It was a dark and stormy evening. Ha! Not really. But it was very late (early?), about 2 a.m. maybe. Well over a month has passed now, but I still want to tell the story.
I was sitting at the computer, with my back up against the wall that I have all my crosses hung on...the wall I share with the next apartment. You can see the back of the chair on the left in the following photo:
August 2011
Suddenly I heard loud knocking. It was so loud that I thought at first it was at my door, and I tip-toed to the peephole. I saw nothing. The knocking continued; it was clearly on the door of the apartment next to me. (I've never seen anyone go in or come out of that apartment). The noise turned into banging. I have 21 crosses on that wall, and they were all trembling. Then it was banging and a man yelling, "Open the door! Open the door NOW!" One of the smaller crosses fell off the wall. I still could see nothing through the peephole, and I started to back away from my front door.
"Open the door NOW, or we'll kick it in!" Oh, sheesh, I thought. This is a drug deal gone bad! I ran for my cell phone (which was by my computer) and then ran to look out in the parking lot to make sure there was no police car: I'd feel really stupid calling 911 on the police! But no police car. Just as I dialed 911, someone started trying to kick the door in. Another small cross fell. The two large metal crosses were starting to clang against the wall. I was afraid to go near the computer.
While I listened to the recording ("if this is an emergency, push 1; if this is not an emergency, push 2"), the kicking on the door continued. It was clearly two men taking turns, and I could hear their heavy breathing. It seemed a very long time that they were kicking that door. Finally the 911 operator came on. I breathlessly tried to explain what was happening and she said, "Do you live at ___________," naming my apartment complex. I said, "Yes!" just as I heard the door give way and a man yelling, "Down on the floor! Do it now! Hands above your head!" The realization hit me just as the operator said, "That's the police kicking the door in; everything's under control."
Yep. I'd called the police on the police. I hung up the phone and looked out my window again. Very far away in the dark, no where near our building, I could barely make out the light bar on top of a car. Huh. The ol' stealth approach.
A few minutes later, I heard talking outside my door. I peeped again. There were two police officers there, one telling the other what had happened and why they had kicked down the door. He said, "One of the neighbors called, worried that someone was in danger. He was trying to keep her from opening the door. She was clearly in distress. Is there any way we can secure the door tonight?" Their voices faded as they walked away.
The next day when I left my apartment, inside of going down the stairs to my right, as usual, I la-la-la'd my way toward the stairs on my left. Sure enough, the neighbor's door was ajar and the door frame was in splinters. Late that day, I noticed that the frame had been repaired and the door was closed.
After about two weeks had passed, I opened my front door and the sickly-sweet smell of decomposition hit me in the face like a soggy dishrag. My heart dropped. (It's one of my fears that I'll die in this apartment alone and no one will find me until I start stinking up the place). I went to the door of the aforementioned apartment and sniffed all around, but the smell seemed no stronger there. So then I walked all around my building, checking underneath stairwells, walking through all the corridors on all three floors, checking under the bushes for a small dead animal, staring up at balconies that had open windows...all the while taking huge breaths in through my nose. The smell was everywhere, but I couldn't find its source.
So I called 911 non-emergency. I reminded them about the event here a couple of weeks before, and I said that I just wanted to make sure. I also said, "I probably watch too much TV." But the police operator said, "No, it's better to be certain; I'll send an officer out."
Several minutes later there was a knock on my door. It was a heavily tattooed female police officer. I opened my door...and there was hardly any smell at all! She was very nice, and she asked me where the smell seemed to be coming from. I explained how I'd tried to find its source, but no luck. She said she smelled it downstairs, but it was faint. Then she said, "I think it's just sour garbage, not decomp. Believe me, I KNOW the smell of decomp." Well, of course she did. But so do I, just to a lesser degree. This was no sour garbage.
So I apologized for overreacting, and I mentioned again the brou-ha-ha from next door a couple of weeks prior. She said, surprised, "Oh, is he back?" I said, "I don't know, I haven't seen anyone, it's just made me a little oversensitive, I guess."
After she left, I repeated my search around and through the building. I smelled NOTHING. (I've since come to the conclusion that someone had a small dead animal in their trash and had put the trash on their balcony, taking it to the dumpster when they saw me and/or the police "sniffing around").
I guess now I'll be flagged by the police as one of THOSE callers. But at least I know now that it's very difficult to kick in the front door, and I know there's no poor abandoned soul decomposing on the other side of my wall. I'll take my comfort in that.
