They’re ‘Neighborhood Patrolmen’, Not Fascists!

I’d been informed a couple of weeks ago, the ’residence’ I’d rented here in Lake Elsinore over the last two years was actually a ‘laundry room’ and didn’t subsequently ‘meet code’.  Given only a few days notice, I was to pack everything up and move.  Though I’d retained my Temecula address for mail, I’d not divulged where I was currently residing, figuring it could only cause further inconvenience for me.  I’d just been grateful to have a clean, dry, place to stay, in addition to the increased number of cable stations I’d been receiving since ‘relocating’.

So . . . earlier this morning, as I was sitting at my keyboard working, someone knocked at my door.  I suppose I could have asked, “Who is it?”, but until now, it’s inevitably been either a friend or neighbor.  You can imagine my surprise to instead, find myself facing a uniformed ’patrolman’ from ‘Code Enforcement’ holding a clipboard, folder, and citation pad who began inquiring about the property owner’s whereabouts.  I feigned ignorance, “I know nothing . . . nothing.”

With pen and notepad poised, he then expressed an interest in learning my name.  Appearing as personable as he did, I offered my first name but perhaps, encouraged by my cooperation, he pressed for a last name as well.  When I told him I wasn’t comfortable sharing a great deal of information with him, he replied that I certainly had the ‘right’ to decline doing so.  Though we ended the conversation with each other politely enough, he continued to mill around the grounds and, a few minutes later, knocked on the door to the kitchen where I’d gone to fix a cup of coffee. 

Somewhat amused at this point, when I opened the door, he asked in a friendly tone, “Oh, do you live here, too?”  What followed was an interesting dialogue, the only disparity being, his time was compensated for by our community’s taxpayers, while mine wasn’t.  Nevertheless, I’ve noticed this is often the case for me lately.  Because I consider myself a reasonably competent educator, circumstances frequently offer an opportunity to explore new and creative avenues for instruction.

However, as Mono and I talked, and recognizing his prime objective entailed keeping his job, we discussed what constructive steps he might take in actually improving living conditions, rather than simply inflicting homelessness on myself and members of my immediate community.  Also, and while he couldn’t go into any detail as to ‘who’ was actually responsible for the ‘complaints’ he’d received (I suspect my mother . . .), Mono occasionally exhibited a certain amount of defensiveness about his job, the uniform, (I intentionally ignored the new minivan), his religious orientation, etc.  Thus, and recognizing that we’d probably never be bosom buddies, I kept reemphasizing the importance of communicating with each other as human beings.

Oddly, it seemed important to him that I could be as understanding of his situation as I was . . .