By Cole :: April 01, 2005 @ 11:54 AM
Some years ago, Hassan and I were living in Brooklyn – in a lovely brownstone in Boreum Hill, not far from the Brooklyn Bridge, the Heights, or even Park Slope. One night after we'd gone to bed, we heard a woman screaming outside. I don't remember now what she was screaming, but I do remember Hassan jumping out of bed, throwing some pants on and heading out the door. Shortly, it became obvious that the woman had been mugged, her purse stolen, and while she was righteously angry about it, she was unhurt. Hassan had been joined by a vast variety of neighbors who had apparently done much the same thing he had upon hearing the screams. This story ends with the local police zipping up the scene of the crime, and the victim hopping in the police car with hopes they could catch the crook, who had escaped on foot just moments before.
This morning, the same individual who once jumped out of bed to stop a crime in progress - watched the UPS man fiddle in his truck, outside of our house for no less then 30 minutes (to his credit he was holding Sprout the entire time). He provided titillating play by play for the entire episode until I encouraged him to change our daughter's diaper - at which point the UPS man decided he was done fiddling with whatever and sped away.
What's my point? Once we lived in a neighborhood like Boreum Hill, where a mugging while very uncommon might happen. Today we live in a neighborhood where the most exciting thing my husband could find on the street this month, perhaps even this year - is the UPS man fiddling with something in his truck. A very suburban moment.