When I moved my family from suburban Northeast Minneapolis to the neighborhood around the new Minnesota United FC stadium (in the inner city of St. Paul), I thought it would put me closer to the things I loved: soccer, community, and French Vietnamese bakeries. Never did I ever consider that I was moving them into a den of “shooting, raping and gang banging.” But soon after I made the move I realized: I’d been led astray! My family tricked! This is the harrowing story of my Surviving Midway.
It was a cold, bright Saturday when I stood on the back of our moving truck. A red Honda Fit–tricked out with a bumper sticker–slowed and I knew it would be trouble. The hoodlum driving the car stopped. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. and got out.
“Hey, I’m Rick,” he said as he jutted his hand toward me, groping for my wallet. I ran into my home and locked the seven dead bolts I had thankfully installed before I moved in. I should have known then that something was amiss in neighborhood.
Midway is apparently replete with such desperate denizens, always wanting your watch or wallet. I learned this later from the researchers who work for the comments department at the local newspaper the Pioneer Press. If only I had consulted their wisdom, gleaned from decades of living in the ascetic devotion to sharing their thoughts on the bottom of news articles and caring for their mothers, with whom they have dotingly lived all these years. From the safe, scientific distance of the methamphetamine-haze of their suburb, these brave souls have been able to glean a lot of wisdom that I, in my hubris, ignored.
Since moving to Midway, I have been repeatedly stopped by locals, desperate for my money as they stop by to “introduce themselves” or “let us borrow tools.”
But really, what gets to me is the violence, the consistent gunshots. Because, really, inconsistent firing of weapons is one thing, but the abhorrent regularity of weapons being fired is outright frightening. Just tonight, as I tempted fate by taking my cardboard to the recycling bin on the street, I was pounced upon by a pair of hoodlums with their attack dogs. “How are you settling in?” these strangers asked, code for “give me your wallet!”
BEGONE URBAN DEVILS!
Other times, I am beset by strangers letting my children (bedecked in their kevlar onesies) pet their dogs who strike up conversations and try to dig through my personal details like “How do you like the neighborhood?” and “How are you today?”
The fear is palpable. How we’ll survive is a complete mystery. But you, dear reader, you can be saved from our fate. Let us be a lesson. Do not move to such a violent and sinful place as this.
Leave a Reply