Well, isn't THAT a FINE How do ya do?

On Sunday morning, shortly after logging this post:


I recieved a call from the SDPD saying that “officers” would like to “talk” with me. The female dispatch caller left a referance number. I called, thinking that this was about a tagger that had been in the neighborhood a couple of months ago. A male voice answered the phone, one with a thick latin accent, who said his name was Mario. I gave him my name and said that I was returning a call and read the ref number.

There was a long pause as he looked it up. He eventually asked me where I lived. But there was something wrong with the way he asked. It was almost a threatening snear.

“SDPD should have my address,” I said. “Look what is this call regarding?”

Another long pause.

“I need to read more into the call,” he said, as I waited.

He finally came back to me with “Some of your neighbors hadn’t seen you for a while and your mail was piling up. They were worried.”

“Oh, well, I’m on vacation…” I laughed, relieved. I’d been away for almost two weeks.

It was only tonight when I got home from the airport that I found out that FOUR SDPD OFFICERS had broken into my apartment on Sunday because a downstairs neighbor had called the landlord or someone about leaking water coming into their apt from mine, and the landlord didn’t have a key!

Why couldn’t Mario just tell me that?

Now my floor is covered in asbestos mud and I am walking around in there with a dust mask on.

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