Mr. Ware's customers looking for a new source?
Last night my wife and I turned in for the evening rather early, about 10pm., as she had to work a day shift (her least favorite) and I was going to drive her. She dropped off rather quickly, and I was flipping through the channels, somewhat later, trying gain a more stupor-like state so I could drop off as well.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
Huh? Wazzat? Cursing, I soon realized that someone was knocking at my door, and I heard giggling outside on my porch. I peek through the peephole (south side habit, natch), to see two twenty-something blondish white girls with Jennifer Aniston approved hairstyles shuffling about my porch. My threat indicator dropped down to Homeland Security green status rather quickly as I sized up my visitors, so not in the least bit fearful, I opened the door.
"Yes? May I help you?" I inquired with some curiosity.
"Um, does Base (Bass?) live here? Asked the taller of the two, and apparently the leader.
"No, he doesn't-- And I couldn't tell you where-- Don't know the man." I told them somewhat sleepily as I stepped out unto the porch myself.
Still giggly, the shorter one punches her companion on the arm, "Told you, Carrie, I knew this wasn't the right house--"
Laughing outright, the tall one, (Carrie?) spins about in what I would term a 'drunken fashion' and staggers into her companion as they both retreated from my porch, saying "Sorry to bother you...." over her shoulder. They get into their late model Camry and soon drive off. As the did so, I couldn't help but notice the University of Michigan sticker in the back window...
This morning I'm left pondering what this errant visit was all about. So allow me, please, to wax somewhat rhetorical: First off, was it just as it seemed-- Two people lost, looking for a friends house? Possibly. Yet what of the time? It was nearly midnight when this visit occurred, and what of their apparent glassy-eyed intoxicated state? The friends name? 'Base', or 'Bass'? In either case, I see a 'party' connection, what with Base having a drug-like undercurrent and 'Bass' with a musical or hip-hop connotation to it. Maybe I've been a south of Harriet dweller for too long-- And my own mind is building its 'ghetto-fortress' even as I write.
Now allow me to assume the worst, as I try to think about all the intangible 'what-ifs." I'm fairly sure these two were drunk-- Or high. And late night visits by what appears to be well-off (UofM?) kids in my neighborhood usually means drugs-- Almost to a certainty. Now allow me to further travel this tangent of thought, as I wonder what would happen to these 'future leaders' of society, if this pair stumbled upon a police sting on this 'Mr. Base.' Cuffed and thrown to the sidewalk? Guns drawn, and pointed at them? I doubt it. I've watched enough episodes of the voyeuristic show "Cops" to know that the tearful (white) college kid is usually just admonished before the camera, by a fatherly cop figure (no matter how old said cop actually is) to the point the embarrassed collegian is allowed to leave (in their own car), so long as he/she promises not to try to buy those 'nasty' drugs again, and to stay out of those 'dangerous' neighborhoods as well. My view, though I'm not really sure that I'm projecting one, is that there are differences in how similar actions play out-- How a black kid and white kid are treated during a drug buy/sting can be as different as night and day, not always, but sometimes-- To claim otherwise would be akin to putting your head in the sand. As to Mr. Ware, and what happened to him, juxtaposes rather nicely when one considers the news of that Brighton Lawyer (ugh, find the links yourself- its recent news), caught up in the drug trade himself (at the very least a user and provider), what is his current punishment? Some community service time? All this while the police investigate further the dead coed in his apartment-- Excuse me if I ramble overly much and my story meshes somewhat clumsily, but I feel this example mirrors what I'm trying to say: This guy, pillar of society type, will in all likelihood get some counseling and a reduced sentence-- Possibly never serving any 'time' at all-- The poor black kid in a similar circumstance, will see nothing but 'prison gray' with maybe a couple of 15 minute counseling sessions thrown in-- For no other purpose than to make the 'system' look or feel good about itself.
This 'war' on drugs... Look closely, its destroying more than the drug trade. What does the tearing of the fabric of society sound like? I'm not sure, but if we try maybe we'll eventually hear it (before it's too late). As to this never-ending war itself? I'm sick of it, especially when closet alcoholics 'tsk-tsk' with an air of superiority as they view the drug war from afar, pouring another couple of fingers worth of Cutty Sark, at their posh suburban bars-- Before hopping into their SUVs as they head home to the wife and kids...
