Today’s Excitement

Well, appar­ent­ly a cou­ple moose wan­dered onto a school play­ground and had to be tran­quil­ized. My cowork­er said there were six police cars there when he went by.

But the real excite­ment was at our house.


I woke up about 5:50 AM and thought, That sounds like keys in my lock. I threw on some clothes and went down­stairs. There was a guy in the porch — appar­ent­ly I’d left the out­side door open last night, whoops — try­ing to fit his keys into my lock. I got his atten­tion by smack­ing the wall next to the door, intend­ing to tell him he had the wrong house. As soon as he saw me through the win­dow in the door, though, he start­ed try­ing to ram his way in with his shoul­der.

OK, I thought, if you’re going to be aggres­sive, you can talk to the police. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911 as I head­ed upstairs. Mean­while, he set­tled down and went back to try­ing his keys.

While I was on the phone with 911 he start­ed bash­ing again. About five min­utes into the call, the police arrived. K and I watched from the upstairs win­dow as they pulled him out of the porch and out to the squad car. (As K point­ed out, it’s odd­ly reas­sur­ing to hear some­one yelling “GET DOWN! GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR NOW!” Well, as long as it’s not you they’re yelling it at, any­ways.)

Turns out he’s a dude in a band from Toron­to. He was stay­ing a cou­ple doors down, and got crazy drunk — the porch smelled like whiskey when I was talk­ing to the con­sta­ble — and end­ed up at the wrong house. The police point­ed out that if they pressed charges, it’d be 6 months to a year before it went to tri­al, and the odds of get­ting mon­ey out of him to repair my door (which got cracked in the mid­dle, but still locks) were next to nil. They sug­gest­ed that, if he had mon­ey to repay it now, we could set­tle it civil­ly. I con­ferred quick­ly with K, and we said all right. We guessti­mat­ed a price for a new door, and the offi­cer came back with the cash.  Pre­sum­ably he got paid for last night’s gig, or some­thing. Then the police drove off with him to let him snooze in the drunk tank (I assume).

As I went to work, I noticed there was a lit­tle SUV with Ontario plates in front of the house. At lunch it was gone.

So, to sum up: Drunk guy tried to bust his way into my house. The police that came to my house a) arrived quick­ly and b) prob­a­bly were spared moose detail. Everyone’s safe and sound, if a lit­tle rat­tled. (Well, K and I are all right. I don’t care much what Mr. Toron­to feels like.) And I get to go door shop­ping, appar­ent­ly.

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