I feel better about my taxes.

2) I am of course against gun control. But it’s never been much of a hot-button issue for me. Until now. I want a gun. Tonight. I should be able to go to Wal-Mart and by a goddamned handgun to defend myself. I doubt the two buffoons who threatened us tonight were serious. But what if they were? Why in the hell should I have to wait five days to be able to defend myself? Anybody think that if they were serious, they’d have any trouble finding a gun in about eight minutes? Who’s served by a federal law making me wait five days?

Quite a night. It’s two double bourbons later, now. Adrenalin’s wearing off.

Still not so crazy about going home.

This entry was posted on Saturday, February 26th, 2005 at 9:36 pm by Radley Balko and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.