Pound. Pound. Pound.
Huh? Wazzat? Cursing, I soon realized that someone was knocking at my door, and I heard giggling outside on my porch. I peek through the peephole (south side habit, natch), to see two twenty-something blondish white girls with Jennifer Aniston approved hairstyles shuffling about my porch. My threat indicator dropped down to Homeland Security green status rather quickly as I sized up my visitors, so not in the least bit fearful, I opened the door.
"Yes? May I help you?" I inquired with some curiosity.
"Um, does Base (Bass?) live here? Asked the taller of the two, and apparently the leader.
"No, he doesn't-- And I couldn't tell you where-- Don't know the man." I told them somewhat sleepily as I stepped out unto the porch myself.
Still giggly, the shorter one punches her companion on the arm, "Told you, Carrie, I knew this wasn't the right house--"
Laughing outright, the tall one, (Carrie?) spins about in what I would term a 'drunken fashion' and staggers into her companion as they both retreated from my porch, saying "Sorry to bother you...." over her shoulder. They get into their late model Camry and soon drive off. As the did so, I couldn't help but notice the University of Michigan sticker in the back window...
This morning I'm left pondering what this errant visit was all about. So allow me, please, to wax somewhat rhetorical: First off, was it just as it seemed-- Two people lost, looking for a friends house? Possibly. Yet what of the time? It was nearly midnight when this visit occurred, and what of their apparent glassy-eyed intoxicated state? The friends name? 'Base', or 'Bass'? In either case, I see a 'party' connection, what with Base having a drug-like undercurrent and 'Bass' with a musical or hip-hop connotation to it. Maybe I've been a south of Harriet dweller for too long-- And my own mind is building its 'ghetto-fortress' even as I write.
Now allow me to assume the worst, as I try to think about all the intangible 'what-ifs." I'm fairly sure these two were drunk-- Or high. And late night visits by what appears to be well-off (UofM?) kids in my neighborhood usually means drugs-- Almost to a certainty. Now allow me to further travel this tangent of thought, as I wonder what would happen to these 'future leaders' of society, if this pair stumbled upon a police sting on this 'Mr. Base.' Cuffed and thrown to the sidewalk? Guns drawn, and pointed at them? I doubt it. I've watched enough episodes of the voyeuristic show "Cops" to know that the tearful (white) college kid is usually just admonished before the camera, by a fatherly cop figure (no matter how old said cop actually is) to the point the embarrassed collegian is allowed to leave (in their own car), so long as he/she promises not to try to buy those 'nasty' drugs again, and to stay out of those 'dangerous' neighborhoods as well. My view, though I'm not really sure that I'm projecting one, is that there are differences in how similar actions play out-- How a black kid and white kid are treated during a drug buy/sting can be as different as night and day, not always, but sometimes-- To claim otherwise would be akin to putting your head in the sand. As to Mr. Ware, and what happened to him, juxtaposes rather nicely when one considers the news of that Brighton Lawyer (ugh, find the links yourself- its recent news), caught up in the drug trade himself (at the very least a user and provider), what is his current punishment? Some community service time? All this while the police investigate further the dead coed in his apartment-- Excuse me if I ramble overly much and my story meshes somewhat clumsily, but I feel this example mirrors what I'm trying to say: This guy, pillar of society type, will in all likelihood get some counseling and a reduced sentence-- Possibly never serving any 'time' at all-- The poor black kid in a similar circumstance, will see nothing but 'prison gray' with maybe a couple of 15 minute counseling sessions thrown in-- For no other purpose than to make the 'system' look or feel good about itself.
This 'war' on drugs... Look closely, its destroying more than the drug trade. What does the tearing of the fabric of society sound like? I'm not sure, but if we try maybe we'll eventually hear it (before it's too late). As to this never-ending war itself? I'm sick of it, especially when closet alcoholics 'tsk-tsk' with an air of superiority as they view the drug war from afar, pouring another couple of fingers worth of Cutty Sark, at their posh suburban bars-- Before hopping into their SUVs as they head home to the wife and kids...
posted by Rob at 2:36 PM
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