I have a butter knife in my pocket...

That's what I uttered to the police 10 minutes ago as they stood on my front porch. Perhaps I should start over. About an hour ago I was sitting on my couch minding my own business and uploading photos. I had finally gotten the family all tucked into bed and could catch up on my internet guilt free. Suddenly, the front door bellwhimpers out a few bars of its musical tune. I freeze knowing that (1) no one visits us and (2) no one would ever visit us this late. Of course, no one in my house stirred, so I thought our door bell had a short in it and must do this every so often. Then it rang again.

I tried to slip quietly through the house (not) and make my way to the front door. Cursing the lack of a peep hole, I went to one of the big picture windows and peered outside. Sitting in front of my house was a big white pickup. As I watched, the truck backed up and still stared at our house. The driver of the truck then angled the truck so it pointed at the part of the house where my grandfather's bedroom is and started flashing the lights and honking the horn. After a couple of minutes of this the truck pulled into my neighbor's driveway, but I couldn't see what they did because it was dark and I was hidden behind a curtain. Finally, the truck peeled away.

Well, that pretty much did me in. We've never lived in the best neighborhood, and my mom constantly telling me work stories has confirmed the societal dregs that live in this town. I grabbed a butter knife and slid it into my fleece pocket and began making periodic rounds
of the house. Every so often I would look out the window again. Well, guess what. I saw the truck pass our house again. Not one to be fucked with, I woke my mom, explained to her what had happened, and told her I was calling the cops. 15 minutes later San Angelo's finest were on our porch listening to me rant. You'd be proud...I managed to not use any curse words. They did ask me to keep my hands where I could see them once I explained I had a butter knife on me.

Honestly, my whole point in calling the cops was to have them come to the house and send a message to fuck off to whoever kept driving by. What we actually got were results. As I was typing this, the cops called to tell me they had found the person, and that they had explained they had had the wrong house. Props to the San Angelo police for actually casing the neighborhood (and sending both a marked and unmarked car) and finding the person. Very impressed.*

*I guess I should also be impressed that they didn't get trigger happy and shoot me when I pulled a butter knife out of my pocket.