Knock, knock...

Ah, the joys of living in a ghetto undergoing gentrification "transitional neighborhood"...

Getting ready for work yesterday morning when I'm interrupted by a hard knock on the door. It's 7AM. The dogs are outside in the back yard but they're sparking up now too as I go to the door.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT!"

I look out the window and see an unmarked but obvious police car in front of the house. Well this should be interesting...

I throw a shirt over the Sig on the kitchen counter and open the door and there stand two deputes from an adjoining parish. They look at me and kind of shake their heads. Clearly I'm not the droid they were looking for.

Long story short, they'd come with an arrest warrant for the crackhead that had apparently lived in my house before it had been renovated and sold to me. They showed me his name and I recognized it as one I'd seen on bills that had come here after I'd moved in. And now he's got a felony warrant and these guys had come a fair ways to pick him up, only to have the door opened by some white guy a gentleman clearly not resembling the suspect.

"Yeah, we were pretty sure you weren't going to be him with we saw that in the driveway," one said, indicating MY work car, which looks an awful lot like theirs.

"Ya think?" I asked. The I told them who I was, and we had a chuckle. I didn't know these two deputies but as it turns out, we know a lot of the same people. Fortunately I'd just put my morning coffee on, so I invited them in for a cup.

Life in 'da hood...