The Flying Saucer

When I tell people I'm just getting to know that I work in social services, I usually get one of two responses in return: 1. "Wow, that's so altruistic!" or, 2. "Boy, you're really stupid, aren't you?" Ok, honestly, I don't actually hear #2 very often, but the expression on a person's face can speak a whole heck of a lot louder than words 99% of the time. Truth is, social services can be pretty entertaining every now and again, and today was one of those days.

A few days ago, I was talking to one of our community services police officers who requested my department's assistance in helping to seize a local no-tell motel appropriately named "The Flying Saucer". I'm sure that back in the 50's or 60's this place was probably THE place to come for an overnighter. But 50-some years later, The Flying Saucer could best be described as a seedy joint of questionable cleanliness, among other things. It's one of those places you could drive by a hundred times and hardly notice it was there... unless, of course, it was 1 a.m. on a Saturday and you drove down a particular street... then you'd know. If you drove by slowly enough, you would notice the small shady sign which just said "Motel" in those block neon letters, half of which never light up so that most of the time it might just read "Mo" or "Mel" which is pretty funny in its own right. Any time you see a sign which only offers "Motel" as the name of the joint, a generally good rule of thumb would be to stay far, far away.

But now, back to the story...

Usually, if a hotel or other type of property is seized or condemned, it's because there's health and safety hazards or illegal activity of various sorts. So with a name like The Flying Saucer, you'd have hit the nail on the head if you guessed that it had the very best of both these unsavory worlds. The Saucer has apparently been known for years as a hangout for "ladies of the night" and drug users, so it's been a long time coming that this place be put under lock and key. Shortly before 11 a.m., a gaggle of us met at the police and safety building (known to us insiders as the PSB.) Officers, attorneys, fire department guys, building inspectors, folks from the health department, and our department were all there, ready and raring to go. Short of the mohawk and excessive, gaudy chain-link jewelry, I felt like a member of the A-Team. We had been instructed to wear our matching department shirts, so a few people teased us that we looked like the pathetic social service version of Charlie's Angels... in khaki's. The jokes surrounding the little adventure we were about to find ourselves in were flying. I asked my boss before we left where the sign-in sheet for handguns was kept (which is another inside joke, because anything and everything in that place seems to have a sign-out sheet or instructions for making reservations.) I was bummed that I didn't get to wear a bullet-proof vest. (Ok, not really... but it makes the story a little better.)

Social Service Powers... Activate!! After arriving on scene to The Saucer, 10 or so other police cars had naturally beaten us there. Before leaving the PSB, we were told that we probably wouldn't be needed to offer anyone assistance, because the shadier characters would likely scatter upon the arrival of the police, and anyone left behind would probably not qualify due to "occupational hazards" (i.e., they have no proof of income because they receive "commission" or "tips only - no base pay". I actually did have someone say this to me today.) As it turns out, it was good we were there. We had donned our thick blue rubber gloves, and shadowed the police officers seeing who was "fit" for assistance and who wasn't. For just a moment, I felt like a CSI which was pretty cool. (For those who don't know, I am a serious CSI: Las Vegas addict, and Nick Stokes can come to dinner at our house any day.) Anyway. Several innocent, low-income folks did need our help in getting relocated and finding appropriate housing. These were folks who stayed at The Saucer because it was cheap, included all the utilities, and had free cable for about $100 a week, give or take, and didn't require a credit check, rental history, or that always expensive security deposit. But let's face it... everyone else who was there probably paid an hourly rate.

Several other unsavory characters lingered about. There was the half-clothed woman with the matted hair teetering about with a gallon bottle of that sugary Tampico-brand fruit punch, the angry manager-lady with the tattoo of someone's named scrawled on her neck who wanted a full, legal explanation for why the property was being taken, (and who, I'm pretty sure, inadvertently spit out one of her black teeth while talking to me.) Then there was the "in your face" couple who used a lot of hand gestures to describe the inconvenience of the hotel closing and who demanded they get their night vision binoculars and VCRs out of their rooms..... (could I make up stuff this good??) The list goes on. It was also pretty entertaining to watch one of the health inspectors peel away the sheets of one of the beds to check the condition of the motel mattresses, only to then ask the "customer" how the mattress had caught on fire. Oh, those clumsy, clumsy meth heads.

Just a little while ago, I watched a short clip of our adventure on the local news. See, in most cases, the word excitement in relation to social services is not a good thing. But for today, anyway, the sheer entertainment value of the excitement made for a good story in the very least. Mr. T would have been so very proud.