Parking in our neighborhood is tough. So when we get a good parking spot, we don’t move it, even if we have things to do and places to go. We still do those things and go to those places, but we find another mode of transportation rather than give up our awesome spot.
Sunday was one of those nights. We had to go to Lowe’s to buy a smoke detector and a few other things, so we rented a Zipcar. Zipcars are nicer than our car 100% of the time and it’s always sort of a relief to not be embarrassed while out driving around for once.
Stupid Lowe’s had the wrong type of smoke detector and the wrong types of other things we needed, so we left in a huff without buying anything. I think Mike actually shook his fist at the outside of the store as we exited the parking lot.
So, driving home, headed up Tasker Street, we see some commotion on 5th Street, outside a laundromat, A man and woman were engaged in a physical altercation. We immediately pulled over, and Mike jumped out. I rolled my window down and yelled at the guy to leave her alone and said I was calling 911.
While I was on the line with 911, an older guy leaned down and kind of poked his head into the window.
“It’s okay, honey,” he said dismissively. “It’s a domestic thing. They know each other. They don’t need the cops.”
What the hell?!
I replied: “Just because it’s domestic doesn’t mean it’s okay! That doesn’t mean it’s not a crime!”
That guy pissed me off so much. Given that I was a crime reporter for so long, I learned that domestic violence is a huge issue; it’s not something to just brush aside. His attitude made me think of the old school of thought when it comes to domestic violence, that it’s “in the family,” so it’s fine. A guy is allowed to batter his wife. A mom or dad is allowed to beat up their kids. No, they aren’t.
A few people tried to break up the fight to the point that it was confusing to tell what was going on, and I gave 911 the wrong description of the man involved. It became clear after watching them roll around on the sidewalk that the female was the aggressor — it sounded like it was a fight over drugs; I heard her say, “Give me the bag of dope.” But still, violence is violence and it doesn’t matter who started it.
Mike was standing a few feet from them and yelled that the cops were coming. She had him in a death grip and was not letting go, so he stumbled down 5th Street dragging her next to him. So, the cops probably came by and found nothing there.
It would be nice to think that our pointless trip to Lowe’s actually meant something because we got to help someone, but I don’t know if us being there made a difference. Probably not.
We parked the Zipcar then walked to The Bottle Shop, located right behind our house. As we looked at the selection, we realized that this is that magical time of year in which two of the very best seasonal beers, Southern Tier’s Pumking and Troeg’s Mad Elf, are both available.
These two beers intermingle for only like a few days every year, and it was oddly jarring to see them side by side on the counter as we paid. It kind of felt like a fictional crossover, where characters from two different shows end up on the same episode like “The Jetsons Meet The Flinstones.”
So, it turned out to be a pretty good night after all that.