So you can picture the scene – you saw my ‘sick tiger’ face on the Ten Things of Thankful over the weekend, right? I was sick. Properly, badly sick, for about 12 hours, when I sneezed and sneezed and got a runny nose and a temperature and the shakes, and I cycled home from work with my eyes rolling back in my head, and I staggered into my house and straight into bed. I didn’t even check the internet first! (really, really sick.)
But then I got this phonecall from my sister. Husby brought me the phone as I languished in bed amidst bunged-up grouchiness and sweaty, tangled sheets (not the good kind) and I used my best sick voice to elicit sympathy from her before she announced something which shocked me to my core.
“So. Um. The neighbours shot the kids’ bedroom window in”
She’d heard what sounded like stones being thrown against the outside walls, late Thursday evening, and had ignored it, attributing it to one of the many groups of delightfully-behaved (delinquent, asshole) teenagers which hang around our town in dark alleyways, causing havoc.
In the morning, the kids (who, thank GOD, had spent the night sleeping in with her, in the next room) went back to their bedroom to play.
Niece: Mummy, there’s glass all over the place!
Sis: Yeah..okay…if you say so.
Neff: No, Mummy – she’s right – there actually is…
Sis: What the actual FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU?
She went in to find shards of glass all over his bed. All over their toys. All over the room. And THAT HOLE. Through both panels of double-glazing.
She banned them from the room and called our Mum, who took the kids overnight Friday. The next day, while the kids were visiting with their dad, Mum and I went round, armed with stiff brushes and strong gloves, to brush EVERYTHING IN THE ENTIRE ROOM. So that my sweet, 6 year old Neff, and my darling, mischievous 4 year-old Niece didn’t cut themselves on some random bit of glass that some asshole had shot into the room.
Me: So did you call the police?
Sis: Yeah. They can’t do anything.
Me: What the actual FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU?
The police were able to establish the trajectory of the bullet or pellet or ball-bearing or whatever it was that was fired into their room. The police then said (allegedly) that because they had no evidence of whether or not the gun/rifle/whatever belonged to the people who were in the place where the trajectory indicated, they could do nothing. And even if the gun/rifle/whatever was there, they had no evidence of WHO fired it. So they could do another set of nothing. And my sister asked what if it happened again, oh – she should call them. Okaaaaaay…
Some kind of bullet, from some kind of gun, was fired into my Niece and Neff’s bedroom with sufficient force to smash cleanly through two panels of glass (and presumably sufficient force, therefore, to cause serious physical harm if it had hit either of those sweet children) and the police could do NOTHING?!?!?
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU?
This is a particularly incoherent post because I am SO VERY INCENSED that there is, apparently, nothing to be done.
That a person could have a powerful enough weapon to do this damage, that they could illegally fire it in a city, that they could do damage to a property, that they could potentially have killed a child…and the police have their hands tied by, what, policy?
Fuck that shit. This is going to an MP for discussion. Goodness knows we pay them enough!
I cannot begin to describe the realms of VERY NOT ALRIGHT I am with this situation. Nor the frustration I feel at the police force’s apparent inability to handle things in a manner which ensures the safety of my family. Nor the anxiety I feel that it might happen again. Nor the absolute impotence I have to DO anything (I have a sneaking suspicion that some officious clipboard-nazi in a middle-administrative role will cite Data Protection and refuse to deal with me, it not having been my house which was shot at – but we’ll see. I shall grudgingly allow them the benefit of the doubt for now). Nor the horror at the idea that potentially, I could have spent the weekend coping with the sudden and horrific injury (or worse) to my Sis, Niece or Neff, just because their asshole neighbours are…well, assholes.
And so I will be writing to my local member of parliament. And if I receive no satisfactory reply, perhaps the papers would be interested in the story.
Meantime, the kids’ nastybutinthiscasemaybeusefulpieceofwork dad knows where the trajectory ended. Those neighbours better be ready to reap the whirlwind…
And, just for good measure…WHAT THE ACTUAL FUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!?!?!?!