12.08.2006

Tales from the Crapometer, part deux

I am in my PJs so late in the morning that I am embarrassed to tell you how late, but I am working on my hook for the Crapometer.

I ignore the ringing of the doorbell because I'm not expecting anyone and don't want to be caught in my PJs. If it's a package, they'll leave it by the door. If it's a salesperson, I don't want the interruption.

After about twelve insistent rings, I hear the front door creak and I step into the hallway. There are two males in their early twenties, low baggy jeans, scarf bands on their heads, and over-sized sweatshirts, running down the hallway not more than six feet from me.

I shriek, "What are you doing in my house?" They turn so fast to run back to the front door that the hall rug gets all screwed up, almost tripping them.

By the time I get to the front door, their car is pulling out of the drive, but I get the license plate. Shaking almost too much to make the calls, I get the neighborhood security patrol and two deputies from the sheriff's department out to take a statement.

They say, "Common MO." The car is a stolen vehicle.



I can't seem to get back to my hook. What shall I do? So few days are left before the 15th that I can't afford these interruptions.

10 comments:

Anonymous said...

I absolutely love this. If it had been me, those punks would have been bitch slapped for interrupting. I don't care if they steal, just don't interrupt me when the trains rolling.

Elektra said...

Oh, goodness--how ou had the presence o mind to do anthing at all, much less something so constructive as getting a license plate number, is beyond me. I'd be cowering in the bathroom, desperately tring to figure out how to savethe dogs (though the crooks would probably have already enlisted them as partners-in-crime: they both bring presents--anything lying on the floor that will fit into their mouths--to anyone who walks through the door.)

Anonymous said...

Scary, unnerving, crazy-making stuff there. Do you perchance live in Toronto? Where people don't lock their doors? Just curious.

Bernita said...

Lock your door?

Niamh Sage said...

Oh nooo, the homies from Porlock!

Undercover said...

To hell with the hook, you've got my attention.

Heidi the Hick said...

That is your hook. Start over again!

Sallymannder said...

My husband left the door unlocked when he got the morning paper. He went before the firing squad last evening. Even the sheriff's deputies were eyeing and asking about my Christmas presents, all laid out for the taking. And, they asked for my social security number, which seems odd. Good grief, I feel like I can't trust anyone and that's not a good holiday spirit.

I am refocused now and ready to attack my hook again. Just can't seem to come up with anything profound.

Anonymous said...

I agree with Undercover and Heidi the Hick. Your letter to Miss Snark got my attention. Now tell us what happens to the protagonist next . . .

Sherry D said...

Would you please pull the other leg for a while? This one is getting a cramp. (it was clever)