I don’t have a lot of faith in the people in my neighborhood. I hate that I don’t, but I don’t. I live in a neighborhood with lots of people who are very wealthy. I also live in a neighborhood with lots of people who are very poor. We live right on the dividing line between the two areas.
B tells stories about how when he first moved in, when things were really scary. He would hear gunshots at night — there were dealers who would go show off their wares down at the lake. Crack-Hos would show up on his doorstep and cause havoc and he would have to call the cops on them. Hos would also show up and ask to use the phone (so they could case the joint, he said). He’d never let them.
Once, while B was sitting on the couch watching TV, a guy ran right into his living room, turned around and bolted the door, and kept on running through the house. A cop kicked down the door and ran after the guy, who had crawled out the back bedroom (our bedroom!) window. The cops would not pay for his broken door; he had to buy a new one.
Just on the crest of the hill are multi-million dollar mansions with views of Lake Washington, whose owners drive German automobiles and send their children to exclusive private schools. These people are CEO’s of corporations, old-money Seattlites, and dot-com boomers. Four short blocks away, on the down-slope of the hill are ramshackle houses made into multi-family homes with people on public assistance. Sometimes there are shiny German automobiles (and large Cadillac Escalades) parked outside these houses as well, and I can only think: Drugs. There are also quite a few brand new public assisted housing projects which look quite nice. These people send their kids to the public school where 17% of them are passing science, 37% of them are passing math, and 63% are passing reading. 77% of my neighborhood’s public elementary school children are categorized as “Economically Disadvantaged.” (Data thanks to schoolmatters.com) 27% of the kids in that school are English Language Learners. There are a lot of immigrants in my neighborhood from various parts of the world — Southeast Asia, Somalia, Rwanda, mostly… but I’m sure other places as well.
As Seattle has become more and more expensive, our neighborhood has become much better. A rental gets sold to a young couple who can’t afford to move anywhere else in the city, they fix it up, and improve the hood. Our house is one of those statistics. 15 years ago, pot growers lived here. They’re the ones who attached the garage to the house (sans permit), so they could get from the pot-growing operation in the basement to the garage with their product without anyone seeing what they were doing. I haven’t heard a gunshot since I’ve moved in, though I’ve heard plenty of homies booming their loud bass right outside my door.
About once a month, I am asked for money outside my neighborhood grocery stores, never by the same person. There is a man who is “stationed” at the end of the parking lot, whose job is pretty much to stand there with a sign, hoping for the generosity of strangers. He must do pretty well there; he’s there most times I go to the store. A lot of grocery stores have security guards; our stores have full-fledged Seattle Police Officers. There are bars on many home windows, and most business’ windows.
About a week before my first OB appointment, B went outside to wheel our yard waste & garbage containers back up to the garage. When he came inside, he was carrying two black leather briefcases. I said, “What are those?” He said, “I don’t know. These were in our yard waste container!” We both looked at each other with eyes the size of dinner plates, and looked inside the briefcases. I didn’t know what I thought I would find — drugs, guns, a bomb?? It was none of those things. It appeared to be some sort of psychological test kits.
We found a card in the briefcases that identified them as belonging to the Edmonds School District, and then we figured out what had happened: Someone had stolen these things out of somebody’s car thinking they would be an easily pawnable laptop computer. When it turned out that they were “useless” psychological test kits, they dumped them in our yard waste container. I emailed the Edmonds School District, got in touch with the owner of the stolen psychological tests (a school psychologist), and returned them to her. She was very grateful, and lived only two houses up the hill from me. It was a strange way to meet a neighbor. She said, “Yeah we joked about this at work — about how these two criminals must be sitting on the corner giving each other I.Q. tests.”
Just after this, I went into my OB’s office for my first appointment. In with the health history questionnaire they wanted me to fill out, there was also one about safety. Do I feel safe in my relationship? Yes. Do I feel safe in my home? Yes. Do I feel safe in my neighborhood? I had to think about that one. Do I feel safe? Hard to say. I certainly don’t think I can leave my doors unlocked at night. I don’t feel unsafe taking a walk, but I do usually walk on the upper side of the hill rather than the lower. I thought about the fact that in the previous week, we were the victims of a crime, and I checked the No box. No, I do not feel safe in my neighborhood.
Just two days ago, a neighbor had mail stolen out of her mailbox. She had a check in her outgoing mail, and the guy who stole it modified it, took it to the bank, and tried to cash it. The bank called the cops, and the cops caught him. My first thought was: This is why we never, ever send checks in the mail. My second thought was that we leave our Netflixes hanging out of our mailbox (which is on our porch) all the time. What’s to stop someone from stealing our Netflixes? It hasn’t happened yet, but there’s always a first time. Netflix wouldn’t charge us for the stolen movie, but if it happened too many times, they’d likely start.
I have very little faith in the people in our neighborhood.
Today, around noon, went down to my neighborhood Safeway. I put my purse in the kiddie seat, and did my shopping. When it came time to check out, I pulled my wallet out of my purse, and the bagger guy pulled my cart forward to put the bags in it. I paid by Credit Card the way I always do, and got my receipt. I walked over to where the carts go, took the bags out of the cart, and walked to my car. I went home, made some lunch, goofed on the internet, emptied the dishwasher, took a 1.5-hour nap, yadda yadda yadda.
At about 5pm, B called. He said he would be working late. They had a bid set going out tomorrow, and there will be some midnight oil being burned tonight. I asked him what he was going to do for dinner, and he said he was going to Expense some pizza for the guys. There is a place nearish to our house called All-Purpose Pizza that got recently got a positive write-up in the neighborhood newsletter. They use a Sourdough crust that’s supposed to be great. We always want to try it, but of course, when we go out, it’s never to Pizza (too many calories). I said, “I just got a buy-one-get-one-free coupon in the mail for that All-Purpose Pizza place that we keep wanting to try out. How about I order some Pizzas, pick them up, and bring them down there?” He said, “Great Idea.” I called All-Purpose Pizza, and told the gal I’d like to order three pizzas for pick-up. She says Okay, and I go into my purse to get my wallet, cause I’m sure she’s going to want my Credit Card Number.
…. my wallet wasn’t there. I say to the gal, “Ya know, I think I’ve lost my wallet. I’m going to have to call you back.” I take a quick look around the den and the kitchen, the only two places my wallet would be other than my purse, and it’s not there. I realize I left the thing at Safeway.
I ran out of my house, got in my car, and went down to Safeway. I waited nervously in the Customer Service line, behind two people who were renting movies. When I got to the front of the line, I said, “I think I left my wallet here today.” She asked for my name, and I told her. She opened a black wallet and said, “Yep - this is you!” And she handed it to me. I thanked her very much, and walked out to the car. I opened the wallet to make sure everything was there — it was. Even the cash (only about $20, but still).
I called All-Purpose Pizza from my cell phone while sitting in the Safeway parking lot, and ordered the pizza. I picked it up, and had a nice dinner with B and some of my ex-coworkers. When I got home, I realized that in my haste to find my wallet, I’d walked out of the house and left the front door unlocked. Everything was fine.
I have so little faith in the people in my neighborhood, and then something like this happens, and I think: “Shame on me.”
