It Just Ain't Right

I think there must be some secret memo at the local TV stations to the effect that whenever any sort of crime, tragedy, or disaster strikes, the field reporter is to go find the dumbest, angriest, most frightened person in the area and put him or her on camera. Regardless of the event, you can be assured that some toothless wonder of a neighbor is going to be in front of the camera telling you how frightened she is that Junior has to grow up in that neighborhood, now that "this" has happened.
If Mr. and Mrs. Smith down the street get into some sort of domestic dispute and discharge a few rounds into each other, there'll be somebody's mother, wearing a Budweiser t-shirt telling the reporter how angry she is that this sort of thing has happened. And it doesn't have to be anything as big as a shooting.
A housefire? That same mother is frightened to be living in that neighborhood. "It just ain't right," she's telling the guy with the microphone. "I got kids growing up in this neighborhood, and now they're going to be frightened that something else is going to catch fire."
Or, if the ice-cream truck breaks down, there she is, only now she's changed into a tasteful Brew-Through sweat shirt she picked up last time she was in North Carolina.
"I'm angry," she says, choking back the tears. "My young'uns look forward to getting their popcycle each afternoon. Now,what are they going to do."
The mother looks plaintively at the camera. You can tell she's thinking that maybe the viewers will start some sort of special fund to get her kids ice cream.
Where do they get these people. Does every neighborhood have mothers like that? Are you telling me that there's one right here in my neighborhood. Because, if there is, then I'm frightened. My kids have to play in this neighborhood. I tell you, it just ain't right.