And my father, the safety man, commended me.

Monday, January 7th, 2008

Ordinarily I try to spare you too many details from my every day life as I am inclined to be a bit of a bore. However, last night was really strange and this fog today has only reinforced the strangeness of recent events, and it’s my blog anyway so I can write what I want to.

So it’s last night. It has already been a bizarre piece of slumber, with my dreams drifting between deceased pets and the relative societal triumphs of the Bernstein Bears books (At last! A voice which represents the true humanity of bears!). I awake to the sound of someone tapping on my front door, which is odd enough on its own considering how, in my wakeful state, I do not ever hear when people knock on my door. And given that fact, and the sleep drunkenness which consumes me, I am a little confused and decide that the knocking must be something else, perhaps a neighbor tapping a stick on the fence post. But then I hear footsteps, up and down the stairs outside my front door, and then a voice, and it becomes clear that the action is happening here inside my home. My first reaction is one of annoyance at this rude disturbance of my sleep, but then with kind of a cold gripping of my intestines I remember that this month I am home alone, and a mysterious guest in the middle of the night could be less than friendly. It is four in the morning. The knocking continues for a bit longer, and grows a bit louder, and the voice and footsteps are right out there, and by now I’m just scared. It’s a showdown, but I wait it out, I win, and finally my unwelcome visitor retreats–I hear a car’s ignition turn and he drives away. The situation was unnerving, but not so much that I’m unable to fall back to sleep. I am.

In the morning I am half awake as an unseasonal January thunderstorm pounds outside, and it’s that droopy kind of morning when the rain has given me the welcome excuse to drift back to sleep. It doesn’t help that I forgot to set my alarm. It is eight o’clock and I should be at work. I am suddenly alert. I grab my phone to call the office and see that I have a voice mail. And here, friends, is where there would be a commercial break, or maybe in this case a Google ad, but I’m not so cruel. I’ll continue with the story (are you dieing of suspense?)

I check my voice mail and it is a message from my landlord. Apparently during the night an icicle fell from the eaves (yes, one of these icicles) and struck our utility box, wiping out gas service to our building. This happened early in the morning, and the utility company didn’t want to turn on the gas without lighting the pilot in our gas stove, which is considerate and I appreciate that they wouldn’t want to fill our building with methane while we slept. But really, whose idea was it to pound on my door at four in the morning, hm? Who thought it would be a good idea for a man in boots and coveralls (I’m guessing) to rouse a young, single woman from her sleep and say, “Excuse me, could I please come in and light your gas stove?” Do they really think I would have let them inside my apartment?? Would anyone have? Is that really their policy–they can’t come back when the sun is out? I am baffled by this, that this actually took place, and I don’t at all regret that I left the utility guy out on the stoop (and, by the persistent sounds of his knocking, pretty frustrated.)

Lock your doors at night, friends. It’s a creepy feeling.


  1. Posted January 8, 2008 at 11:32 pm | Permalink