One of the first lessons TheCSO learned about visiting my parents' house is to look out the window if there's a knock on the door. If there's a cop standing on the porch, don't answer the door because it's just somebody trying to serve my brother with legal papers of one type or another. Usually a simple subpeona.
As we are now buying that house and it is still the first place the cops look when they want my brother, the proud tradition of Smith family cop-dodging continues with the Webbs. (If there's ever a flood and the cops come around to evacuate us, we are so screwed. Luckily Fairfax county doesn't have natural disasters. They are against some county ordinance or another. Hurricaines reach the county line and become rainstorms out of fear of our mighty county government and numerous homeowners' associations. People bitch that the property taxes here are too high, but you can't argue with the services.) CC's theory is that the Fairfax County police might as well earn their paychecks and we don't want to be responsible for finding my brother and warning him of an impending court date.
It is because of people like us that process servers must get creative.
Which brings me to The Washingtonienne, who was served last night in the middle of her book signing at Olsson's.
Who is drawn to this Washingtonienne thing like a moth to a really sluttly flame already.
And who is making calls today at work, meaning there will be frequent updates.