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.
