To be filed under L, like as in Like I needed this nonsense.
And if I didn't just have a bizarre threat of having a gun pulled on me by a perhaps post-partum nutcase this past spring (You may recall John, get the GUN, FREEZE, etc.) while galomphing happily in the snow at Kennedy's house.
Search back in epinw and You will find it. Onwards.
There I was, You know, minding my own business, settling into laptopping at the teahouse. Tea was sipped once, twice, and then all heck is breaking loose.
The tenant calls. Brinks calls. Tenant calls again.
He tells me that whilst he was bounding down the stairs the door to my space opened - and then, as paid for, the VERY LOUD ALARM blasted through the air.
He mutters something about thinking the alarm was his alarm clock and how he ran back up to check and then down again. If you heard this (usual) alarm you would find this ponderous.
He does think to call me, however and I say these things - Stay there, I'm ten minutes away, cops will be coming.
I arrive.
There is a cop car in front of the building, I see tenant at side door, his door.
I open my door, enter, am moving toward the keypad when I am about five feet away from a member of Middling City's finest, gun drawn. Not pointed directly at me but up in the air.
We both express air from our lungs in surprise. He then tells me I was very close to getting shot and why didn't I not enter or yell out. Because it looked like you were talking to the tenant who should have told you that this was a false alarm, that the door set off the motion detector in my apartment. Because this is my home. And again, I knew this was a false alarm, the tenant knew this was a false alarm.
This same scenario unfolded several years ago when Dorota and Jason stayed upstairs for a week and the crap lock on my door was not truly locked down and the door popped open, sending the cops over - but not indoors, with guns drawn.
Major diff today was the tenant not explaining this all to the officer, who entered my space and walked all through it inspecting for foul play.
So the tenant scrams (more on this later) and the patrolman and I are standing in the space discussing my photographs, him all questions, eyes.
This is the very same day that one of my colleagues informed me that this tenant has a very beer-guzzalicious blog that has him in some hot waters at his place of temp employment. Had I seen his blog I might have opted out of handing over the keys.
Any more episodes of odd and impaired judgment, I have told him, any brouhaha, will result in an end to this chapter.
Onwards. Time to enjoy some girlies, including b-day girl Lauren.

Patio Love.
NOT lanterns, as that Canadian rockstar geek of yore sang of decades ago.