Another Day in the Life of the OC

We live in a very nice gated community just south of the middle of the OC. It has a homeowner's association, its own street sweeping service, and the usual array of houses that all look mostly the same. You have to have a code or a remote to get in, the streets are well lit, and most houses have alarms. Safe enough, right? Did I mention it's an island in a war zone?

Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration. Technically, no war has been declared. That doesn't change the fact that several gangs operate in the area, car theft is a cottage industry, and there have been several deaths within several blocks of our house where the victim, um, fell onto some bullets. The Asian gangs hate the Mexicans, the Mexicans hate the Asians, and then the Mexicans and Asian gangs also hate other Mexican and Asian gangs. And there's a Catholic church right around the corner too.

We're a little wary every time we drive in and out of our "safe" little island, and we try not to venture into the local community to shop if it's dark. We keep things locked. We pay attention to what's going on around us at all times. And we keep guns.

So it was a "normal" day here in our sleepy little community. I recently detected a weed issue in our front and back yards, and have decided to take immediate action, before the angry gods of the association come down upon us for not keeping a properly tidy yard. I grabbed the weed killer, my little radio and headphones, and got to work.

As I sprayed the front yard, I thought I heard a helicopter. The sound passed and I went back to work. You see, we live in the landing pattern of a very active airport, so the sound of jet engines, propellers and helicopter blades are more common then chirping birds. Having finished the front yard, I headed to the back yard and started to work. Again, I thought I heard a helicopter.

This time it was much louder. I pulled off the headphones and listened. Fading. Coming back. Looking up, I saw it. Now I really listened, because it was the police helicopter. It was circling, again. Judging by the circle it was flying, it was either just in front of our complex, or just inside it...again. Then I heard it.

"...is the police...."

Circle again.

"...this is the police, stop running...."

Circle again.

"...stop running, put your hands in the air, and walk back towards the officers...."

Oh shit. Here we go again. Down went the weed killer. I stepped in through the back door, turned around, and shut it. I locked the handle. I placed the track lock, drilled through the frame of the door, into place. I knelt down and screwed in the friction lock in the sliding glass door track. I closed the blinds.

I moved quickly to the front door, opened it, checked the screen door lock, then shut the door and made sure the deadbolt was thrown. Then I checked the garage. Door shut, inner door shut and locked...both locks.

I stepped around to the closet, removed my Mossberg 590 shotgun, checked the load and safety. It went on the table behind me in the dining area.

Then I washed my hands, sat down at the computer, and looked up latest news from the Olympics.

That's how it works here. Once in a while the war outside intrudes. You lock up, check your weapons, and sit back down to YouTube or How I Met Your Mother. Eventually the helicopter stops circling, the police cars pull away, and it's almost like it never happened.

Oh yeah, and you can take your 12 gauge off the table and put it away again. Until the next time.

Gated communities just aren't what they used to be.