Downtown Saint Paul is gorgeous during the summer. Unfortunately, the warm weather also brings a ton of sketchy characters outside.

The majority of these people seem to wander over from the homeless shelter across town or from the bus stops on Minnesota Street.

That’s why call them tourists.

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Puppy potty training duties mean that Mitchell and I are constantly in Mears Park with the dogs.

We have just arrived in at the park when one of our neighbors approaches us. She’s a short blond woman who owns a dachshund.
Like most of our neighbors, we recognize her dog, but have no clue what her name is.

Neighbor: “Sorry if this is weird, but can I borrow one of your phones to call the police? I forgot mine.”
Me: “Uh…sure…what…what’s going on?”
Neighbor: “There’s this guy over there passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. I talked to him and he’s completely out of it. He’s drunk.”

I walk to the center of the park and see a middle aged white guy sleeping on a backpack near the Galtier Tower.

His drunk mumbling instantly brought me back to my RA days, herding passed out freshmen.

I ring 911 and a few minutes later a fire truck pulls up to the park.

Our passed out friend hears the sirens and springs to life. He’s already propped up on the railing of the fountain when the fire truck swings around the corner.
About six paramedics jump out of the firetruck. We point them toward the drunkard.
The paramedics briefly talk to the drunk guy and then stroll back to the truck while rolling their eyes. This guy is obviously not worth their time.

A St. Paul Police squad car pulls onto the sidewalk as  the paramedics leave. A police officer briefly chats up the drunk guy and eventually tells him to move along.

Nothing attracts gossipy neighbors quicker than police lights.

By this time about a dozen of our neighbors are huddled around us with their dogs, intently watching the cop car.

I was surprised that the cop initially let this guy go in the first place, given how drunk he was. Two weeks ago we saw 6 or 7 cops swarm a black guy who was drinking beer in the park.

The now-awake guy walks toward the Bulldog Restaurant on the other side of the park. He reaches the corner of the park just as the fire truck rounds the corner.

The drunk guy starts screaming at the fire truck. We all watch as the cop jumps in his car, speeds 50 feet across the park, hops out, and slaps handcuffs on the drunk guy who he should have arrested in the first place.

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A few days later Mitchell and I are back in the Mears Park on a late-night dog walk.

We begin telling the drunkard arrest story to one of our neighbors when we notice a cop car on 5th Street.

The squad car screeches to a halt near the bus stop across from the park.

Two cops get of the squad car and a black guy immediately starts running down the street. The cops chase after the guy as he screams “PLEASE! PLEASE! DON’T SHOOT ME!”
The cops get the guy on the ground but he keeps screaming. Backup squad cars materialize and soon we have about six cops on the street.
Predictably, the lights and commotion attracts a bunch of our dog walking neighbors.

They gather around us just in time to watch the cops pull a gun off the guy and place it in an evidence bag before throwing him in the back of a squad car.

Shortly after the last squad car left, another Mears Park regular walks up to us. He lives by the nearby Wacouta Commons Park and owns a bug-eyed Chihuahua.

Me: “You missed the show.”
Wacouta Guy: “Oh?”
Me: “Yep. Someone was just arrested at the bus stop. He had a gun.”
Wacouta Guy: “Ugh. I came to this park to get away from that kind of show. I just called the cops before the dog walk — a guy was getting beat up by a group in front of my condo.”

Great.

Stay classy, St. Paul.