How come I'm a witness at the worst possible times?

1 am, earlier tonight:

I’m sleeping like I haven’t slept since...I don’t even know. We’re talking sleep like I’m at Mom’s house. Sleep that Ambien would use in marketing techniques. Sleep that coined the term "beauty sleep". It was great.

Until...there arose such a clatter that I sprung from my bed to see what was the matter.

I hear "YOU BEST TAKE YOUR HANDS OFF HER!" and "you PAY your FARE!" I stick my head out the window like the old lady nosy neighbor and what should I see but a cabbie grabbing this girl by the scruff of the neck. Meanwhile, as she’s trying to elude his grasp, her friend is...I kid you not...beating the man with an umbrella. Like she’s just gone wacky and shaved her head like some bipolar pop star from Louisiana.

Since there’s some idiot Penn student literally staring at them and doing nothing, I call 911 and tell them to send some cops because there’s a fight between a man and a woman in the middle of South Street. The dispatcher, having never had to actually answer a phone because, as we know, Philadelphia is just SO SAFE that 911 is just there in name only, acts like I’m telling her that martians have landed and they are stealing all our cheese. Has no idea what I’m talking about. Finally, she says "okay, I’ll send some police over there..."

Meanwhile, a black Escalade pulls up behind them. As its a one-way, Escalade blocks off traffic without ANY thought, and the driver gets out. The gentleman is a HOUSE. He probably played for the Eagles when they were good. He’s GIANT. And he’s holding a Mag-Lite flashlight. It’s probably urban legend, but I had heard a story once about a guy from my hometown who beat someone so severely with one of those that he got ten years for it. So I impress upon the dispatcher "yes, please send someone, because a dude just pulled up and is about to cause some blunt force trauma with a Mag-Lite."

I break here because - I do have to say - police response around the Bella Vista section of South Street is remarkable. When a man tried to break into our house while we were at home, there were 15 cops in my living room in less than 30 seconds. And I mean that literally. Philly ain’t feedin’ them no donuts, those bike cops can PEDAL. That or my mother was right - if you smile at police officers and wave to them on the street, they will be way more apt to help you when you need them fast. These guys were on my block in less than a minute, with both ends of the block blocked off.

But I digress.

In the time that the Escalade driver has attempted to separate all parties with threat of injury, Cab Driver has literally pulled this girl’s weave out. Her friend Britney’s still beating him with the now-broken umbrella. Cabbie still wants to be paid. And Colonel Mustard is doing what he does best, barking at the commotion because he’s cranky and got woken up from his sleep. When the cops pull up, I go outside in my Superman sweatpants and four cops go "did YOU call us? Because I have NO idea what the hell is going on..."

Suddenly Brit-Brit drops the Umbrella, the-Wall-with-a-mag-lite SERIOUSLY says "oh I can’t do no cops I don’t know if I got warrants" and takes off, Cabbie drops the weave and the chick who’s gotta book a hair appointment tomorrow just PUKES. And they all look at me, the 95 pound blonde girl in the sweatpants for a 12 year old boy, and go "YOU SAW IT, TELL THEM WHAT (he/she/they) DID!"

I should note that the cops could not have cared less about the Escalade Man’s statement about possible warrants and having left the scene. One cop takes the umbrella from Britney (GOOD move) and takes her over to talk to her, another holds the drunk hair-challenged girl’s "hair" back while she pukes some more, and another talks to cabbie. The last cop comes over and goes "can you give me any idea what just happened? This is like a cartoon..." and I tell him the story.

In the end: zero arrests. Zero cab fare paid. I got woken up for that. And the best? They ALL thought I must have said something to the cop to make the OTHER party look like they were just walking to church, because they were convinced that the other party needed to go to jail.

Someone told me recently about how the filmmaker David Lynch wrote about how Philadelphia taught him about the roots of human evil because of the dark and sinister things like this (and much worse)...so much so that when he would walk to the 7-11 for something, he carried a big wooden stick with nails in it for protection. I ain’t getting THAT far into it - I do, after all, live in a decent area - but really. This story comes with a few life lessons, Philadelphians:

1. Pay your cab fare. If you’re drunk, consider the fact that he took you the long way to be compensation for the fact that you might puke in his cab. You just can’t argue a cab fare when you’re hammered. And by the way, do not throw out random insults about the native country and/or immigration status of your cab driver. The man was a legal refugee from Sudan, honey, and he has probably seen the worst things humanly possible done to entire villages of people. He is doing a job and making an honest living in the greatest country on Earth. Show some respect and maybe a little compassion and/or human decency. But with that being said...

2. Don’t hit a woman. Don’t pull her hair. Don’t grab her. Idiot Penn students won’t, but people like me WILL call the police when they see a man putting his hands on a female.

3. Let things slide. Bad stuff happens to good people sometimes. Don’t throw a fit about it at 1 am.

4. If there are 5 officers of the law called to a scene of a disturbance that you are potentially a DIRECT cause of and they DON’T happen to arrest you, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when you were swinging an umbrella or pulling $200 worth of extensions out less than 5 minutes before. Shut up and walk away. And don’t yell about how that bitch in the superman pants just lied to the cops, because she COULD have, and you’d ALL be going to jail.

5. Please, for the love of all that is holy, don’t wake me up again. I can’t get back to sleep now. If you’re going to start scrappin’, take it over to Pine Street or something. The rich people love a good show.

Only in Philadelphia.
The city of brotherly love indeed.