We Buy Our Own Pot, Thank You.

The security guard at my apartment building was always over, hanging with us and stuff. Winchester West got a security guard because some of the people got nervous about there being a large quantity of kids my age living in the apartments.  We were seventeen, eighteen, nineteen years old, and there was a shit load of us.  And some of them did drugs, and some of them sold drugs, and some of them smoked pot, which really isn’t a drug but it still makes some people nervous.  But once the neighbors figured out we were protecting our own buildings and stuff—you don’t screw with our neighbors.  Regardless of whether you smoke or not, you’re still our neighbors.  We’re not stealing from you.  We have jobs.  We’ll buy our own pot.  Thank you.

If you put cool stuff outside, we’ll try not to break it.  But we are kind of fucked up.  We’ll apologize if we do and replace it.  Just tell us, “Hey, you need to fix that.”

So the manager hired a mid-twenty-something-year-old security guard, and the security guard came to meet all of us, ended up liking us and hanging out, drinking and partying too.  So whenever he got a call that there was a problem anywhere in the apartments, he’d call us if he thought, this is that big fucking Russian dude that lives over in the corner, or whatever, or there was always domestic disputes at this one place—the cops didn’t show up for a half hour while the dude beat the shit out of her.

No, he’d call us, so there was a hell of a lot less going on at those apartment buildings since he worked there and was our friend.  ‘Cause there would be like twenty of us heading over to somebody’s apartment real quick to fix a domestic dispute.  You don’t fight with that many people going, “Dude you hit her again, and we’re going to beat your ass.”

Yeah.  He goes, “Uh, fuck you.”

About the time he gets his ass whooped, the rest of the building goes, “Don’t hit your wife.  Those kids over there will come over, stoned and drunk, and beat you up.  And the security guard is going to let them.  Then when the cops show up, the security guard is gonna tell them not to worry, it’s been taken care of.”

It happens.

About alishacostanzo

Alisha Costanzo is from a Syracuse suburb. She earned her MFA in creative writing from the University of Central Oklahoma, where she currently teaches English. She's the author of BLOOD PHOENIX: REBIRTH, BLOOD PHOENIX: CLAIMED, BLOOD PHOENIX: IMPRINTED, and LOVING RED, and co-editor of DISTORTED, UNDERWATER, and AFTER THE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. She’s currently editing her new 2017 fire-themed anthology, writing about Ria’s father, and crafting her new YA novel for its 2018 release. In the meantime, she will continue to corrupt young minds, rant about the government, and daydream about her all around nasty creatures.

Posted on April 17, 2012, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: