I haven’t had the time (or the talent) to add to the original posting of this website. But I made a New Year’s Resolution––three months ago––to post an essay or short, short story on this blog once a week. Wait! That means I have to write 52 essays or short stories in a year! Well, let’s say I’ll try.

Like most of us who write, I watch people and situations for story ideas. Most of the time, I don’t have to look very far––dysfunctional people seem to be everywhere. The following story is true and it happened to me a couple of weeks ago:

HOW TO CALL THE POLICE IN PEORIA

Most cities, especially those with more than a sheriff and a Barney-Fife-type deputy, have a police business line in addition to an emergency line. In my community, the number is (let’s say) 623-555-7311.

Recently, I had the need to call the community relations representative of our local police department to learn the regulations concerning parking a recreational vehicle for a couple of days in front of my house. My niece and her family were planning to visit me from Little Rock, Arkansas, and they would be traveling in a small RV. You see, my Homeowner’s Association had told me that my niece’s RV could not be parked at my house for more than 24 hours. This was a city police regulation.

I spent several minutes arguing with the HOA secretary’s lack of logic in prohibiting my family from visiting me in an RV. How could she expect my family to travel a thousand miles cross-country and then stay only 24 hours?

I decided to take up the issue with the local police. I dialed the police department’s community relations number printed in the telephone directory. An answering device responded, “Press 1 for English and 2 for Spanish.” Okay, no problem, after all we do live in a state that borders Mexico. I pressed the number 1.

This directed me to another answering device that rattled off ten different numbers I should press in order to reach various departments, ranging from burglary and embezzlement to barking dogs and errant pigeon poop. One of the numbers I was told to press would reach the offices that handled fish-and-game questions as well as––hooray!––community relations. At last, I thought, as I eagerly pressed the button that would connect me to someone who might be able to help me.

But I was chagrined to hear yet another message commanding me to press the number 1 for fish- and-game issues, 2 for some mumbled word I didn’t catch, and 3 for neighborhood issues. By this time I’d almost forgotten why I wanted to speak to anyone in the police department about the regulation concerning parking a recreational vehicle. But I was determined, so I pressed the number 3.

I was thrilled to hear the phone ringing in the community relations office, and I hastily gathered my thoughts, preparing to argue the fine points of city laws versus family needs. The ringing stopped, and I heard a metallic-sounding voice say, “If you wish to speak to someone in neighborhood relations, please call 623-555-7311.” Click.

I hope my house never catches on fire and I have to call the Peoria Fire Department.