xPart of learning a neighborhood means you have to drive around it -- a lot. And you have to know the disposition of each house: is it occupied, recently renovated, vacant, for sale, etc. I tried cataloguing my quadrant of earth last Friday, driving through with a faxed blurry plot map of each lot in my quadrant. It was not pretty. First, I am terrible at reading plot maps. They are essentially street maps with each lot outlined on either side of each street. It sounds simple, but I couldn't drive, try to find myself on the map, try to find the address on the map and look inconspicuous all at once. Second, the addresses on the houses themselves are hard enough to ascertain without having to then find the smeared letters on the map and write in the status of the home. Third, my non-profit wouldn't be working in the neighborhood if the residents weren't a bit down on their luck and perhaps unable to find full employment. So, that means that there are a number of young men standing around, staring at me and my car trying to figure out why I am creeping through their neighborhood with a squinty glare and a pen.
When I returned to the office, I explained my experience to a co-worker who suggested that I take a digital voice recorder to record my impressions of the homes that I could then transcribe when I returned to the office. This evening I headed back to my assigned quadrant feeling like a P.I., ready to record my impressions into the voice recorder. I hoped that I would not look like an intruder, and more like one of our fair city's many self-absorbed drivers yelling into a cell phone instead of paying attention to the road.
I met with mixed success. A very good friend called as I was on my way over to the neighborhood and I arrived while I was still on the phone. I could not have a cell phone conversation and assess homes into my voice recorder, so I did what I did not want to do, I stopped. With my lights on. People appeared on porches and in windows to see who this stranger was on the street. I abruptly ended my phone conversation and began driving slowly, trying to look nonchalant as I spoke into my recorder: 343 on Axel Street - in need of renovation; 345 -- for sale; 349 -- occupied; 355 - vacant; and so on. I got more than a few stares, but I played with my hair, looked nonchalant, and had an engrossing conversation....with a voice recorder.
When I returned to the office, I explained my experience to a co-worker who suggested that I take a digital voice recorder to record my impressions of the homes that I could then transcribe when I returned to the office. This evening I headed back to my assigned quadrant feeling like a P.I., ready to record my impressions into the voice recorder. I hoped that I would not look like an intruder, and more like one of our fair city's many self-absorbed drivers yelling into a cell phone instead of paying attention to the road.
I met with mixed success. A very good friend called as I was on my way over to the neighborhood and I arrived while I was still on the phone. I could not have a cell phone conversation and assess homes into my voice recorder, so I did what I did not want to do, I stopped. With my lights on. People appeared on porches and in windows to see who this stranger was on the street. I abruptly ended my phone conversation and began driving slowly, trying to look nonchalant as I spoke into my recorder: 343 on Axel Street - in need of renovation; 345 -- for sale; 349 -- occupied; 355 - vacant; and so on. I got more than a few stares, but I played with my hair, looked nonchalant, and had an engrossing conversation....with a voice recorder.
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