Are we on COPS again?

So, the big K calls me earlier and asks if I'm near the club. I was at home, which is maybe five blocks away.

"Yup, what's going on?"

The alarm had been tripped. She suspected E was down there doing his liquor counts and perhaps set it to "Alarm Occupied," which pretty much means that there are people in the building but if someone tries to come in, they set it off. However, she couldn't get E on the phone so she would feel better if someone went down there to take a look around. The police had already been dispatched and they would meet me there.

I get to the club within minutes and see the officer outside. He checks with our security company to make sure I was on the safe list. We walk in the club and it's completely trashed.

"Yeah, you've been broken into."

I smile at him and tell him, no, that the cleaning crew doesn't come in until Monday and that the club looks exactly how we left it last night.

Everything seemed in order and we went outside to the water garden where the alarm was triggered. Sure enough, some crackhead was sound asleep on one of the couches. He tells me it "might get ugly."

I smile again, like I don't see crackheads thrown out of the club on a nightly basis. Hell, Mr. Officer even had his black gloves on - as B-Mack (our head of security) had told me when he first started "the gloves come on when shit is about to pop off."

Mr. Officer wakes up the crackhead intruder and demands what he's doing there. The crackhead says "I was sleeping, why you bothering me?"

Let's see, cause you broke into the property, triggered the alarm, had our security company call the authorities and alert management that the property had got broken into? Take your pick, all of them apply.

At this point Mr. Officer and I are extremely annoyed. C'mon now, seriously? Mr. Officer goes off and tells him he broke into the property which the crackhead argues "it's not like I went into the club and I know it's a club for white caucasians."

Umm, white caucasians?

At this point, I can't help myself.

"Do I look fucking white to you, asshole?"

He just glares at me. At this point though, he's in handcuffs and I'm, well, I'm entertained.

Mr. Officer throws the crackhead into the back of the car and then asks me for my information which I gladly give him.

Call anytime. No, seriously. Anytime.

I do a quick looksy around the club for good measure and set the alarm again. I check the R-Berry and see that both K and E had sent text messages.

E: "Cuff 'em."

K: "Press charges."

Way ahead of you kids. If I had to leave the comfort of my home on a Sunday against my will, someone is going downtown.