[A quick preface for non-Seattleites: my neighborhood, Capitol Hill, is like if Nob Hill in Albuquerque had dirty bathroom sex with the Castro in San Francisco and had a baby will a hilly exterior. To sum, I've got lovely people to watch from all colors and sexualities and it makes me so happy. Also, I obviously haven't left my old apartment. Long story, different time.]

I woke up to a distant voice. It was male, and it was yelling something like “what’s your problem?” I obviously missed something of the conversation, and in my sleepy haze was trying to determine which direction it was coming from. Quickly, I discovered it was coming from the hall outside my apartment. At the peephole, I could see my neighbor and her girlfriend standing in my line of squinty vision. Then I saw the male and heard his voice in all it’s drunken and slurring glory. I also noticed someone else coming out of their door. His rant started up again: he was minding his business when this girl butted in to his conversation, he was pissed, it was America, and how dare she. She started to retort. And then, he went there - out stumbled “dykey cunt.” I finally woke up. The diffusing neighbor suggested drunk man go back to his apartment. Once I saw and heard his retreat, I stood still. I started to go over an invisible checklist in my head, to help me make my next decision:

• Was this something I learned about in my self-defense classes at Home Alive?
• What was the benefit of me involving myself?
• Would I face repercussions if I said something?

And then I realized that I will never feel comfortable around this guy ever again. In my own apartment building. That was enough to mobilize me, so after a few minutes I went out to the stoop to make sure that the two women were okay. Outside, I suggested that they complain to our manager and that I’d substantiate their story, if needed. Just as they started to recount the story, out comes Drunk Homophobic Rant Guy. And he still had words to share.

After a few verbal insults were tossed my way, I started to shrink back. This was not my battle, and I hate confrontation. And then I see him step up the stairs so he is nose and nose with one of the women. Out comes the story of how this whole thing started: he was on the phone with a friend when he walked up the stairs and noticed them and he called them niggers. One of them defended herself on the basis that she lived here and didn’t deserve to be so disrespected, after which he apparently grabbed her girlfriend.

That was it. I’d had enough. Behind my locked door, I called 911. Due to a recent string of scary crime and gay bashing, all I had to say was “called her a dyke” and “yelling” before she immediately dispatched the police. As I was describing the scene, she asked if I could see any of them anymore. I said no, and walked out to the stoop because it was clear. As I stepped out onto the sidewalk I noticed the three of them one building down, but heard no raised voices. Simultaneously, two police cars show up. From the initiation of the call to the cops showing up is about 2 minutes, at the most.

I’m a little frightened that I was busted as the 911 caller. But overall, I’m pissed. I’m pissed that people still think it’s okay to call people hateful words; I’m mad at myself because I shrunk back, when I should have been able to defend myself against Drunky McDrunkerson; I shouldn’t be up an hour later, questioning whether I did the right thing.

Basically, I hate that still people hate. I hope that doesn’t get me into trouble.