Earlier this afternoon Brandon said he was going to school to set up his new classroom and pick up a few things to work on over the summer. I said we would go with him and help him out, so we made a little trip out of it. On the way out to the car I semi-notice an extra cop car or two at our complex, but didn't really think twice about it. We've got multiple police officers who live in the apartment complex, including two right across the way from us, so cop cars are a normal thing. Once we started driving off, Brandon says, "I wonder what that kid's getting arrested for."
Excuse me? Arrested?
"Yeah- he was sitting on the concrete, handcuffed to the railing of the stairs. Cops were searching through his apartment. I thought you looked over there and saw?"
No, I most definitely would have postponed our trip to an empty classroom to put desks in order and books on shelves if I had seen a dude handcuffed to the staircase. C'mon. Priorities. And he wouldn't even turn the car around and go out the other end of the complex so I could sneak a peek. So I assume the story is over and we won't find out anymore.
We stayed at school for about an hour, getting back home around 5:45 to realize that there are even MORE police cars than were there before.
"What in the world?" Brandon says as we drive up and park next to a state trooper. Then, we see the plants.
One large, blonde police officer is standing next to a police truck that already has two large, leafy, green plants of a certain herbal variety in it, guarding it for evidence purposes, or recreation for them later- you decide. Out of the apartment in question comes another cop, smiling, laughing, carrying a marijuana plant that measures from his waist to about halfway up his face. We walk by as the two cops converge at the truck and overhear the greatest comment:
"Man... this is some stinky weed".
No joke, cop, no joke. Talk about rank. It's fairly obvious as to why the dude got caught growing pot inside his apartment... it STANK to high Heaven. If you're on the first floor of an apartment complex, you've got to know that smells rise. No doubt in my mind that the upstairs neighbors were the narcs. I would have been too if that mess was coming into my A/C vent. It was hard to breathe just walking past it in the open air... I have no idea how that man lived with it all. I hope for his sake he has a deviated septum or something. I also think he's an idiot.
So we get into our apartment and Brandon says, "I guess you'll have to blog about this- tell the world it wasn't our mysterious upstairs neighbors who were into drugs, it was the never-seen young neighbor on the corner".
Au contraire. Here's the deal:
Our crazy mysterious upstairs neighbors, you remember, the Sweeney Todd imitators who would drop hair from their murder victims on my doorstep? They were the sellers. The guy on the corner grew the stuff and then the wild family upstairs sold it. See- growers can't be sellers. Doesn't everyone know that? No no, you must do one or the other, or else the whole deal goes sour.
Point proven today. Everything was hush-hush before so there wasn't too much attention on any one apartment. Once the sellers moved away, the corner drug store had to go into business all in himself. Things got crazy and he ended up handcuffed to the stair rail. I always knew this place had its secrets, but I'm just now realizing there's ALWAYS more to the story.