Last summer, my mother decided to leave the DC suburbs and take advantage of Baltimore’s real estate market. She chose a total rehab that had been basically torn to the ground and rebuilt again, effectively buying a brand new house. I’m not going to name the neighborhood that she chose specifically, but let’s just say that the DC couple in A Dirty Shame was particularly amusing to my family, especially since the house was ready for her to move in the very same week the movie was released.

While we were touring the house, which at the time was only half finished, I whispered into her ear “You DO know that you’ll be surrounded by white trash?” She looked at the house, considered the price and the fact that she would have a brand new house that had modern updated everything, and whispered back “For a deal like this, I can be white trash.”

So it was decided.

Yesterday morning, my mother called me, very excited to share the events she had experienced the night prior. She had apparently fallen victim to an almost irrelevant type of mail fraud that honestly would have no effect on her credit report. Someone was listing her billing address under assumed names for magazine subscriptions. Tired of receiving all the bills at her home, she called the publishing companies to complain, all of which insisted she report the matter to the police. She reluctantly called the police, knowing full well she was calling in the militia to turn off a leaky drain pipe and basically wasting their time. Much to the Baltimore City Police Department’s credit, they actually bothered to send out an officer to file a report.

When she answered the door, she found a very confused officer standing on her front porch.

“Is this 666 White Trash Lane?” the officer asked.

“Why yes it is” my mother responded, “come on in.”

“This house looks different...”

“Well, actually officer, it’s a complete rehab. They stripped it to the ground and rebuilt it again.”

“I used to respond to calls at this house every week” the officer replied, “Bikers lived here. Drugs, domestic disturbance, you name it. This place was a real dump. I love what you’ve done to the place”

“Why, thank you officer. I’m flattered.”

“Would you mind giving me a tour?”

“Certainly not. Please, follow me...”

“Do you mind me asking you what you paid for this house?”

“Not at all. I paid XXX’K.”

“You only paid XXX’K for this house?! What a bargain. You did very well...”

“Why thank you officer. That’s very kind of you to say.”

Later, as the officer was filing the report, my mother asked if he thought the previous owners might be responsible for the fraudulent bills. The officer looked at the invoices for the magazines: The New Yorker, The Atlantic, The National Audubon Society, Smithsonian Magazine, Vanity Fair, etc... “Ha! It’s not very likely.”

Later, as my mother was seeing the officer out to the door, he turned to her on the front porch and said, “Honestly, this house used to be a real piece of work. It used to look like that house.” Pointing to the drug dealing house across the street.

“Hey!” she snapped, “don’t point at that house. I have to live in this neighborhood, you know?”