I live in a supposedly safe neighborhood in the suburbs of Virginia, but on a chilly Saturday afternoon this illusion was shattered. It was 4pm and I was taking a nap, exhausted after having been awake for two hours that day, when I was roused from my slumber by the apartment door being opened. The footsteps grew louder as they moved from the hallway to the living room, the kitchen, and, ultimately, the bathroom, which is located adjacent to my bedroom. I then heard the bathroom door slam shut followed by the ding of the toilet seat being lowered.
At this point most people might start to panic, but my first reaction was more of annoyance at my nap being disturbed. In my groggy state, I probably figured that one of the Mexican laborers employed by the complex just needed a quick bathroom break. After the swoosh from the toilet my confidence in this theory rose before being dashed after hearing the distinctive spray of moisture pelt the tile walls that encase the tub. Using my toilet was one thing, but apparently a shower is where I draw the line, so I got out of bed and knocked on the bathroom door.
"Hey man, what are you doing in my bathroom?" I yelled, until a slew of non-sensical gibberish erupted from the other side. It was at this moment I decided I needed help, so I grabbed my cell phone and ran outside to call 911.
911: Arlington 911 what is your emergency?
Me: There is an intruder inside my apartment.
911: Okay sir. Are you still in the apartment?
Me: No, I'm outside. The intruder is in the apartment in my bathroom.
911: The intruder is in your bathroom?
Me: Yes, he's taking a shower.
911: A shower (mumbles)...What was he doing before taking a shower?
Me: He was...he was using my toilet.
911: Oh.
(Silence)
Me: Can you send somebody?
911: Um, yes, we'll have somebody over there right away sir. Stay calm.
Ten minutes later I was joined by two squad cars in the driveway. Four officers emerged and made their way to meet me. Three of the officers were overweight, middle-aged women, and the other was an elderly gentleman celebrating his last day on the job.
Once I updated the officers on the situation, they decided that "we" should check it out. Following police protocol, I led the officers into my apartment where we encountered a middle-aged African gentleman emerging from my shower, clothed in nothing but one of my towels. In his right hand was a half-empty beer from my fridge. Obviously comfortable in his surroundings, he glanced at us and indignantly asked, "What are you doing in my father's apartment?"
The four officers looked at me until I took the opportunity to remind them that this was in fact my apartment, and they should probably apprehend the intruder. They moved in to corner the invader and were met with resistance. A struggle ensued and the result was the four officers and the now naked intruder rolling around on my carpet until they could restrain him minutes later.
Still naked, but handcuffed, the perpetrator was escorted into the hallway while the retiring officer cracked penis jokes (My favorite: What does a man with a twelve inch dick eat for breakfast? Answer: I normally eat bacon and eggs). One of the female officers then re-entered the apartment with a camera to survey the damage.
She took photos of the used towel and the empty beer bottle left behind on my white rug. We moved into the bathroom, finding that the man had mangled my shower door and used my toothbrush, which created two more Kodak moments. Then the officer's face froze, and I could see her eyes reluctantly move down to my toilet, at which point she hesitantly asked, "Is that from you?" I looked down and my toilet seat was completely black. I dejectedly replied "no," and stood with shoulders slumped as the officer snapped the photo.
I signed a couple a papers and answered some standard questions before the officers decided it was time to escort my new best friend to the station. Along with memories, they left me an empty beer bottle, used towel, broken shower door, a shared toothbrush, a rug dry humped into submission by a naked African beneath a thousand pounds of sweaty cops, not to mention a toilet seat that all the bleach in America couldn't whiten.
Next time I'll probably just lock the door.
[Home Invasion] [Police] [Toilet]
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
How To Survive A Home Invasion
Friday, January 18, 2008
Taunting Tigers and Getting Drunk at the Zoo
There's an article in today's USA Today which says that the Christmas day victims of the tiger attack at the San Francisco Zoo had been drinking and smoking pot prior to the incident. The article also cites evidence that the three victims had been taunting the tiger, although there is disagreement as to the extent of the harassment. The Zoo spokesman, upon learning about these new facts, practically had an orgasm, saying "Those brothers painted a completely different picture to the public and the press," and "Now it's starting to come out that what they said is not true."
There are so many strange parts to this story, starting with the three victims. Call me conservative, but who gets drunk and high on Christmas? I understand that the chronic makes a great stocking stuffer, and I don't expect three dudes in their twenties to sip eggnog and sing carols all morning, yet taking a few hits just seems like an odd thing to do on Christmas. However, the weirdness doesn't end there, because where do you go after you've gotten all toasty from weed mixed with a few shots of holiday vodka? A friend's house? Maybe visit family? A restaurant? Of course not. You go to the Zoo, because there you can look at animals that are really cold and imagine them wearing Santa Claus hats.
Apparently, picturing exotic animals in festive Christmas attire wasn't all these guys did, as it is alleged they "yelled" and "waved" at the tiger from atop of her enclosure. According to Zoo Officials, this is most likely what prompted the tiger to escape from it's habitat and attack the men. Now, I'm not encouraging people to go out and taunt animals, I learned my lesson after a close encounter with a couple monkeys at the Great Adventure Drive Thru Safari in '89, but the idea that these guys taunting the tiger can be used as an excuse by the Zoo is ridiculous. I don't care if they waved, clapped, or flipped the tiger off with a diatribe full of the most foul, objectionable language, cursing everything from it's patented vertical stripes to it's limited fertility period that allows for reproduction only 3-4 days per year. The tiger doesn't understand. It isn't sitting on the grass saying to itself, "Hey, I think those guys just gave me the middle finger. Who the fuck do they think they are. Now, I've had it."
The bottom line is that it's the Zoo's job is to keep the people and animals separate, and this responsibility applies even when the people are drunk and acting like idiots. When you build an enclosure the tiger can leap out of, for any reason, you've failed at this task. I think the Zoo could learn a lot from legendary tiger handlers Siegfried & Roy, who not only taught us that German men have nipples, but also that while nature can become familiar, it will always be wild.
http://www.usatoday.com/news/nation/2008-01-18-tiger-attack_N.htm
[USA Today] [Tigers] [San Francisco Zoo]
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
A Massage Story with a Real Happy Ending
[Massage] [Masseuse] [Millionaire] Read more!
