About 40 minutes ago, call it 11:20, I was getting ready for bed. I'd stayed up to watch Robot Chicken, then shut off unnecessary lights and headed to my bedroom, where the smallest cat was snoozing on the bed. I sat down and prepared to trade house shoes and jeans and so on for a nightgown when the doorbell rang.
I grabbed a sidearm and raced to the door, peeking obliquely through the high window. No one in sight. I hollered, "If it's not an emergency, go away!" Nothing. I'd flipped on the dining room lights on my way through, so I turned them off and toured the windows. Nothing.
Thought about it and called the police non-emergency number. Told them what happened, thinking, well, don't I sound like a stereotypical old maid. Asked if they had any reports from my neighborhood. Nothing, but they said they'd send a car down the street. Police Dispatch called back five minutes later asking my exact house number, I told 'em (again) and then kept my eyes open; sure enough, an IMPD car came around the corner and went down the street, spotlighting yards and porches as he went.
So, here I am, armed to the teeth and wired on my own adrenaline. Anyone think I'm goin' to sleep soon? Noooooooo.
Rats. I need to -- well, I should -- go to the bank tomorrow morning. And I've picked up all the parts to try some plumbing, which I would as soon do during the day, after a good rest.
At my old place, I had several visits from very drunk people, most of whom were simply confused. (One was angry as can be, sure she was at her boyfriend's house. That was when my ex and I were still together and we had to call the police). Don't know if that's what this was or what.
P.S.: This is why I don't like living alone.
T. R. MCELROY'S STREAMLINED TELEGRAPH KEYS
2 months ago