We had a run-in with the police last night. Nothing as dramatic as one might see on an episode of COPS but that's probably a good thing. Yesterday was Kelley's birthday. We had a party in the apartment. A very respectable and well behaved crowd enjoyed a moderate dose of booze and decent helping of light snacks. The Americans have manners. No doubt about that. Such a contrast to some of the parties I have been to back home where peoples CD's end up in the microwave, amateur stuntmen cycle bikes down flights of stairs, stuff gets stolen, stuff gets smashed to smithereens, furniture gets burned. Of course, this is hilarious when it's someone else's property being destroyed.
The music, drinking and casual but friendly mingling continued past midnight. Around 01:15 two of Minneapolis's finest literally strolled into the kitchen. The people living below our apartment, who are younger than us and at home asleep on a Friday night, had called the police to complain about the noise. You'd think it would be easier to knock on our door and ask us to turn down the music. Obviously not. The two cops were clearly quite confused by the reason for the call. They were probably expecting a bunch of wild naked lunatics to be dancing around the place and snorting cocaine off a toilet seat. They apologized for disturbing us. That's right, they were sorry for interrupting our well behaved party.
My spidey senses tell me that the hostility between the neighbors and ourselves will escalate. I've already traded harsh words with one of the whistle blowers. I am quite content to let it be a long, drawn out, petty and devious campaign of revenge and reprisal.
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