flummery: (hat 2)
My parents officially live in a hellhole. I get to say officially now, because, I am quite sure, there is some sort of rule that says when your neighbors are actively engaged in possible terrorist activities, or at least, really fuckin' stupid activities, that can result in death, you get to say that.

They actually live in a mass chain type apartment building in a neighborhood that's not bad, but not particularly great. They pay way too much, but they do get a lot of space. Which is good. Because they have more JUNK than the next six families combined. I live in fear of inheriting that crap. I've been very unhappy with their living arrangement for some time now, and unhappy with my inability to suddenly come by a job where I make a million a year or so, or, say to win the lottery for twenty million or so (that would work) in order to buy them an actual house. Very, very disappointed.

Today, however, the police arrived. They were there to serve a search warrant on the guy who lives below, and kitty-corner, to my parents apartment. No one is clear on what the police were there to search for, but what they found were -- explosives. Apparently, Freakish Neighbor #27, or whoever the hell he was, was building pipe bombs down there. This was not what they were prepared to find. They freaked, and evacuated the building. Mom grabbed her purse on the way out, and Dad grabbed... nothing. Yes, it is good to know your parents are retaining their survival skills in their old age. Worse, once outside, they discovered what was happening, and he was gripped with a particular powerful case of phonitis. This inherited condition (yes, that's right, I've got it, shut up) causes the sufferer to compulsively call all and sundry friends to keep them updated on even the most mundane and boring-ass aspects of one's life, sometimes for longer than the actual events themselves took to occur. Actual exciting news can only exacerbate the condition. In the grip of phonitis, Dad attempted to re-enter the building to get his cell phone, to send out live updates. The police were no so polite in their opinions about his need to return for the phone.

Faced with a closet full of pipe bombs, or whatever, and superior survival instincts to my father's, the police decided simply to detonate the bomb where it was, rather than transport it and detonate it elsewhere. So they did. They managed to blow out a nice number of windows, too.

The excitement over, the bombs all bombed out, people milled around and got to go in. My mom went after a police officer to get details. He couldn't provide her with many. She said to him "Well, at least you found out about this, and he'll be gone, now." To which the police officer replied "Oh, we're not arresting him." To which she replied, "....What?!"

Pipe bombs were not, after all, what they'd been looking for. But I'm still left befuzzled beyond comprehension. What, it's legal to build pipe bombs in an apartment complex? You don't get arrested after the police have arrived and blown up your apartment? The HELL?

But apparently, the police truly have no intention of arresting him, he can move back in. So now my hope lies in landlord-tenant law, and the belief that surely, the owners of the building do not want this guy MOVING BACK IN to finish off the job, as much as I do not want him living underneath my parents.

I am not happy. No.

September 2015

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