Fuck the Police

I just want my paintings back from the gallery.

Since Obama was elected, my art has been held hostage in Lake Merrit.

I call.

I leave messages.

I ask around the neighborhood to see if they've seen the gallery owner. They all want nothing to do with him, say that he's a druggie, a bad guy, violent....

I leave notes on the door.

The next time I'm there I see the note has been read, and yet no call back.


They say that if anything, getting a college degree is proof that you know how to navigate a bureaucratic system at the least...

So after college then what? We're automatically experts at jumping through all the hoops of any government system??

No one ever answers their phones. None of the web pages answer my questions. Can someone just please tell me which court house to go to to file a small claims case? Oh gee, this is nice, after a BART ride to Oakland, getting lost for 30 min, finally finding the court house, but having to pay for parking and the meter doesn't tell you how much 25 cents is worth on the meter, so we put in a dollar thinking it would be enough, then you get a receipt saying you paid way over 30 minutes, then going through a security x-ray line, I find a big note on the non-occupied info desk reading: "If you are here to file a small claims case, please go to the Rene C. Davidson Courthouse"

So off to get lost again in Oakland, rushing past China Town, the driver calling her partner to give her google directions over the phone, we almost crash 3 times...

A rally about Police Brutality is happening outside of the courthouse, we rush past as I strike a convo with my fellow justice seeker, turns out she thinks Oscar deserved to get killed? We enter another security check, as the info desk re-directs us to another room.

Then we wait.

We wait.

We wait because the lady behind the glass is talking to her friends. We finally get the forms, fill them out, fill out a waiver form, then wait some more.

The lady behind the glass is now arguing with someone over a pen. She wanted him to leave his ID for safe return of her writing utensil.

So we wait.

Other friends stop by to talk to her.

Still waiting.

We finally get our forms processed. I ask her questions about the serving procedure and she begins to rattle on about: You have 3 options to get someone served: a private citizen, a professional processor, or if your fee waiver goes through, the sheriff will serve the defendant...I check my form: the defendant's name is spelled wrong: how am I suppose to sue for my property if the defendant's name is in-correct: fine print says the judge will throw out any case with any minor mistakes, like going to the wrong court house or incorrect spelling...I ask about my fee waiver...the woman behind the glass says to call back next week to see if the waiver went through...

We leave still empty handed of our art.

Next week rolls around. I call back. I'm on hold.

Still on hold.

Still holding.

A woman with a monotone voice answers. Our records show that a fee waiver form was never filled out. I was fucking there, I filled it out where the fuck is my form? Of course I'm not cussing at the lady on the phone: is there someone I can talk to who knows where my form went? "You can call back Monday."

What options do I have? Legal Outreach help lines have yet to call me back. Someone answering makes me lucky...I just want my art back.

Seems like every branch of the government turns people cold, un-caring, and un-helpful. Most of all, no justice. So fuck the police, I'm gonna burn that gallery to ashes and my art will be the suicide bombers.