Some random dude walked into my apartment the other night.
I was sitting in the living room messing with my phone, just having gotten home myself. Assuming it was Drew opening the door, I didn’t have a worry, though I thought he was getting home a little early.
I looked up and there was some stranger.
Surprised, but accepting that this is what was happening in my life right then, I said, “Hello, can I help you?”
He wavered there with the door still open and mumbled some stuff I didn’t really understand. But, he said my landlord’s name and I caught that. He didn’t seem like he was leaving and I stood up. I told him that John was my landlord and wasn’t here and doesn’t live here and that I did.
There was a pause and then he started walking toward my kitchen and I stepped in front of him and was like, “He’s not here. if you need his phone number, I can give that to you, but he’s not here.”
The guy backed up a bit and leaned on the open door and I thought that was gonna be it but then he said, “Whadabout mah truck?” pointing his thumb back at the half dozen antique cars my landlord has there.
“I don’t know anything about that and I can’t help you. You should probably get in touch with him. The only thing I can do is give you his number.”
He staggered there another moment but then started walking toward the bedroom. I moved quickly and slid in front of him and put up my hands to say “stop” and then firmly said,
“Woah. You do not live here. John Banneker does not live here. I live here. I do not know you. We are not friends. You need to leave.”
He wavered there a second in my living room then started to back up.*
He started to go out the door (and fumbled at the lock, locking the door behind him, which I thought was interesting), and I told him again that I’d be fine with giving him John’s phone number but there’s nothing I can do for him. And kept closing the space so that he’d keep heading outside. Then, he was out the door and I immediately engaged the dead bolt.
Then, I went back to doing what I was doing. Seriously, as if nothing weird had just happened. Just thought it’d been weird.
I heard a knock on my neighbor’s door and figured the guy was asking other people if our landlord was there (I decided at that point that I should probably text Drew, let him know I’d been a bad ass and protected our home and whatnot).
Then, I heard a “clunk” sound and decided I should call 911 instead of text Drew.
As I called, the guy was back at my door, kicking on it (weakly) and trying to open it again (apparently forgetting that he’d locked it). Then, he was up at my living room window and it sounded like he was tapping or trying to open it (or both). I told dispatch what had happened and what was happening, then looked out my kitchen window and saw him in between the vehicles rocking back an forth. I told them that too. They asked if I felt safe or if I wanted them to stay on the phone and I said I was fine for now.
I called Drew to let him know what was happening.
Then, the guy was at the door and windows again kicking and tapping. Then, there was sound like rocks sliding or something of to the side.
Eventually, I saw the cop lights but they didn’t come to the door right away.
Before they came, Drew and Amal got there. Amal left shortly after.
They knocked at my door. I told them everything and what not and wrote a statement and blah blah blah. The cop seemed surprised and kept saying that I’d handled everything perfectly and that I should consider being a cop. I told him I’d applied for a dispatch position once but it didn’t work because I was still in college at the time. He said, “Yeah, you should do dispatch. You’d be great at it.” and so on getting my ego stroked. It was nice.
As it turns out, the guy was sitting in the front seat of one of the trucks, broken glass from the window all over him. They found him there. He ran when they tried to get him out then resisted arrest, but they got him. The guy was drunk off his ass. They were taking him to jail. They weren’t sure exactly what he’d be charged with yet but could be trespassing, robbery, or something. Whatever the max was.
The cop gave me his card with the case number (I think if I wanted to get a job with the police service, I should shoot him a message and get a reference) and asked for my height and weight and thought it was funny, repeating that I should be a cop.
Then he left and I drank a big Thai iced-tea that Drew had brought home for me.
*Note: it did occur to me during all this to be afraid, my that thought was dismissed with, “Well, this is what’s happening and this is how I’m going to handle it so, Fear, don’t fuck it up, ok.”
Update (6-22-16): Our landlord, who’d previously acted as if he didn’t know the person, admitted that they guy who’d walked in was a former tenant. Makes me wonder a little more about that truck…