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What is your emergency?

January 6, 2008

There are only two times when I have ever called 9-1-1 in my life.

Once, the summer after 7th grade, as I returned home from a music camp picnic, my mom and sister were nowhere to be found, our dog was missing, the dining room ransacked, and the back door was open. There was no sign that my dad and brother, who had been in New Mexico for the day, had returned. So I panicked and called the police. As my parents called in on call waiting, I learned that my dad and brother came home early, and the whole family had gone to dinner while I was at my picnic. The dining room was getting rearranged by my mother, who was going to give some dishes to the church garage sale, and the back door/missing dog was just another instance of the Houdinism that Sammy was notorious for.

Tonight when I arrived home to find my roommate’s car in the garage, but the house dark and the door locked (I don’t have a key), I was at first pissed that she would lock me out of the house and not answer my phone calls. I assumed that she was upstairs having sex with whoever was here when I left this morning. However, after repeatedly banging on both that door and the front door, calling all three phones, and still no answer, I feared that something was wrong.

Once I put Alissa safely back in the car and began to survey the house for something fishy, I discovered the door off the dining room (a door that is ALWAYS locked), was open. I went inside and started screaming for my roomie before I realized that I might be walking into an ugly situation.

You see, this afternoon, after the usual “visitation” she gets with the dogs, there was apparently some sort of altercation with her ex. She called the police, and as she waited for them to arrive, she called me to let me know what was going on. As my adrenaline went up, I worried that something more might have happened, as initially, I saw nothing out of place — her purse and sunglasses were on the credenza, the phones I had so frantically been calling were on their respective chargers. I ran back into the garage and called the police.

Once they assured me that I wasn’t going to walk in on the ex holding a gun to her head or something (he had been arrested), I went in and started looking for a sign of her. It became obvious that whatever she was doing, she had been interrupted. While I searched the house for clues to where she might be, the dispatcher came on the line with good news: she was okay, as she is in jail too.

I’ve never been so relieved and panic stricken at the same time. I do know that I have got to get the heck outta dodge. It’s never a good thing when you walk into your house completely expecting to find your roommate’s lifeless body waiting for you, and are relieved to know that she’s just in the klink.


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