Tuesday, April 27, 2010

The Fugitive - Nov. 4, 2009

I hope you don't mind, but I am copying here some of the stories that pre-date the blog. For those of you who got a bathroom reader or were up on the previous emails, these are re-runs, but for those new to this blog, these oldies are goodies, and I wanted them remembered here.

There's something inherently creepy about a white van. I know, I know, they're EVERYWHERE, and yet, when they're out of place, they're just creepy. Too many Magnum PI episodes, or maybe it's all the Murder She Wrote, but the bad guys are always hanging out in a mysterious white van, parked on the street.

Like the one parked in front of my house right now.

And in the TV shows, no one pays any attention to it, but here, on my street, I know it doesn't belong. I know most of the cars on my street, and even when there are random guests parked here, they're never white vans.

So when I pulled in around 10:30 last night, and there was a white van parked right in front of my house, it was creepy.

But you know me, I just sauntered on into my house, totally confident that all would be ok...

I was a little wired at that hour, having had my last cup of coffee late in the day, and having scraped my house most of the day, so I was widewidewidewide awake, and when the police lights strobed through my living room windows, I glanced with mild curiosity to see the black-and-white parked down by the corner, and mostly ignored it, hanging out in the back of the house where facebook and the latest Star Trek episode are easily accessible.

Until Eddie, the neurotic wonderdawg, started LOSING HIS SHIT. I knew it was the cops--people walking around, the lights swirling... it was too much for him. And his barking/howling/yelping/skittering energy was just too much for me, so I went into the living room just as the flashlight circle of white bobbed it's way to my front door.

I held Eddie tight and cracked the door, apologizing and explaining that he's loud but really quite friendly, and the verynicepoliceofficer sheepishly reported that the suspect had gotten away, and "well, we found his van, and um, well, if you see anyone come to the van and tinker with it, or get into it, um, can you let us know? Cuz, like, well, he got away."

I cheerfully said of course, noting that my dawg would alert me to anyone going near it even if I'm in the back of the house, and he cheerfully went away, as I -- prepare yourself, this is huge -- LOCKED THE DOOR behind him.

If you know me, you know I don't even have a KEY to my house. I have no idea when the last time I locked my door was, but yep, that deadbolt was turned. It was a weird feeling. I felt like it was rude to the cop to have locked the door behind him, but I was also pretty sure he understood...

I also flipped off all the lights, since I WOULD be watching for the escaped suspect, and I WOULD be calling 911 immediately, and I did NOT want him to watch me do it.

And then I remembered the back door. The one that doesn't lock. Or even latch. The upper hinges have sagged a bit--this happened in the spring, and now the door latchy thing doesn't line up with the strike plate in the frame, and it doesn't close. It looks closed, well enough, till a breeze or Eddie the wonderdawg push it open, then it swings freely into my laundry room, where it continues to hang open till I see it or get home or whatever and close it.

Hmmmm.... I study the door closely. I really really really don't believe this guy is coming back, and I really reallly really don't believe he's going to come into my house, but at some point, I've got to lie down, shut my eyes, and actually sleep with the white van on my street and the fugitive's whereabouts unknown. So I study the door. I pull, I lift, I tug, I shove, I slam, I knock and bang and hmph and shoulder and push and shimmy and all the verbs I can think of, and in the end, barricade the door using a table that pushes right up against the opposite wall of the laundry room so that sucker ain't going anywhere. Phew!

And then I sit on my couch while chatting with Bill, and watch for the suspect to return and me to save the day and call 911 and catch the dude who is probably wanted for nothing more than running a stop sign in Chatham County somewhere...

Needless to say, he didn't return, and I didn't get to save the day, but I did get to see my favorite-ever Star Trek episode, and the white van is still parked on the street...

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