It’s 4:30AM and I can’t sleep.
This may or may not have to do with the fact that the police were just in my house.
They were here because I called them, because I was convinced someone was in the house, because I might be losing my mind.
I woke like lightening to the sound of footsteps and the ruffling of a bag in our tiny two-bedroom house located in East Austin. My roommate wasn’t home and no one else has a key to the house, so my mind began racing. I didn’t know what to do- I was petrified– so I did what any logical terrified young girl would do and checked my Facebook and Twitter profiles. Some friends made comments about a photo of myself I posted earlier in the evening. They said I looked like MILF and that made me smile- even though I’m not a mom.
After getting lost in the adulation of my sexy mom poses, additional footsteps snapped me back to reality and I knew I had to think fast. Scanning the room I saw I had nothing of weight or intimidation to attack the perpetrator with, so I grabbed my Swiffer mop and froze like a blinded doe waiting for the impact of a forthcoming vehicle. I listened for a break in the footsteps and ran like a steam engine out of my room- Swiffer mop a ‘swingin’.
No one was there. Not a human, not a mouse, not even a cockroach.
This did not deter my positivity that something was in the house, so I went into the kitchen and grabbed the biggest knife we had- an Ikea paring knife. Armed with my Swiffer mop and Ikea knife, I walked towards the front door, ready to bolt into the night at the sound of any more movement. I heard my roommate’s door open and I certainly bolted, down the street, in my silk robe, my Swiffer in one hand, the knife in the other. I stood on the street corner shivering as I dialed 911.
Before I finished sharing the details to the 911 dispatcher, the police were already at my house. They told me to drop the Ikea knife and sit in the back seat of the squad car. They walked into my house, armed with much more than a plastic rod with a static sheet attached to the end of it. I sat in the cold, hard backseat, my knees shaking, waiting anxiously for the perpetrator to run out of the house with police in tow. What felt like an eternity passed, until finally one of the police officers came to let me out of the backseat.
“Uh…there is no one in there”, he said to me.
“What?! That’s impossible!” I said, “I know I heard someone!”
I entered the house and did a walk-thru with the police officers. There was indeed no one in the house and nothing had been touched.
The conclusion we came to is that there was a raccoon or possum underneath the house and because this is an old Sears catalog home from the 1930’s, noises under the house sound like they’re under your face. This does not explain the door opening though. I asked the cops if my roommate’s door was open when they entered and they said no. I shook my head in disbelief. “Is this how schizophrenia starts?” I quietly thought to myself as I smiled and apologized to the police officers. They were sweet and understanding of my overreaction and smiled as they quietly thought, “This chick has baaaad morning breath.”
The police are now gone and I’m left to my thoughts about what just happened. The initial adrenaline has now been replaced by embarrassment as I realized there is a good chance a boob or two popped out of my robe as I shook like a Chihuahua in the frigid night. I’m thinking about what diseases my ass potentially picked up sitting in the back seat of the squad car too. I’m also convinced that the police were wrong and that there is someone still in the house, masked by an invisible cloak.
Ok, I’m going to try and go back to sleep and post this tomorrow morning. Thanks for listening and if there is a lesson to be learned in this post it’s that Swiffer mops, Ikea knives, and checking Facebook profiles will do nothing to save you during an emergency. Absolutely nothing at all.