My Nice, Quiet Neighborhood

You know that essay that just rattles around in your brain and you just have to write it? Since I've made myself scarce by putting a little mute on myself due to my work situation and all the politics involved, I nearly forgot about my voice. But things have been changing. More later on the work situation. For now, I want to tell you about the exciting news of what's been going on in my nice, quiet suburban neighborhood. Last weekend, in our neighborhood, we had a popular night club making pretty brisk business then later, a mob and a riot.

Awesome!

It started like this. A large house in the neighborhood, the owners being somewhat aloof and apart from the common people like ourselves, brought in an event company. Shortly after they arrived, a security company showed up. They conferred in front of the house then went to sit in the truck for an hour or so. Then there were the EMT's and finally the Honey Buckets. That's a port-a-potty. The three DJ's arrived and turned the up the bass and the volume. 85 decibels, if you wanted to know.

Somewhere around 8:00, the parking situation started to get out of control. In fact, there were cars parked both legally and not so much legally on every street in the development, along the main thoroughfare, and in the development across the way. I noticed a few police cars patrolling the streets. At 10:00, the commotion really began. 

So what was really going on was a Project X Party. The party of all parties. Tweeted over and over and over again. In order to get into the party, you had to pay a $7 cover charge. However, if you tweeted it, you only had to pay $5. The police officers informed the homeowners, who arranged all of this for their 16 year old son, there is a noise ordinance and the party will be shut down at 10:00. They continued collecting their cover charge until 9:59. 

At 10:00, there were four city police cars and two from a neighboring city that were used to corral 1200 adrenaline infused teenagers out of the neighborhood. The music was still playing and the teenagers were grudgingly leaving the party and taking to the streets. Some returned to the bushes where they had hidden their paraphernalia. Some were sadly disappointed and enraged when their precious illegal substances were missing. 

Now we must talk about the always enjoyable hot topic of "racial profiling." Racial profiling is the use of an individual’s race or ethnicity by law enforcement personnel as a key factor in deciding whether to engage in enforcement. And that, my dear friends, is exactly what happened at the end of the street where approximately 200 teenagers gathered.

Just to clarify, there are many definition of "teenager." The most apt for most situations is my own: The developmental stage where the pre-frontal cortex portion of the brain has not caught up with the size of the person; generally occurring between the ages of 13 - 21. 

What does this mean? This means that people that are the size of adults, with the strength of adults, go around doing stupid stuff because they have no impulse control due to the lagging of development in their brains. 

Don't get me wrong, I love teenagers. I work with them. I have three of them myself. I even used to be one of them. They are wonderful, quirky creatures but they do have their challenges. The most glaring is the gap between their physical size and neurological development. 

So. The racial profiling began as the teenagers were gathering at the end of the street, on the lawn of my sweet neighbors with four small children and right across the street from my feisty friend, Kaye, who is a former city council member. She snapped this picture from her front window:

But Nancy, where are you? you might be asking. I'm straight west, behind the crowd about 200 feet. It's a train wreck. Really, who can resist a train wreck? But I digress... 

Racial profiling. It's what at least one of the intoxicated teens was using to incite the riot. I would direct you to the YouTube video that he brilliantly posted and aptly named, "Me Messing with the City Police," but I don't want you to endure the language. See, the police were attempting to handcuff a 250 lb. Tongan man with an under developed pre-frontal cortex. He was also intoxicated and was innocently walking down the street, punching stuff. Just a few examples of what he was punching include car windows which broke on impact and then people. He yelled he was being racially profiled then yelled, "Go ahead and shoot me! It's Ferguson all over!" 

Meanwhile, a small group of adults were being harassed by a few of the party goers as they streamed past us. Not all of them were smart asphalts. Some were actually very polite and apologized to us "neighbors." I caught sight of one young man and resisted the urge to call out to him, "Hey, Austin! How's it going? It's Mrs. Taylor! You know, your school counselor?" Yeah, best to keep a low profile.

A post script to the event is that they made $6000 and admitted 1200 paying patrons. That does not include those who jumped the fences from surrounding properties of unsuspecting homeowners who had no idea what was happening at this house until they asked one of the teenagers who answered, "Dude! It's gonna be the best. Party. Ever! Woooo!" Accompanied by both hands extended over their heads, knees bent, and fingers contorted into a sign we can only interpret as, "The best. Party. Ever."

Woooo.