Your House Gets Broken Into When You Move Out Of The Student Ghetto

On Monday I came home (like you do), put my bike in the garage and stopped at the keypad to turn off the alarm. It was flashing some numbers I didn't understand, I memorized them so that I could tell The Boy about it later. I came in and sat down at the kitchen table to check my email. That's when I looked up and saw that the French door was wide open.

I certainly didn't leave it open and that's when I realized that someone else entirely had because The Boy had left before me that morning.

That's when I realized that because the garage door is so loud that someone could still be in the house.

So I squatted. It's been pointed out to me by more than one person now that when I'm afraid, I have a tendency to squat. It's as if there is something in my brain telling me that if I squat no one will see me.

After a split second of squatting, I grabbed my phone and my keys and ran out the door. Once outside, I called The Boy who convinced me to call the police. I waited in our neighbors' driveway because I had visions of gunman running out with my antique sewing machine and computer and I didn't want to be in their way. The Boy came home shortly and we waited together. A very nice policeman showed up and we explained what was going on and my fear that someone might still in the house. He asked if there were any guns, other weapons or dogs in the house. We answered in the negative.

This policeman radioed for backup and we waited some more. Sirens blared and with that the other policeman showed up. The second man was more gruff and straight forward. After the first policeman explained they were going to go in to make sure no one was in the house, the second policeman said, "If we are going to declare an all clear, I'd like to get my long gun." The first man nodded and the second man went back to his car and came back with what looked like an AK-47. We watched them walk into our house with their guns out, just like in Law and Order (en espanol, Ley y Orden!) it was pretty scary.

Out on the sidewalk we could hear them yelling things like, "This is the police, if there is anyone in the house, make your presence known now," and other such things. We were relieved to see them walk out by themselves. The second policeman left and the first stayed to fill out the report and to make sure nothing was missing. There wasn't. Thank goodness. This is what the door looked like:

This is the footprint of the man (I'm assuming man, because it is so large) that kicked in the door:

Now, I'm not new to that particular sense of loss you feel when someone breaks into your house. My house was broken into back in MA when I was in high school. That was awful. It took months to feel like the house was home again. It was weird to imagine people that weren't supposed to be there in the house, going through and taking our stuff. It was sad to lose that.

It was different this time. I wasn't as scared, the audible alarm had scared them off and we still had all our stuff. We were only short one french door. This however meant that The Boy had to leave work and buy a new door and install it same day. (Thank goodness he's handy like that.) I had stay in the house while he went to buy one because the house was now not at all secure.

The Boy suggested that I set the alarm while I was inside while he was gone. We usually only set it while we are sleeping. So we set it and he left. That was when the scariest thing happened.

About an hour after he left, the alarm went off.

I squatted with my heart pounding. Repeating over and over to myself the statistic that The Boy talked about before he left that showed that it was really unlikely that they would come back, even less so on the same day.

Eventually, I got up. I called The Boy thinking that perhaps he had been trying to get in and something weird had happened with the alarm because we had never used it that way. He was in fact, not trying to get in. So I shut it off and listened. Nothing. That was the scariest. The Boy got home and discovered that it was just a window upstairs that hadn't been shut all the way. Thank goodness.

The Boy spent the next four and half hours making sure the door he bought was installed and could be locked properly. It doesn't match because it's not stained. It is also not permanent. The Boy did a great job and I'm totally impressed:

Tomorrow a contractor is coming to install a new door that should be stronger. We also set up a contract with a local alarm company made up of retired cops. They station their officers throughout the city and the part we live in usually has at least four. So this is good. We also got an awesome yard sign and stickers for the windows.

The new door and the alarm company makes me feel really good because The Boy won't be here for two weeks in the near future. I will only have to sleep here for one night alone before everything is set up with the alarm company.

Yum. FRENCH Wine!