Do Not Park

Yesterday I left work around midnight and drove back to Minneapolis.

During the drive home I receive a text from Jack, who was at the clubhouse.

The problem is that Jack’s trashy ex-boyfriend is a stripper dancer at the clubhouse. So of course I had go support Jack to prevent the trashy-ex from getting too much joy from seeing Jack at the clubhouse by himself.

When I arrive at my building there is no street parking available, so I decide illegally park at a nearby business. I was just going to quickly walk the dog before going to the clubhouse, so I figured that briefly parking in the empty business lot wouldn’t be too much trouble.

And of course I was wrong.

I get out of my car and see teenagers running past me. I look across the parking lot at the apartment building that they ran from. There is a boy wearing a hoodie on the apartment building’s garage staircase. The boy raises his arm towards to the building and I hear two gunshots.
The shooter then starts running across the parking lot towards my car.
I scramble to my apartment building while calling 911, thinking “this is some bullshit…” I leash my dog while on the phone with the 911 dispatcher. The dog gives me the “what’s wrong bubba?” look.

Five minutes later I’m walking the dog towards the neighborhood bank so I can get cash for the clubhouse. I receive a call, it’s the police, they want me to come and talk to them on a street near the business:

Police Officer (talking to me on the phone): “Where are you?”
Me: “Oh, at the bank down the street…uh, I’m going to walk towards you.”
Officer: “Do you see me?”
Me: “No, but I see your cop car I think…”
Officer: “Well, you should see some cars… I mean we have seven squad cars out here.”
Me: “Hmmph,… they didn’t send seven squad cars when I got shot…”
Officer: “What was that?”
Me: “Nothing! I see you, I’m here. Hi!”

I walk towards the officer on the sidewalk.

Sure enough, there are seven cop cars lining the street. The only problem is that the police are busy searching the wrong apartment building.

Officer: “So what happened?”
Me: “Well, I was parking at the business over there…see what I get for parking illegally? Well, anyway, I was parking over there behind these buildings and some teens were running past me as I got out of my car. Then I saw a teen in the back of that apartment building shoot twice.”
Officer: “Which building?”
Me: “That one. Not the one you guys are searching…”
Officer: “Crap.”
(the officer screams orders into his radio to the tune of “WRONG BUILDING YO”)
Me: “Sorry that I’m so freaked out. I got hit by a stray bullet last month.”
Officer: “Oh heck, I’d be freaked out too. Can you tell me anything else about the teens?”
Me: “Oh, and the teens were…um… East African.”
Officer: “You mean Somalis?”
Me: “…uh, yeah.¹ I guess.”

I leave the officer, let the dog crap, and then book it to the clubhouse.

At the clubhouse I try my best to ignore Jack’s ex, who keeps inching closer to Jack and I. It felt like one of those DiscoveryChannel clips of a preying snake in the jungle…except this one had bleached hair and intermittently shot us the stank eye.

I also ran into Yogi and his entourage:

Yogi: “Hey, do you want another shot?”
Me: “I’m not a big drinker. You know this.”
Yogi: “But you just texted me and said you had a shot out at your apartment building.”
Me: “No, I texted you that I had a SHOOT out at my apartment building.”
Yogi: “Again? Minneapolis is not treating you well. Was it Somalis?”
Me: “Why does it always have to be Somalis?”
Yogi: “Because it’s Minneapolis. You’re saying it wasn’t?”
Me: “No, it was. But still…”

I had a fun, concise² time at the clubhouse, and then snuck home hoping that none of the supposedly-Somali teens saw me talk to the cops…

¹ Here I am trying to be politically correct for once in my life…pfft. Besides, we have Ethiopians in Minneapolis too! Why does it have to be a Somali?
² Clubs in Minneapolis close at 3am on the weekends. I left work at midnight, had the commute/shooting fiasco, and got to the club around 1am. So it was a 2-hour affair.