A Roller Coaster and a Great, Big Stick

[Author’s note: This actually happened about two weeks ago, but immediately thereafter our 2023 city budget was in peril, and I paused to co-author the piece called “There’s Still Hope, Green Bay.” It got lot of attention, and the budget was saved from decimation. I’ve caught my breath, and so now I share with you this unbelievable sequel to “The Garbage Can Caper.”}

I’ve ridden roller coasters only a few times in my life for the very practical reason that they scare the hell out of me. I get no thrills from terrifying climbs and death-defying falls. However, today I’ve been riding a roller coaster – from highs to lows all day – and guess what: I think it’s a pretty interesting story. So I’m going to tell it. If you don’t want to hear about the nutty ups and downs of this day, why, you just quit reading now.

By 6:00 a.m. today I had had eight hours of good sleep! So, you see, when I got up, I was already near the top of the roller coaster. Nice place to start. Did my workout, had breakfast, checked my email, and discovered that the article Barb and I had co-authored yesterday and posted in the Speakeasy was attracting many local readers as we had hoped. Hurray.

At 9 a.m., I headed across town for my semi-annual Prolia injection (for osteoporosis). Suddenly I realized I wasn’t exactly sure how to get to that far-west Prevea building. I knew it was on Shawano, and I just couldn’t remember which east side street becomes Shawano Avenue. But my instincts were good, and I arrived on time with no hiccups; the roller coaster was chugging predictably up the next hill. And then: the apex! Do you know where they inject Prolia? In fat! They usually use the fat of the upper arm, but one time I had arrived wearing a long-sleeved shirt, and the nurse had told me that belly fat is just as good!

Did you hear me? I said, “belly fat – GOOD.”

So today a different nurse practitioner asked me whether I’d prefer the arm (I’d dressed appropriately) or the “abdomen.” I chose “belly fat,” and so I got the painless injection (well, has your belly fat ever hurt?!) in my otherwise useless fat, and I felt very, very good.

As I left the clinic, I gave myself permission to stop at Starbucks, where one small drink costs as much as an entire bag of coffee beans (an actual statistical fact). And there, as I waited (briefly) to place my order, in walks a stream of teenagers in costume! It was the Ashwaubenon High School cast of “Guys and Dolls,” having just performed in front of the cameras at a local TV station. I told them I used to teach high school drama and directed a few musicals at Notre Dame Academy. One young man drew in a breath and whispered in awe, “Notre Dame Academy!” We had an instant bond as the roller coaster hummed along effortlessly and I admired the girls’ fish-net stockings and the boys’ silly plaid suits.

I took my sugar-free vanilla flat-white and headed east. All the way home I sang “I am Woman, Hear me Roar.” (Seriously, I did, all the way down Mason Street.)

As I arrived home, the roller coaster hit the top: There were the Public Works leaf collectors on my street! The huge mound of leaves all along my terrace had been pulled out onto the street, and men and vehicles were busily picking things up. I was elated! The leaves – gone before the predicted snowfall!

And then the coaster started its downward dip: Oh, oh. They’d left one small pile of leaves behind. In fact, it looked like they’d inadvertently pushed some of my leaves too close to the tree and had to abandon them. “Well, I could just rake them out onto the street myself,” I thought, “if they’d come back and pick them up.” And then it would be over! Over until spring! (Be still, my beating heart.)

All I needed to do was rush up the block where the leaf guy was riding high in his crazy vehicle and ask if he’d cooperate. So simple, here at the top of the roller coaster where the clear view is endless.

Ah, but we were already descending. I began to walk hurriedly up the sidewalk. Now, normally, I’d cross the street immediately because I never walk in front of “Bob’s” house if I can avoid it. Remember crazy old Bob, the creep who stole my garbage can shortly after I was elected? His harassment has only increased; Xena and I walk on the other side of the street as much as possible. So do a lot of other neighbors. I play deaf and dumb if he’s out. But I was now racing against time, trying to stop a moving vehicle, and, alas, I didn’t see Bob out front.

