Thursday, July 29, 2010

A Wolf at the Door

*Ding dong*


*Bang Bang*

"I'm coming, give me a second."

*Bang Bang*

When I opened the front door, I was met with an unusual sight. A short woman in a judicial robe holding some papers surrounded by several large men wearing purple SEIU t-shirts. Behind them were several well dressed men carrying briefcases, whom I assumed were lawyers, all holding cell phones to their ears. One of them bore a striking resemblance to Eric Holder. Behind them were two police officers.

"Is this the Samuel residence?" she asked curtly.

"Yes," I replied.

"OK, boys, you know what to do." The purple shirts rushed past her and, with tools in hand, began to remove our front door.

"Excuse me. Just what do you think you're doing. And who are you anyway?" I protested.

"My name's Judge Bolton and I'll thank you to refer to me as "Your Honor." she replied in a condescending tone.

I said, "But, we're not in your courtroom, this is my front porch."

"You're quite correct, Mr. Samuels. But perhaps you're not familiar with my ruling concerning doors. Just this afternoon, I ruled that your front door is racist."

"What are you talking about? That door's been there since the house was built!"

"That's not what's in dispute here. By having this door on your house, you're keeping out this Mexican family, the Juarez's. They want to live here."

"But this isn't their house. I'm the one who's making the payments," I said. My protests did not stop several people with children from coming into the house and into the living room. Soon, the TV was blasting so loudly, we had to yell at each other.

Judge Bolton continued, although in a louder voice this time. "You see, this is what we're talking about, your inherent racism."

"What racism? I'm no racist. My family and I live here and have for years. We don't discriminate against anyone. All we do is live..."

It was here that I took notice of the two policemen on the sidewalk. I raised up on my tiptoes and yelled, "Hey, what are you guys doing. Aren't you going to help me defend my home?"

They looked at me and shrugged. "We're sorry, sir. Judge Bolton's ruling means we can't help you. The only reason we're here is if you become violent or interfere with the removal of your door."

I turned to see that the guys in the SEIU shirts had suddenly stopped working and were now arguing with each other. One of them said, "No, no, you can't remove those screws, only the ones above them. It's in our contract."

Another purple shirt said, "Well, who's going to take those screws out?" "Where's Larry?" "I don't know, whaddaya askin' me for, it ain't my day to watch him." Then they started yelling at each other while another one pulled a phone and started making a call. "Guys," I said, "Go stand over there and bicker."

Still arguing, they walked away, trampling the gardenias that my wife had planted the week after our youngest daughter was born. It was the first thing she did outside when we brought her home from the hospital. I turned my attention back to Judge Bolton.

"Your Honor, I thought that our Constitution gave me the right to my own property. What about due process?"

She waved the papers in her hand toward my face. "Mr. Samuel, here is my decision. Due process has been achieved. I did that this afternoon."

She continued, "Our Constitution was never intended to deny freedom to anyone inside our country. Everyone who is here is guaranteed the rights embodied in it, regardless of nationality. Perhaps you need to get with the times and realize that we've interpreted the Constitution to reflect modern progressive values. Ours is a living Constitution that changes with the requirements of modern life here in America. Or don't you know that? Ignorance of the law is no excuse."

"But, but..."

I was pushed aside by yet another purple shirt with a screwdriver who proceeded to finish the removal of the front door.

Mrs. Samuel came running up to me and grabbed me. "What are we going to do? We can't stay here, there's no front door any more. Anyone can come right in. What if we're robbed, or worse?"

Judge Bolton looked at her and said, "This is how things are now. If you don't want to live here, you can just move."

My wife began to cry.

1 comment:

Ima Wurdibitsch said...

This was brilliant, BB. I think I found you through The War Planner - or maybe HotAir - and you're in my feed reader. Great work!