Mar 192012

In my neck of the woods (pun intended) the best way to know what is going on is to have a scanner.

At least once a week I’ll have someone ask me “Did you here what happened to so-and-so?  I heard it on the scanner.”  There will also be the occasional Facebook post asking if anyone knows what’s going on with the sirens going up and down Blvd (the main street in our community), and someone will pipe up about what they heard on the scanner.

As you may have guessed, we have not one, but two scanners.  Rick keeps one at his shop and he bought another one for us to have at home.  For some reason, this little device is a window of the world that he needs to be tuned into to see what crazy shit is going on around us.  Of course, you don’t always get all the details of who/what/where/why, but sometimes it can be entertaining, kind of like listening to an old radio program.

And I can see his concern, especially when we woke up on New Year’s morning to find squad cars and police canvasing the area around our house looking for some punks that robbed 7 houses in the neighborhood the night before.

This also brings up the topic of guns (which I hate).  Rick bought one at an auction last summer and I’ve basically ignored the stupid thing.  But apparently one gun wasn’t good enough and unbeknownst to me he went and bought a hand gun.  His reasoning:  so I would have something to use if some scallywags came on the property I could defend myself.

Bwahahahahah!  Yeah, right.

Anywho, about a month ago Rick called me from his shop and asked if I had the scanner on.  Ummm… no, I told him, should I?  Apparently 2 squad cars had just gone past the store with sirens wailing and heading straight for our community.  The  next hour was spent listening to the banter of police officers trying to locate a person who might have had a gun who was a few blocks away from our house.  This did not sit well with Rick because he wasn’t home to protect me in case this possible gun toting person decided to venture up our street.

But he reminded me where the hand gun was in case I needed it.  And also, there was one bullet in it.  ONE.  But it wasn’t in the chamber.  So in order to fire the stupid thing I would have to do this, that and the other thing in order to shoot the one bullet.

Suddenly everything changed and I realized my life had turned into a sitcom.  And I was Barney Fife.


  4 Responses to “Rambo I Am Not”

Comments (4)
  1. *giggles* I love your picture there Mama 🙂 And hey, anyone brave enough to take you has another thing coming! You may be little, but you’re tough!

  2. I don’t stand on the chair, I beat people with it 😉

  3. Barney Fife! Love it! I hate guns too. I would never have the nerve to shoot someone so they would just take it away from me and shoot me with it.

  4. They’d probably be too busy laughing at me fumbling with the thing to do any damage.

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