Now that we are reaping the social unrest awards sown by the drug war, I thought I might provide two brief anecdotes from my new favorite interview to illustrate the high caliber of resource allocation that has attended the waging of this pitiless struggle.
The RV
Okay, we’re basically living out in Tall Trees so we can sit on the stoop and smoke dope when we want—don’t have to have a city cop clothesline us while we’re sitting on our own stoop getting high.
Okay, question is, how many residents of The Village of Tall Trees own a car?
That’s right brother—not a one. Now, how many of us own an RV, or know someone who owns an RV?
Heck, if we all pitched in—including the drug dealers—we probably wouldn’t have been able to lease one!
So, one day we wake up, go out on the stoop to smoke a bowl, and we’re like, hey, an RV, I wonder if that’s the FBI or the DEA?
For a month this thing is parked on Dolittle Road waiting for someone stupid enough to sell drugs right in front of it. We started yelling at them, “Hello, FBI, we are not going to buy drugs in front of your RV. Perhaps you can better spend the tax payers’ money elsewhere?”
We used to play around daring people to go knock on the door, and wondering if anyone would be stupid enough to do a buy in front of them.
Well, one day it was gone, not a bust. The thing sat there for a month. That had to cost a couple of bucks.
The Cardboard City Crew
That, of course, is only one of many examples of law enforcement incompetence when it came to dealing with us. There was this period of time when we all hung out down in Cardboard City [a homeless camp in a roadside wood].
To be clear, we did not deal drugs. We certainly did our share of drugs. We bought drugs. We shared drugs; perhaps even derived a mutual benefit from our association.That was, after all, the entire point of the thing. One thing we were not, was organized.
My best bud was Jerry, a real cool dude, nice guy—but not too smart. You give Jerry two choices and he always takes the wrong one. His low IQ trait was pronounced enough that he essentially knew it. At least he was not guilty of the sin of being stupid and thinking he was brilliant.
Well, he’s not there one day. I’m sitting there dropping acid and the cops roll up. I’m like, Oh my God, I’m in trouble. I hope they don’t know about the acid.
But not to worry. The cops, they wanted Jerry. They said, “We know you’re a member of the Cardboard City Crew.”
I’m like, “What? You mean you gave us a name?”
“Yes,” they insist, “the Cardboard City Crew is an established drug ring, an ongoing criminal enterprise.”
My head was spinning. I was dumfounded in one sense, but in another I was relived, and felt quite confident that they had nothing on me that would stick. I was like, “Look, do you see us, do you see where we hang out. Don’t you think if we were an actual drug gang we would have our shit together just a little bit?”
The one cop says, “What about Jerry, your leader. We heard you were close to him.”
First of all, I burst into uncontrollable laugher. Nobody that knew Jerry would think he was a leader. I said, “Of course I’m close to him. He’s my best friend. We hang out together. And as much as I love Jerry, if we were all in a burning building and it was up to Jerry to lead us out, we’d be toast!”
I leveled with the cops and said, “Look, I don’t know who sold you all on this tip about our supposed ‘gang’ but they sold you some bad information.”
I told Jerry later on and he was like, “Me, really, a king pin? Good to know!”
Dude I could talk about misinformed cops all night long. I suppose for them it was all a grope in the dark.
