Crazies not crazy?

Not that exciting of a weekend. I called the people out in Canyon Lake and I was talking with the woman to be served and she seemed fairly... sane. Not at all like someone who would live in the oppressive Stepford that is Canyon Lake. Hmmm.... 

Oops.

I could not for the life of me find my wallet this morning and I was almost certain that it had fallen out in Lois's cave of despair.

Luckily, it was in the third place I looked.

Fear and Loathing in Canyon Lake

If the little town I grew up in is like a living replica of Eisenhower's America, then the community of Canyon Lake in the city of Sun City is like Mussolini's Italy.

I've recently come to the conclusion that not only was I a vital part of the application of the fifth amendment, but I was there to provide comfort, not in the way that I sit there and listen to sob stories, but with a nod of my head and a slight smile I give them hope that they can get through whatever bad news they've just received.

And then I met Lois. Lois is your standard overweight Rent-a-Cop. As a writer I feel it's my duty to not reduce people to stereotypes, one of the best ways to do this is to imagine how people start their days. So here it is:

I imagine Lois wakes up every morning and turns on her air conditioner, you see it gets pretty hot in the seventh circle of Hell where Lois lives. She breakfasts on a cereal of dreams deferred and children's tears, feeds her thirteen black cats, and then gets on her broom and flies to work.

I pulled into the fascist community of Canyon Lake after driving for an hour from my little Californian hamlet. I presented my id and was told that I had to present myself at the front office so I could be escorted in because Canyon Lake is a "private community" (a phrase I would grow to despise.)

This is where I met Lois. When I met Lois she must have been coming off of her drug high (Lois freebases the screams of the innocent you see) and she was in quite a mood. She turned her crazed eyes in my direction and said, "We're going to need to see your server ID if you want to serve." I of course don't have my served ID yet because I have not registered, but I am legally allowed to serve a small amount under my fabulous boss's number. 

Lois would hear none of it. Not even my protestations that I had driven an hour to get to this oppressive mini-state that Francisco Franco would disapprove of. I told Lois that I would have to call my boss. I went out to my parking spot outside the office and dialed the boss. Before I could complete my call another Rent-a-Cop came up and told me I wasn't allowed to be parked there and that I would have to move my car across the street, out of the "private community."

Once my dangerous self was moved to the front of a bank across the street of innocent, fragile Canyon Lake, I called my uncle, who recently graduated from Pepperdine Law School. The uncle set his fingers to find  some legal jargon I could yell at them. The jargon came in the form of the court case "Robert Bein vs. Brechtel-Jochim," which says that if a security guard refuses to let you into a gated community, you can serve the security guard.

Armed with this information, I returned to dearest Lois.  I walked up to the office with the documents in tow. I smiled (all of us who have grown up in suburbia know the power of passive aggression, and that sometimes, saying "You're right" annoys people way more than saying "You're wrong.") I informed Lois that if she would not let me into the naive, virginal community of Canyon Lake, I would have to serve her. Lois thought she could outfox me, she said I could serve her but that it wouldn't do any good. I said that would be all right, all I would need was her full name.

This is where we hit a snag. Lois didn't want to give me her name (you see, I wasn't aware of Lois's name up to this point.) And I informed her that she would face fines if she didn't. Lois informed me that she wouldn't and I informed her that indeed she would. 

Lois picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff. Yes, the sheriff. However, in the course of the call, Lois is required to give her name, and that is where I learned it. Lois, L-O-I-S, four glorious letters. And I just sit there smiling. "He's on his way." Lois says with a slight smirk, "Excellent." I reply with my suburban, good-natured, heavens-I-want-to-rip-your-throat-out smile.

The sheriff comes and I explain the situation. He informs me he can't make Lois give me her full name, I inform him that it was not I who called.

The supervisor comes in and I begin to really appreciate the chaos that I am causing. I begin to be treated as if I had came in and defecated all over Lois's desk, when I just wanted to make sure due process of law was carried out. I look at the supervisor and inform him that I can see I'm making no progress, and I will take my leave. (I actually said take my leave, the more pissed off I am the more formal I get because I know it pisses the other people off.)

I 411ed the couple I was supposed to serve and left a message informing them that I had "an altercation with the security of their community and that I would need them to set up a time for me to meet with them."

In the end, I was glad to see the end of the whole ordeal. I was happy to return to my hometown where I feel perfectly safe without security worthy of the Gaza Strip.

And down they went.

Now I'm way too early for class.

Corona people are going down.

Alarm clock is set for five AM. A wake up call has been requested from the resident early bird. Those Corona people won't know what hit'em (And heaven help me if they aren't there.)

Stakeout

I did my first stakeout today. I had always considered doing one, especially three weeks ago when I was stalking this asian guy (I ended up tracking him down at his work.)

I had finally gotten ahold of the people near my school, and even better I had just done a (pretty good) audition for this talent competition. So I was totally geared up to drive out to Corona and deliver four documents to a single household (it would make me feel better about the gas I had wasted on the drive out to Hemet yesterday.) 

Corona is one of those cities you find between hills in California, tight tracts of McMansions separated by long expanse of nothing. I found the place easily enough. It was crazy, almost like an island of suburbia, the only place nearby was this shopping center right next to it that was monopolized by Vons. 

I pulled up to the house and I could already feel the burning looks of the neighbors. Maybe it's just me but I swear that I get looks like, "What on Earth are you doing here." Maybe I should wash my car. I'm expecting to be on my way pretty quickly because there's a car in the driveway (granted the car has a cover on it but I figure they're the kind of people who are weirdly anal about stuff like that.) No one comes. I check my phone, it's 7:30, I figure I'll wait and see if anyone shows up. I write down my notes, move my car so that I'm not conspicuous, and I pull out my book.

By the time 8:15 rolls around I've given up. I drive to the Vons monopoly nearby and get a sandwich. I drive back to check one last time. It's 8:45 at night and these people are still not home. And don't give me the "they were hiding" line because no one in suburbia would hide for that long. If it was somewhere like South Gate I'd say you have a point but this was not hiding territory.

And so I drove back to Redlands, tail between my legs, faced with the prospect of having to drive out to Corona all over again. Luckily there was chocolate cake and raspberry jam waiting at home... so maybe the night wasn't a total waste.

Prince Albert Humps

I need to get a digital camera some things are just way too funny. I recently drove out to Chino Hills and there was this gigantic road sign that said, "Humps".

Now I know that it was to denote the succession of speed bumps along the road, but in the 21st century, humps no longer means a slight bump, oh no. And even better, the word humps has it's own theme song, which adds to the hilarity of the word. Is there any question why I had to pull to the side of the road and take a picture with my phone?

Just today, I saw something that eclipsed the humps though. My friend was with me in the car and we were trying to get those people out by UCR who aren't home at reasonable times at night (I'm going to have to start coming at unreasonable times of the night.) I made a turn to get to the house and there it was "Prince Albert Road." If you don't know what a Prince Albert is then Google it.... On second thought don't, you probably want to be able to sleep tonight. I pulled to the side of the road and took a picture with the phone that Beyonce told me to buy.

Until I figure out a way to upload these online, you'll just have to imagine the hilarity.