Wednesday, July 07, 2010

My tax dollars at work

I live firmly in the suburbs. If you look over there, 'burbs. And that direction, more 'burbs. Me, right in the middle of the suburbs.

Last night I was doing my best to catch up on the beauty rest that I'd missed the night before. It wasn't working very well, but I don't give up easily.

I think I was dozing. And I thought I heard the doorbell ring. But it was kind of that thing...did I dream the doorbell rang or did it actually ring? And anyway, I'm not answering a doorbell in the middle of the night, so I didn't move.

And then it rang again. And then someone knocked on the door. By that time, I figured ignoring it wasn't going to make it go away.

Middle of the night isn't my sharpest thinking part of the day, so I staggered to the door and said, "Who is it?" in a very gruff, mean, "I will cut you" voice. It probably sounded like an eight year old with a cold.

And then the voice on the other side answered "Police." I popped up to look out the peep hole that I demanded be put in my door before I moved in. Unfortunately, the man who put it in must have been 7 feet tall because it takes a stretch for me to do that and I'm not a petite flower.

Seeing a man in a uniform with a flashlight there, I open the door and stick my head through the crack.
"Ma'am, did you call 911?" he asked, shining said flashlight at my floating head.

I don't remember the answer but it probably sounded like..."Um, no, nope, uh-uh, no way. I was asleep."

Apparently someone called in from a cell phone to get the police to help make her boyfriend go away, and they had my address.

As the police officer came in and started questioning me, I was thinking how unfair it is that I'm answering. Boyfriends that won't go away are so not a problem at my house. And the whole time, I'm looking anxiously at the bedroom and also wishing I had dressed a little differently to entertain the police. I was probably acting suspiciously because I kept expecting Darcy to come bursting out in mad dog mode. There was a time when the doorbell ringing on the television would send her into attack mode. And a man in the house...hackles would rise.

Finally with my name, rank, and serial number and a few helpful suggestions from me, the officer left. And I appreciate his dedication to doing the job right. I really do. Until I start thinking about what my house looks like, what my hair was doing, and how I was dressed. Still, you'd think that be more proof I'm not the one fighting with a boyfriend.

I walked back into my bedroom to see my devoted guard dog sitting on the bed with a very curious look on her face as if to say, "What's happening? Is it time to get up?" She was prepared to eat a treat if I had one.

It's good to know that if we have intruders, she's going to be cheerful about it.

And then I couldn't sleep the rest of the night, pondering the phone call involving my address and a dog that doesn't always bark when there's ringing, knocking, and a male voice. It's been pretty quiet since the police visited next door not too long after I moved in, but I'm thinking about moving back to the city to get some rest.

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