Disclaimer: I've been watching too much "Top Gear," so beware of random British slang...
Either there is something magical and amazing about the locks on my house, or those of us who live/visit the house are total idiots. I've locked myself out before (as noted in an earlier entry), which was embarrassing enough. However, I also managed to break in, which means I'm not a complete loss. Various other roommates haven't been so crafty and therefore resorted to calling for help, etc.
When it comes to getting locked out in style, though, my roommate's unnamed boyfriend, however, takes the cake.
(He's not unnamed because this is the Internet and I don't want to make fun of him — he's unnamed because I really don't know his name. Heck, I don't even know what he looks like. I just know that he stands on my porch and blows his cigarette smoke into my room, that he smokes weed in my roommate's room, and that he and my roommates often do things which I — a little Mormon innocent — don't want to know about. But I digress...)
(Here's another disclaimer: Although the house IS supposed to be LDS standards — no smoking, no boys, no alcohol, etc. — this roommate hasn't quite grasped the concept.)
So occasionally I work night shifts. They're not real night shifts where I get home at dawn, though — they're more like semi-night shifts. However, if I work more than two in a row, my bedtime gradually gets later... and later... and later... By the end of a long stretch of night shifts my internal clock is so screwed up that I'm convinced day is night and night is day.
So, as this story begins, early one Saturday morning I found myself coming home from a night shift feeling completely, totally awake. As I am wont to do, I therefore began wasting time.
2:00 a.m. - Ah-hah! Time for dinner!
2:30 a.m. - I'll just finish this episode of "Top Gear."
3:00 a.m. - Ice cream sounds super good right now...
3:30 a.m. - I should brush my teeth
4:00 a.m. - But I've only got two chapters left in this book...
You get the picture.
As I was brushing my teeth — around 4 a.m. — I heard someone come out of my roommate's room, walk out the front door, get into her car, and drive away. I found the early-morning drive a little odd, but I didn't dwell on it. Going to bed was more important, so that's what I did.
BUT
At 7 a.m. I was awakened by furious pounding on my front door.
"Girls! Wake up! Wake up right now!" someone shouted.
You know that moment of confusion where you can literally feel the individual brain cells firing up one by one? That's what I began to experience. I cracked opened my eyes and tried to orient myself as the room came into focus.
The pounding and shouting continued.
"We know you're home! Open the door! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"
My poor, overtired brain began to function a little further, and I suddenly started to panic about my car. I had parked it in front of the neighbor's house (since boyfriend was in my normal spot, dang him) and I was suddenly hit with a wave of panic. What if they were towing my car!? Oh no!!!
But then — through my open window — I heard the pounding stop and a conversation begin.
"I know she's in there," someone said. "Her window is open."
"Where is she?" a girl asked.
"In this front room. I know she's home." the first voice answered.
With those sentences, my concern about my car disintegrated and I began to feel far, far more concerned about my safety. Who were these yelling, pounding strangers standing on my front porch and talking about me?! AHHHHHH!!!
Even though I still didn't know what was going on, I climbed out of bed and peeked out the window to see police cars parked in front of my house. My brain did this:
WHAT THE HECK!!?!!?!!!
In reality, there were only three (THREE?!) squad cars, but to me, it looked like this:
And yes, in case you're curious, police cars really do park at odd angles. The movies are right.
Now feeling completely freaked out, I threw on some clothes and ran out the front door. Three cops were standing at the end of the driveway and chatting. They turned when I came outside.
"Are you (roommate's name)?" one of them asked.
"No," I said. "Uh...what's going on?"
According to the police, my roommate's boyfriend had locked himself outside, and one of our neighbors had gotten suspicious and called the cops.
"Oh," I said.
"You are a REALLY sound sleeper," an officer said.
"Er, yeah," I said. "I got off of work late..."
Technically that wasn't true — I had gotten off late, but I had also wasted eons of time faffing around. However, the police didn't need to know that.
Then I went back inside and — naturally — updated my Facebook status before going back to sleep. It's the 21st century — that's what we do. I should've tweeted about it too, but that was too much of a leap for my overwrought mind.
(I also didn't take a picture of my house surrounded by cops, and I've been berated for that by a number of people. Next time YOUR morning is interrupted by three (THREE?!) squad cars and a lot of door-pounding, see how YOU react! Ha!)
In the wake of the whole adventure, I subsequently got to hear different versions of the story from a bunch of different roommates. None of them match up. Funny how that works.
My version: Boyfriend left the house at 4 a.m., got in my roommate's car, and drove off. Later returned to the house, greeted the cops, pounded on the door, and eventually was allowed into the house, where he ran to his girlfriend's room with an incredibly frustrated, "Babe!"
My version is clearly the most boring, seeing as how I slept through the majority of the fun.
Roommate/Boyfriend's version: Boyfriend left the house to have a cigarette on the porch. He smoked his cigarette and then went to come back inside, but I had locked him out. (EH?! ME?! Uh, no. Our door locks automatically when you close it, thanks very much.) Boyfriend therefore decided he'd be stuck outside of a while, so he climbed into girlfriend's car to spend the rest of the night there. But then nosy neighbor called the police, who swooped down on him. Boyfriend tried to explain that he had locked himself out by using his bare feet and lighter as evidence, but the mean cops still searched and interrogated him. Finally they pounded on the door to try to get someone to come and identify him.
(I guess it's a good thing I didn't open the door first, since I don't know what he looks like.)
Downstairs roommmate's version as related by other roommate: Boyfriend blew lots of smoke into downstair's roommate's room before discovering he had locked himself out. Then cops came and pounded on the door and shouted. Then downstairs roommate and visiting boyfriend went upstairs to see what they wanted. Cops asked them to identify boyfriend, which they did. Then they allowed boyfriend to go into the house. Cops said neighbors in the area had reported a theft, and boyfriend fit the profile of the criminal, which is why three (THREE?!) officers came to the scene.
All in all, it was a giant mess that could've been avoided had boyfriend not been struck by a sudden urge to smoke (or drive the car) at 4 a.m. Of course, it could've also been avoided had boyfriend not stayed the night at our house in the first place, but that's an outrageous suggestion, I'm sure.
On the upside, it did make for a fantastic Facebook status and it did make downstairs roommate angry enough to lay down the law with roommate and boyfriend. No more stinking up my room with his cigarette smoke, no more marijuana, no more sleepovers...
Yes, the whole mess was a good thing. You know what would've made it even better, though?
Not sleeping through most of it. Daggnabit.
