Last night, Alex and I had an experience with the po-po (aka Ouachita Parish Sheriff's Office). There we were, minding our own business...watching the Season 1 finale of One Tree Hill via Netflix...when all of a sudden, our doorbell rang. And then someone started knocking...banging on the door. Then, whoever it was tried to enter the house by pressing the door latch (it was locked, obviously) to come in.
What the?! We definitely weren't expecting anyone, much less someone who would be welcome to let themselves in the front door (who does that anyway??). For a minute or two, we froze in place thinking surely the person would go away. They didn't (not immediately at least).
Once we figured out the person was serious about not going away, we ran to one of the back bedrooms, Alex pulled out a golf club and I dialed 9-1-1. With my voice shaking, I tried to calmly tell the dispatcher where we lived and what was happening. Even while on the phone, the banging continued.
The dispatcher said she was sending two sheriff's deputies, but didn't know where they were coming from. Eighteen minutes later, I'm still sitting on the line and finally asked her how much longer it would take for them to arrive. By that point, the ruckus had finally quietened and I'd stopped shaking. We were pretty sure the person had finally given up.
We stayed on the phone with the dispatcher until the deputy arrived, then we went to greet him. He didn't seem overly concerned or motivated to assist, but briefly asked us what happened and said he would drive around the neighborhood to see if anything looked suspicious. I asked if we should expect him to return, and he said, "I hope not." Gee thanks, Mr. Deputy.
Once the deputy left, we returned to regularly scheduled programming, aka One Tree Hill, and finished out the episode/season. I was still visibly rattled, so we stayed up later than usual watching some of the Olympic coverage hoping I would calm down a bit before bed. We took all three phones (cells/house) to bed with us, as well as that golf club from the closet, and even moved our dresser in front of the bedroom door for an extra sense of security. I also insisted on leaving all the lights on in the living room, kitchen, and at the front door. Ultimately, though, I never did feel at ease enough to truly rest.
Ugh. It seems I'm a magnet for this stuff. The same sort of thing has happened to me at least twice before - once while home alone after school in my early teens, and again while living alone at my apartment in Little Rock. Ya'll, this is my biggest fear in life...a home intruder. I almost even think I have a little PTSD over it, now that this has happened multiple times.
I hate staying alone overnight - always have. Anyone want to move to Monroe to "Lauren-sit" while Alex is away with the team? I feel like I put in my time staying with married friends in my grad school and Little Rock years, and it's time for someone to invest in my safety and sanity. Takers? Anyone?
I need to figure out how to never be alone (especially at night)...