Crunchies

A couple weeks ago, late on a Saturday night, my wife and I drive up to the school we lease for our church gatherings, to drop off some supplies.  We pull up and hello, about 40 kidlets are sitting down outside under an incredibly clear starry night smoking a bong.  Kid you not.  Seriously, 98% of them have yet to hit puberty.  Never mind the fact that they have never experienced the incredible lip syncing music of Milli Vanilli (ah, girl, you know it's true).  Apparently our diggs are a very hot spot for the local "can't afford a car and have no friends who have one either" kiddies to hang out until the wee hours of the morning.  Mind you, we do have a history together.  Multiple times in the last couple years I have arrived at the school to find lovely pictures of male anatomy graffiti'd on the walls.  Enormous pictures.  Like, I kid you not, 20 footers.  Let me tell you, if feels quite odd painting over one of those puppies.  You are sweating and trying to look cool, which is completely impossible, and then you rush through it and you know people are watching and you are fairly convinced that you missed a spot but you don't want to look.  Crazy.  Anywho, these lovely children decided to kick it up a notch by taking out a few windows with a pellet gun.
 
This kinda pushed the neighbours over the edge so on top of being grossed out, they are now a little freaked out, so they asked me to do something about it.  Which, if you think about it, is quite logical, because I am very intimidating to Jr Highers and small children in general.  Well, okay not all small children.  Like 5 yr olds who are related to you.  No intimidation what-so-ever.  Caedyn, my very soft-spoken timid child (who am I kidding) has not graffiti'd (yet) but I am certain a tattoo is coming before 7, loves scrounging through my hair.  I have no clue either.  Well, the other night, she says "Dad, you've got crunchies in there."  No love.  No grace.  Not fearful of me what-so-ever.  Not gentle at all, just called it out.  "Crunchies."

I have no clue what a "crunchie ' was but it still does not sound good.   And frankly who wants that advertised?  Mind you, I am going to say that I will take crunchies any day as opposed to painting over anatomical imagery larger than you, on the side of buildings.  Any day.

Anyway, I figured it was time to call the cops.  So called the local Police dispatch and rather expectedly, I had to wait for a call back.  About 20 minutes later Officer Woohoo (can't remember his name for love nor money) from the RCMP calls back.  I give him the deets, address etc.. and figure we are off and running.  How silly of me.  What was I thinking.  Officer Cel Phone called back.

Lost.

I kid you not.

Seriously, how do you get lost with a GPS and a computer in your car?  For real? 

At this point it dawned on me, that the RCMP on Corner Gas may actually be real.

Anyway, I walked him through the directions once again and finished noting the fact that firemen never get lost.  Oh, slow down, I didn't say that, and yes I am aware that firemen are slow too.  That was horrible.  Tomorrow, I am getting arrested in the midst of my house burning down.   (Don't worry, it's all good.   My bro-in-law Steven, is a fireman in Edmonton and I am his hero so it's all good - well that, and the fact that he never reads anything I write, so...)

He finally arrives and, let me interject for a second here, I know he is an officer of the law and everything and I should be respectful,  but literally, when Officer Gas emerges from his vehicle, he stands up and... flood pants.  Floods.  Not even joking.   I could not believe it.  Pants and hairy leg.  Come on, you cannot be taken seriously when you are wearing floods.  Am I right?   Impossible.  Mainly because there is ALWAYS tightness where no tightness should be.  Therefore making it completely impossible to even look at the person seriously. 

He had a gun and I was giggling.

So now I have Officer Addresses are Super-Confusing walking around with a real gun and flood pants and I am looking for the film crew.

As I try to regain composure, he takes a few pictures, let's me know that it looks like an airsoft gun, and begins to leave.  We spent more time on the phone than that.  I walk him to his vehicle so he won't trip, and chat him up about the fact that vandalism has been escalating lately, the neighbours are getting worried, so would it be possible to schedule in some regular drivebys.  (And might have added for future reference, that white socks do not go well with black pants). 

He replied with, "Well, we need people to call in and register complaints in order to make that happen." 
To which I replied, "I am pretty sure that has been done.  Since oh, I don't know, like the time I called in and let the station know that there were 40 KIDS SMOKING A BONG in front of the school."

Officer pants decided to take a look on his computer.  "Wow, there are quite a few complaints.  Looks like there are 3 pages from all sorts of people.  Fires, rude graffiti, and looks like they broke in too eh?   Oh, and here's the complaint you registered." 

"Yep, there it is." 

"Okay, well, keep them coming."

Okay... keep them coming???  Yes, we want more trouble.  Tons of it.  Bong away kids, bong away. 

 Like how many more super doodles inspired by the benefits of bong smoking pubescents do I have to see before we get a little action here? 

I am taking a shot in the dark here but thinking when the pants get hemmed properly.

Awesome.  That worked out just great.  Glad I spent my afternoon clearing that whole deal up. 

As I watched Officer Flood-a-roo drive off into the sunset, two thoughts came to mind.... 
1.  Betcha there was crunchies in his hair.
2.  Think I am just going grab my 5 year old and 3 of her friends and after driving them around for 6 hours in a vehicle on a diet of slurpee's, tim bits and syrup and only listening to Justin Bieber, drop them off one night in the middle of those youngun's and I've got a very strong feeling problem solved.  Those girls will lock and load on the bunch of them that they won't even know what hit them.   There will be screaming and running and dirt and swinging and all sorts of 5 year old goodness, and that is the first 8 minutes.   Best thing is that they look so cute and angelic to start off. 

Got a name for them too: 
CUTE
Caedyn's Unit of Total Energy

That or
SWEET
Sudden Whirlwird off Extremely Energetic Turmoil

Yep, calling them next time.  And to boot, they'll find all your crunchies.

PS.
And yes, I am very thankful for Policeman.  I know way too many great police officers that I needed to put some sort of disclaimer in here, so I don't end up getting pulled over every time I leave work.  And yes, that has happened to me.