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Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Why a police officer thought someone was beating me senseless today

Have you ever been part of a seemingly banal chain of events, and at the end of that chain, is the link where a police officer thinks someone’s beating you up and holding you at knifepoint? Because I hadn’t until today.

There are a number of things wrong in my apartment, and one of those things is the heater. It went out. Because of this, my two dogs and I spent all of last night snuggled in two blankets on my bed watching horrible reruns of Ghost Adventures and drinking wine. Did I say horrible? I meant amazing. And did I say wine? I meant wine. So this morning, I made a list of all the stuff I needed to do today. My plan was to call maintenance, put on my makeup in time for maintenance to come over and fix the heater, and then go to the grocery store.

I called the office to report the heater, a number of other things, and bring me an air filter because one of my dogs has the exact same amount of fur as a full grown wooly mammoth and I need to change the air filter every two weeks or my apartment looks like a shack in the middle of the dust bowl.

My apartment complex has three million units. Well maybe not, but I’m pretty sure that’s what the staff thinks. That’s how they make it sound when you need something done. So my apartment has a number of units that is somewhere between 100 and three million. Generally when I call for something, it takes them a while to show up. So after I called and put in my work order, I put my dogs up and started putting my make up on, assuming that I would have plenty of time before the maintenance guy got there to prevent him from thinking that he was servicing the apartment of some homeless bag lady that murdered one of their tenants and was sleeping in the apartment.

Why did I put the dogs up? Because the fluffy one turns into a blood thirsty vampire dog that hungers only for the flesh of strangers when someone knocks on my door. The basset hound is living here illegally, like some migrant worker that just pees on the floor and eats all of my pillows. I keep hiding her from the apartment management because they think I only have one dog, and I’d hate to see her deported. You try hiding a basset hound. It’s harder than you’d think. Anyway. The point is, it’s very frustrating to have both of them barking and howling at the door every time someone knocks.

So because it was me, and because I assumed I had enough time to put my makeup on, I was wrong. The guy came when I had just enough stuff on to look like a ghost with no eyes. So he comes in, totally avoids eye contact, fixes the heat and leaves. He forgot to bring the air filter, and promised he’d bring it by later on.

I let the dogs out of my room and into the apartment while I tried to finish my makeup. About two minutes later, both dogs start barking. Like angry barking. Like folks-were-getting-murdered-and-they-wanted-to-help-the-murderer barking. So I walked to the door to check on what it was when I hear why they’re barking.

There are two people screaming at each other outside. This was not a lover’s quarrel. This was a lover’s UFC match. And the chick was winning. Also, I think she was drunk.


(Probably) Sober Guy: “YOU’RE DRUNK WHAT ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?” ” (This is why I thought she might have been drunk. Screaming guys are usually very reliable)

Then she laughed maniacally. So instead of going outside, I locked the door and tried to spy on them through the peephole. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see anything. There was a lot more screaming, most of it was unintelligible, like a tea kettle or Bobcat Goldthwait from Hot to Trot.

Fig. 1.1
That's right. I couldn't find the head in a box from Seven, but I could find the marketing poster from Hot to Trot.

There was also a lot of slamming.
I thought, ‘Jeez. Somebody should call the police. I’m not doing it’.

So because I procrastinate and get bored easily (my therapist says it’s because I have a high IQ. So you stop judging me right now), I almost never get a list of things accomplished. But I was determined to get makeup on and go to the grocery store.

Let me interrupt with a fact that will be very important later. The eye makeup I was trying to put on was very, very black. Like, junior hooker black. Why was I putting on junior hooker makeup to go to Kroger’s? Mind your own business and quit acting like you know my life! Here’s a picture of what it was supposed to look like:

Fig. 1.2
This is a rough estimation.

So I finished one eye and was about to start on the other one when I accidentally STABBED MY OWN EYE WITH A MAKEUP BRUSH. Maybe some of you haven’t done this before, but this is what it feels like. Imagine someone tapes your eyelid open and pours sand in it. Then they take a loofah and scrub it around. Then they laugh at you for stabbing your own eye with a makeup brush.

This is where things start to careen out of control for me.

So my eye starts watering profusely. All of the black on my eye is running down my cheeks and I look like that girl at parties that gets wasted and then tries to dance on a table and then breaks everything and gets a concussion and throws up in a plant. Because one eye starts watering, the other eye starts watering. Because my eyes are watering, my makeup gets in them, because my makeup gets in them, they’re red and stinging. Because it’s cold, I’m wearing a hoodie on top of a short sleeved shirt. Because my eyes are stinging, I’m going to rinse them, so I rip my hoodie off so my sleeves don't get wet, without regards to how it’s tangled my hair up like a crazy person's.

Then someone knocks at the door.

Pandemonium breaks loose. The dogs start barking. The fluffy one is snarling like Zool from Ghostbusters.

Fig. 1.3
I looked it up. They spell it "Zool".

The basset hound is howling like an effing basset hound. I’m running around trying to see what’s going on but I’m blind. I look out the peephole and think it’s the maintenance guy with my air filter, so I decide to ignore it. The dogs are still growling and snarling and barking and howling. Then the guy knocks again. Then the dogs go even more crazy. My eyes are still stinging and watering, and now both of my cheeks are black. I’m terrified that if I open the door, the fluffy dog is going to kill the maintenance guy, but not before he sees the basset. His last words will be, “she has an illegal immigrant dog in her apartment”. So I pick the basset up, stepping on the fluffy one’s tail. He yowels. I trip. I yelp out of fear. I take the basset to the bedroom and try to hide her through teary eyes and panic. I throw a collar on the fluffy one and drag him to the porch. I can’t see. I’m out of breath. My hair is crazy. My cheeks are black. My eyes are red. I’ve been crying so they’re swollen. I’m panicked and flustered and frustrated. I open the door a crack and peer out like, I assume, a frightened spider monkey.

It’s a police officer.

He freezes. His face falls. He puts his hand on his night stick and asks me if I’m ok.

Me: “I’m fine.”
Skeptical police officer: “Ma’am are you sure?”

Then I realize someone must have called him about the fight.

Me: “Oh! You’re here about the fight!” (Not a good thing to say to a police officer, by the way)
Skeptical police officer: “Ma’am, really, are you ok?”

He’s not taking his eyes off my face. That’s when I realize what I look like.

Me: “Oh! I wasn’t in the fight!”
Skeptical police officer: “There’s no one in here with you?”
Me: “No? I live alone.”

And that’s when everything hits me. It took a very long time to answer the door. He heard the dog yelp. He heard me yelp. I look like someone’s just hit me in the face. My hair is crazy. I’m acting frantic. I’m not opening the door.

This man thinks someone is behind me with a knife threatening to beat the shit out of me if I rat them out.

I opened the door and invited him in so he could see. He looks at me skeptically, says thank you and walks away.

And that is how a police officer thought I was the victim of a domestic violence attack today.

I never even got my air filter.


  1. Wifey.... I am laughing and crying. Stick the lesbian story and put pictures of me up in your home. I don't look like I could be capable of abusing anyone. Next time there are drunken fights outside your door, go with less eye makeup. ;o)

  2. It was better when I get to hear it with pictures... haha