To call the cops
Walking on De Haro today past the (deep breath) International Studies Academy at the Enola D. Maxwell Campus (whew), I heard an odd clicking and banging sound. I glanced into the landscaped area tucked into the hillside and saw a guy fooling around with a pistol — mostly dry-firing it, it seemed, although some of the small bangs sounded like they were coming from a cap gun, not a real gun with bullets.
It could be a cap gun, I thought, but better safe than sorry. I called 911, a cop came, the guy ran, and the cop chased him down and tackled him. Some more cops kept showing up; maybe it was the most exciting thing happening that hour. I kept waving the cops around the corner where the chase ended up; finally one cop said, “Yeah — it was a plastic gun. But — good spot anyway.”
Cue music: “Bad Day.”
So, nobody deserves to get run down for having a toy gun, and you can say yeah, then why did the guy run from the cop. Frankly there aren’t that many teenagers who live on Potrero Hill who wouldn’t run when they see a cop.
On the other hand, what is any adult — or 15-year-old, for that matter — doing playing with a cap gun? And in the shadows of a school? Dumbass.
A little excitement in the middle of the night