I heard him first, shouting at the top of his lungs. I assumed he was screaming at the leaf guys; maybe he felt they’d treated his yard poorly or were making too much noise or were simply doing their work in front of his house, which could be interpreted as a serious misdemeanor if you are Bob. I quickly realized, though, that the coaster was, indeed, plummeting to a new low: He was yelling at me! Honest to God! I was walking on the public sidewalk, taking care of my own business, bothering no one, and he was howling at me. I couldn’t comprehend his meaning, but I did hear “leaves” and “alder” and “not your job.” I kept walking as the roller coaster chased me down the track, and I crossed the street to the leaf guy.

The man in the strange yellow vehicle stopped, opened the window, removed his earplugs, and listened to my plea. “Sure,” he said. “You rake ‘em onto the street, and we’ll come get ‘em.” Ah, on our way up to the top again.

But it was a short rise this time. Bob was still bellowing at me as I turned toward home. “Let ‘em do their work,” I heard. “It’s none of your business.” I couldn’t imagine what he thought I was up to. As the coaster plunged down with a deafening roar, I lost it. I turned on my heel directly across from Bob’s driveway, balled my fists, quickly checked for traffic, and marched across the street directly at him, swinging my arms and stamping my feet. I think I was actually growling like a mad dog.

“Don’t you come here,” Bob wailed. “You stay off my property.” Good! He, who still towers over me at the age of 80+, was afraid of me. He’s feeble; the only part of his body that still works effectively is his rotten, nasty voice. I’d scared the crap out of him. I scared myself too, because I knew I wanted to get right up in his face, maybe even slap him or push him over. And so, when I was directly in front of him, about 15 feet away, I turned again and stomped toward home. He kept on roaring (and I still had no idea what he was screaming about), so I turned and flipped him off and yelled, “I’m calling the police.” He bellowed again, and I repeated the threat.

We’d reached the nadir, and the roller coaster was again chugging up a slight rise. I hurried into my garage, grabbed the lawn rake, and raced out to rake those leaves into the street. I wondered if Crazy Bob might be watching, but I didn’t bother to look. I hung up the rake, closed the garage door, and rushed inside to greet Xena and call the “non-emergency” police number.

Now, remember that point on the roller coaster where the danged thing nearly stops? It just hangs there for a bit, and you wonder what’s coming next. We were at that point. The non-emergency police robot was useless. Not a single number I was offered connected with my need. I hung up. What to do? The roller coaster remained stalled. I called again – useless. But this time I heard something about “report online.” Well, hell, I could do that. I called a third time and wrote down the URL. (Was this coaster ever going to start moving again?) The URL was a dead end, but I knew where to turn: City of Green Bay – Report a Concern. How many times had I encouraged constituents to use that function? I easily found “police/nuisance” and felt the roller coaster start chugging upward again.

I entered my concern about Bob’s harassment in just under 300 characters, closed my laptop, and washed the dishes. Suddenly I realized I had barely one hour before I had to be on my way again, this time to the county courthouse to serve for the first time in my life as an observer for the certification of our recent election. I’d studied the canvassers’ handbook over breakfast, and I was willing to serve, if not entirely enthusiastic. “Xena,” I called, “let’s take you for a walk before Grandma has to leave again.”

Harness on and leash attached, we were just ready to exit the garage when my phone rang. Oh, man! It was a call I’d been waiting for from the Green Bay Public Schools on behalf of a neighbor, so I had no choice but to take the call while walking Xena. As soon as we hit the public sidewalk, I saw the police car! It wasn’t exactly in front of Bob’s house, but I knew that’s where the cops would be. I was in a hurry to get Xena her exercise. And I was talking with an HR specialist from the school system at the same time. Head down, assuming Bob was safely inside and surrounded by police (Man! They were quick!), I headed straight north, for the second time today not even worrying about crossing the street.

As Joline chatted into my ear and Xena pulled me along, I heard the shouting. Aw, geez! Crazy Bob was outside with the police, and I was just yards from his property. I kept my eyes straight ahead, bracing myself for the descent. Indeed: “There she is. That’s the bitch…” I glanced up and saw Bob in his front doorway and the welcome sight of a community police officer I know well, Officer Joe. The latter smiled at me somewhat nervously as the curses rose in volume and the coaster plunged. “Just a minute, Joline,” I said. “The neighbor man is harassing me, but don’t worry, the police are here.” I instantly regretted explaining it that way, but I had that sick feeling in my stomach that the roller coaster’s sudden drop inflicts.

