I was sitting in the kitchen
1. Shouldn't they be in school?
2. I CANNOT believe that girl is wearing long sleeves in 80 degree heat. TEXANS ARE WEIRD.
3. Wait...OMFG...WHAT IF THEY'RE HERE TO KILL US ALL?!
4. I'm hungry.
Number three resonated a bit, and I decided to text my neighbor to talk my down rather than guzzling a bottle of Klonopin.
Me: I need your opinion on something...it may or may not be life-threatening.
Her: I'LL BE THERE IN THREE MINUTES!
Me: No, it's just these kids behind the house...do you think they're old enough to be out of school? Plus I think they're smoking something. Do you think they're armed and dangerous?
After a few rounds of texts, it was concluded that these kids were getting stoned in a tree behind that's maybe 20 yards from our houses. Yes, that's right: UP IN A TREE. WHERE WE CAN ALL FUCKING SEE THEM.
We needed to get them back in school before it was too late.
My neighbor's husband called the police, and as we waited, I mentally inventoried any nearby blunt objects. I also had a sudden realization come over me and went from a horror-movie state of mind to something more akin to a combat zone veteran. (Presumably.) Because, these kids? THESE CHILDREN OF THE TREE? They were doing drugs near my house. NEAR MY CHILDREN. And OMFG HOW DARE THEY. Once I connected those mental dots, I went from oh-geeze-I-wonder-if-I'm-overreacting to VENGEANCE-SHALL-BE-MINE. (And it felt glorious.)
I scrambled over to Plus One and T9 and forcefully preserved their innocence with lollipops and rainbows and googled images of puppies. (Sure, they may have LOOKED terrified, but that's just the body's reaction to the purging of evil spirits, I've heard.)
And since the cop took nearly AN HOUR (no joke) to arrive, I had lots of time to tell my children to STAY AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS and THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE, DARLING! Just as my children started crying and something about TORNADOES, MOMMY?!, my neighbor alerted me when the dude finally pulled up in his squad car so I could watch. Because she loves me.
From my house, I couldn't see too much, especially once the kids had climbed down the steps and into the arms of the Fort Worth police. Fortunately, my neighbor had set up a fully concealed look-out and could see the whole thing going down. In my mind, she was wearing camouflage. And war paint.
"They were smoking from the pipe when he pulled up!"
"He's searching them!"
"He just put the boys in the back of the car!"
... and then ...
"He just let them all go..."
What...the fuck? I set down my sledgehammer and grasped my phone with disbelief. HE LET THEM GO?
Apparently the police officer could smell the pot but couldn't FIND the pot. (FINDING THINGS IS HARD. Just ask my three year-old.) And then there was something about how these kids were all 15 and no longer living with their parents and one had a baby and there's not much I can do. (Which I'm guessing is code for it's-fucking-Friday-bitches-I-am-not-dealing-with-this-shit or you-just-pulled-me-from-a-homicide-scene-for-THIS?)
But we've got your number, Mr. Police Man. Because when my neighbor's husband went back there to knock down the stairs to the fort, thereby sacrificing his life to preserve the lives and innocence of our entire neighborhood? He found the fucking pipe. And the bag of weed.
YOU DISAPPOINT YET AGAIN, TEXAS.