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Parts Dirty Immigrant Storyteller

Crack Strength (from I am a Dirty Immigrant)

I was working as a security guard at an apartment complex on 11 mile road in Detroit, and of course one night, I had to call the police. Bloody uniforms and guns made me quite uneasy. Turning people away was one of the worst parts of the job. I first had to call the tenant to let them know they had a visitor. If they did not want to see the person, I had to turn them away. This one woman was adamant that I did not let a young lady in, insisting the visitor was a crack whore. She said that at one point, the visitor had tried to seduce her and she wanted no crack whore in her apartment. The visitor became agitated and did not want to leave, ranting and raving and making threats against me, against her friend and against God. Her eyes wild, spit was flying like a tropical rainstorm with strong wind. I did my best to calm her down and once again that cool Caribbean accent helped. She said she wanted to go in, get her things and leave. I told her to relax; I had called the cops and they were on their way.

One of the cops asked her to leave, but she refused. She insisted that she get her things from the apartment. The cops contacted the tenant. She told them that the woman had nothing at her place. The woman went completely berserk. She started screaming and threatening to kill the tenant. One of the cops tried to take her hand and she really went crazy. Next thing I know I was watching a battle royale. I tell you what, that cracked up woman was as strong as an Ox. It took three burly cops to subdue the skinny little woman. Now I have seen cops fight with people back home and believe me it is equally as humorous. The difference is there was no wrestling around; the police back home would use nightsticks freely to subdue the assailant. One day I was in the city and I saw my father trying to arrest this young man. He did not want to go so he held onto this iron railing. After a couple of minutes, my father became impatient and used his nightstick to break the man’s arm; he then hauled him off to jail. Here there are so many laws, creating a big confusing gray area. Cops and criminals are so alike people don’t know whom to trust. Of course this country is so diverse, a policeman could find himself in a political conundrum if he was to use the same kind of force used by my father. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t trust cops for the simple fact that there are hidden prejudices that can manipulate a person, causing them to act less than human. Simply put, I would never want to be a cop in this country: too much bureaucracy to deal with.  

By Bombastic Nation

Me name is Anderson A Charles. I am a writer story teller and Podcaster, the original Steve urkel, yes I did that. Also played basketball in college ( that's because I am seven feet tall.

2 replies on “Crack Strength (from I am a Dirty Immigrant)”

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