BANG BANG BANG BANG! i look up from my computer, startled and peek out the semi-closed blinds. a man is standing at my door. BANG BANG BANG BANG! DING DONG!! i slowly back away from the window still staring at the man. hes white, 40 to 45 years old. dark skin and an unkempt unshaven face. slight build, wearing all black. hes holding something over his shoulder... a jacket? a backpack? he bangs one more time and then slowly walks down the staircase. he doesn't appear at the front gate so i know hes gone around the back of our house.
JESUS JESUS SHIT SHIT!! WHAT THE HELL DO I DO??
i live on a super busy street so i can't crank the radio or start pretending to yell at somebody in the house. i run to the kitchen and close the curtains... then i peek into our bedroom. the back staircase is right below the window. creeping up low to the window i peer out nd see a head start bobing up the stairs.
JESUS SHIT SHIT!! SHIT!!!
i look through the bathroom window and see the outline of a head. hes now at the backdoor. i hear rustling and boxes moving... hes going through our stuff on the porch! back into the bedroom and to the window i see him start to make his way to the kitchen window. BANG BANG BANG on the window and a very loud "WHAT THE FUUUCK DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING????" he spins around and sees me, ive startled him. "uh uh... (he looks around the yard) i was knocking at your front door. i was wondering if that van is for sale?" "NO! ITS NOOOT! GET OFF OF OUR PROPERTY" he took off quickly out the front and down the road. my heart was beating in my throat. i called my husband who told me to call 911. the police where at my house in 3 minutes. 
they already had 2 other squad cars out looking for him in the area from my phone description. the officer came into our house as i gave him the senario... he liked the baseball bat my husband keeps by the backdoor. "ah ha... i see you play baseball??" "no, not realllly." "good idea" he said back. he was nice and told me to warn my neighbours. "he'll never come back to your place, but he'll be trying the others, mark my words..."
pretty scary stuff. im just glad i was HOME. my computer (my whole livelyhood) might not have been home when i came back.
i can imagine the robbers dismay upon seeing all of the 'old shit' in our house upon breaking in... heres a little sample of recent Thrift Store finds we've aquired! try reselling this stuff at the pawn shop asshole!! *d
Thursday, March 6, 2008
LOCAL ROBERY ATTEMPT!!!
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7 comments:
My God, that is scary. The police did a good job there, not like the lame South African police who'll only swing round roughly 3 days after your call was logged.
Love the prints - they remind me of Tretchikoff. Do you like him? He lived in South Africa too, y'know.
Whoa. That's so scary, but unfortunately not that surprising. It's super weird that you are thinking of moving. Can't imagine why....
Holy Shit! Oh man, you're brave. I would have lost my mind. Next time you see someone trying to get in the house grab a can of raid and a lighter. Go "Home Alone" on his ass. :)
Glad you're safe and all your stuff is in tact.
There are probably things in your house that are worth more than our car. Your husband has a knack for finding things worth a crazy amount of money. Maybe the would be robber spotted your hand-grenade Christmas ornaments through your front window in December.
TEOH: i hadnt heard of Tretchikoff, but hubby had. i looked him up. love it... however not kitschy enough to hang on our walls.
melissavina: me+can of raid+lighter=me totally burnt from head to toe, just ask IF. cant believe i smoked for all those years without seriously injuring myself!
IF: i thought everybody had a set of hand-grenade Christmas ornaments... *d
That is scary, Dalyn. And I can't believe the dude thought the van might be for sale ... I mean, if you got rid of that, where would you put your new stickers?
The blue Chinese girl, and the one with the orchid on the steps not kitschy enough?! But... they're hideous! I love 'em, and would have thought they had broader appeal. Guess I was wrong.
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