Fresh Paint
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Was It All Just a Dream?
Had just turned off the computer around 2 am and was sitting there, thinking I should go to bed, when I heard voices, then many voices and the kicking in of my side door.

"What are you doing here?" I yelled out, stupidly. You always wonder what you're going to say in this situation.

Maybe I figured that a pack of thieves breaking in usually try to be a little quieter, so I was a bit unsure of the correct expression to use.

I opened the door to the basement hallway and looked down at guys all dressed alike, in dark blue, carrying flashlights.

"It's ok," one of them said. "We're the police."

I was really tired and somewhat befuddled from all the computer game slaughter I'd been performing all evening, since I forgot to ask for ID. Maybe I'd subconsiously noticed the car with flashing lights in front and the squawking radios, so figured they were probably telling the truth.

"You live here?" one of them asked. "It's just that we didn't expect to see someone."

"I was sitting right there in the living room at the computer," I said. "All night."

"You weren't upstairs asleep?"

This conversation was getting strange, and for some reason they didn't seem to relax as we were chatting.

Finally, one of them said they had a report of someone cutting through my side yard, investigated, and found the screen loose (has been since about 1960) and my side door unlocked. For some reason they kept expressing astonishment that someone was up so late.

"You want to check if anything's missing? In case someone's been in here?"

"I was sitting right there!" I said. "I would have noticed!"

Well, maybe not, if the game was good. Had been helping out with the public beta for the new Aveyond game (not recommended yet), and was getting a bit fed up with repeatedly killing poisonous salamanders. Was ready for some real action.

"You live with someone? Someone live on your porch?" The questions kept coming.

And they kept watching me as though I were insane. Finally, one of them said, "Can I see some ID?"

"Sure," I said, still so befuddled I didn't think to call the ACLU or something for guidance. Two of them started to follow me inside. It's at times like these that you realize your house is a wreck and you haven't washed the dishes or the floor in a long time. I closed the hall door on them.

I got my purse, went back, and showed them my license. I was afraid they were going to comment on the change in my hairstyle, or that I had on different glasses, or that I'd apparently stretched the truth a bit about my height and weight.

"You mean this is [he repeated my address]?"

"Uh, yeah."

At this point they turn and leave.

But not before a final investigation of my front porch, where I keep the junk mail until I can get to it, which may be months, unfortunately.

"It's always like this?" one of them asked as the rest went back to the car and spent a lot of time filling out forms with the dome light on.

Jokers everywhere. I'm pretty sure this actually happened. I have no witnesses or alibi that will hold up in court.

--- Back to Main Page ---

Creative Commons License This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.

Site Meter