Soon we were past the commotion, and Joline and I finished our business just as Xena required my attention and a poopie bag for her business. Xena and I hiked around the block. As we approached our front door, Crazy Bob was still yelling at the top of his crusty voice, and Officer Joe was still on the front porch. I came inside and quickly drew a glass of water and spread some peanut butter on crackers. It was going to be a long afternoon at the courthouse, and I had little time to fortify myself.

The phone rang, and my screen said, “GB Police.” It was Officer Joe, calling to brief me. Between the peanut butter crackers and Joe’s friendly voice, I relaxed into a modest, comfortable climb back up the track. What Joe related was of no surprise at all: slurs about all the single women on the street, assertions that all dog owners leave dog waste all over the parish grounds across the street from Bob’s house… yadda, yadda, yadda. Same old crap. Then Joe dropped the “news”: Bob was certain I had been complaining to the Department of Public Works about the leaves in his front yard.

What? What was wrong with the leaves in Bob’s front yard? What might the complaint have been? I couldn’t picture what Joe might be talking about. “Joe, I have never in my life complained about anyone’s leaves – not mine or Bob’s or anyone’s. What on earth would I even have said about Bob’s leaves?” And I went on to explain why I had hurried up the street that morning to talk to the city employee – about my own leaves! But Joe repeated Bob’s allegation, and he seemed committed to believing it. No amount of denial on my part seemed to convince Joe that I hadn’t even noticed Bob’s damned leaves! The roller coaster was dropping steeply, and my stomach was doing somersaults again as Joe cautioned me to refrain from walking in front of Bob’s house for a few weeks.

“Joe, the only reason I walked my dog past his house a few minutes ago was that I was in a hurry. I have to get to the courthouse…” Oh, my God! I had been gripping the sides of the roller coaster so hard, listening to Joe report on that old geezer, that I’d totally forgotten about the election canvass! The wind whipped through my hair as we took the biggest plunge yet.

I quickly ended the conversation, ran to brush my teeth, and heard my phone ding with a text message: My morning counterpart was reporting that the election certification was nearly over, and I probably would not be needed. Whew! I texted back: “Will continue to get ready and head in unless I hear from you.” Suddenly Crazy Bob and Officer Joe and even Joline faded from my consciousness. Just as I got my shoes on and began to zip my jacket, the final text came in: “Election certified. No need for you to serve.”

The coaster had come to a halt. I took a deep breath and got off, walking shakily out into the sunshine. (Well, actually, just hanging up my jacket, slipping out of my shoes, and feeling a wonderful sense of relief.) What could be wrong with having an afternoon off? Especially after that wild ride? I put Xena back into her harness, grabbed her leash and loaded her into the car. “We’re going to the river, Xena,” I explained. “We’re going to have a peaceful walk where we don’t (usually) encounter crazy people.”

Off we drove to the parking lot near East High School. It was still lunch time for lot of the kids, and Xena and I both enjoy interacting with the wide-eyed, carefree young teens. As we crossed the foot bridge over the East River, marveling that the geese still hadn’t flown south, a noisy group of kids (likely freshmen) was returning from lunch at McDonalds. One young man was carrying a huge stick – huge! It was close to ten feet in length and easily three inches in diameter, and he was joyfully crashing it down to the ground, over and over, yipping and yapping and having a great time. His compatriots were spilling over with the same exuberance. I had to interact with them! And so this pleasant little exchange ensued:

ME: (stepping right in front of the group) “Okay, here’s a history test for you. Who said ‘Speak softly and carry a big stick’?”

BOY: (clearly searching his memory) “Oh… oh… a president. Long ago.”

ME: “Yes! Which one?”

BOY: “Um… Roosevelt!”

ME: “Yes! Which Roosevelt?”

BOY: (considering only a few seconds until a smile broke) “Theodore!”

And there it was. My work there was done. I threw him a “well done,” noting that he was, oddly, wearing a suit and tie in high school, and headed down the trail with little Xena as the kids bounced up onto the foot bridge and back to class. I was off the roller coaster! I would spend the afternoon at the computer and then attend the school board meeting – nice and steady, no peaks and valleys, no Crazy Bobs or police officers, a few blessed hours on the predictable straightaway.