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My exciting crimefighting adventure
Aug. 13th, 2003 05:15 pmSo I was my parents' house last night when my sister, who is in the kitchen, suddenly reports with some alarm that she thinks there is someone downstairs. This is alarming because everyone who should be in the house is accounted for. I hurry over to join my sister who is standing by the laundry chute. A heavy-duty extension cord which runs from kitchen to the basement thru said laundry chute (don't ask) is jumping around as if someone downstairs in yanking on it.
I start to yell down the laundry chute, but think better of it. I don't want to scare the guy off, I want to catch his ass so he doesn't get away. I go racing down the stairs to find a stranger standing by an open window with a large pillowcase (filled with numerous light but bulky items) in one hand, and the other hand yanking on the extension cord, most of which is piled in a heap at his feet. Apparently he wanted the extension cord in addition to whatever plunder he's collected in the pillowcase.
Upon seeing my appearance (and hearing my roar of outrage at his behavior), he promptly drops both items and makes a remarkably swift and agile exit through the window. I climb out after him to give chase. For all his agility he isn't very fast and I catch him before he gets across the front lawn. I lay hands upon him and throw him to the ground and tell him to stay there.
He doesn't say a word and is remarkably meek and biddable. I yell for somebody to call the police, while I kneel with one knee on the guys back to make sure he stays put. He continues to remain silent and still. I'm a little surprised by this, but pleased and relieved as well. Eventually I get tired of waiting and search his pockets. I don't find any ID, and nothing else except a few coins, some lint and a pocketknife in one pocket.
It's about this time that the local cop (it's a small town) shows up to take over. He opens the pocketknife and discovers that the blade is all but useless--a butterknife is razorsharp compared to the blade on this thing. So the bum gets taken away. No harm, no foul.
It occurs to me, though, that he's a bum. And I recall that bums sometimes mark property to indicate whether a house is a good place to steer clear of or not, so I spend some time examing the mailbox and the telephone pole in the front yard. I don't find any evidence of markings.
It's about then that the alarm clock goes off and I wake up.
I sometimes have lucid dreams. But sometimes I have dreams that are utterly convincing and have a solidity and emotional weight that is much greater than normal. This was one of the latter. Waking up to realize it was all just a dream was distinctly surprising.
I start to yell down the laundry chute, but think better of it. I don't want to scare the guy off, I want to catch his ass so he doesn't get away. I go racing down the stairs to find a stranger standing by an open window with a large pillowcase (filled with numerous light but bulky items) in one hand, and the other hand yanking on the extension cord, most of which is piled in a heap at his feet. Apparently he wanted the extension cord in addition to whatever plunder he's collected in the pillowcase.
Upon seeing my appearance (and hearing my roar of outrage at his behavior), he promptly drops both items and makes a remarkably swift and agile exit through the window. I climb out after him to give chase. For all his agility he isn't very fast and I catch him before he gets across the front lawn. I lay hands upon him and throw him to the ground and tell him to stay there.
He doesn't say a word and is remarkably meek and biddable. I yell for somebody to call the police, while I kneel with one knee on the guys back to make sure he stays put. He continues to remain silent and still. I'm a little surprised by this, but pleased and relieved as well. Eventually I get tired of waiting and search his pockets. I don't find any ID, and nothing else except a few coins, some lint and a pocketknife in one pocket.
It's about this time that the local cop (it's a small town) shows up to take over. He opens the pocketknife and discovers that the blade is all but useless--a butterknife is razorsharp compared to the blade on this thing. So the bum gets taken away. No harm, no foul.
It occurs to me, though, that he's a bum. And I recall that bums sometimes mark property to indicate whether a house is a good place to steer clear of or not, so I spend some time examing the mailbox and the telephone pole in the front yard. I don't find any evidence of markings.
It's about then that the alarm clock goes off and I wake up.
I sometimes have lucid dreams. But sometimes I have dreams that are utterly convincing and have a solidity and emotional weight that is much greater than normal. This was one of the latter. Waking up to realize it was all just a dream was distinctly surprising.