Another Open Letter to Whoever Called the Cops on My Band…

Dear Neighbor,

Look…you’ve known me for 28 years. For at least 15 of those, I’ve played music; and bands have been meeting at my house for about 8-10 of them. This isn’t new. The only thing new is that you’re calling the police…and today was the THIRD time this year.

I’m a pretty nice guy (though, sure, I’m kind of a jerk on my blog…but I come here to blow off steam–we’re talking about REAL life, here). I’m reasonable. I’ll listen to objections. I’ll work with you. But you haven’t spoken to me. You’ve just called the cops. After 28 years, I would have thought you could show me the basic respect of talking to me before sending Florissant’s finest to my doorstep.

That irritates them, by the way. The cop from today spent about five minutes bad-mouthing you. He thought it was ridiculous that you called while the SUN WAS STILL UP (about 6 p.m.) and that you don’t seem to know that the ordinance says we can go until 10:00. He pretty much thought you were a joke. He even called in and tried to get YOUR name so we could walk over there together to talk to you. When the cops agree with the person the complaint has been (anonymously) filed against…there’s a message there. (Anonymity is always always ALWAYS a sign of cowardice, by the way.)

I’m actually pretty sure I know who you are–especially after Glen (one of my neighbors) gave me a friendly wave as I was leaving to go get dinner tonight. I’m putting you on notice. Next time you steal my trash can to use as your own, you’re getting the police called on you. Next time you mow the lawn at six in the morning (when some people ARE asleep), you’re getting the police called on you. Next time you let your dog shit in my yard, you’re getting the police called on you. Next time I can hear you yelling at your wife from my yard, you’re getting the police called on you. Next time you add ANOTHER illegally-high antenna to the roof of your house, you’re getting the police called on you. …if you even BREATHE too loud, you’re getting the police called on you.

And I’ll have the sack to give them my name, too.

Yours,
-Derek–and you know where I live