G had to call the police last night, and sadly, it was the second time in two years that he has had to. The first time around (have I mentioned this on here before?) someone tried to break into our house on a Monday morning while we were sleeping. The alarm went off after they almost broke through the front door (yes, these asshats tried to break in during the day through the front door). G called 911 and the dispatcher stayed on the line until the police showed up and told us when it was safe to leave our bedroom and go let them in.
Last night, at around 3AM G heard a huge bang. I didn’t think much of it but then the door bell rang. Random. We got up and looked through the curtains and didn’t see anyone. We went back to bed and *buzzz* again. What the heck? I started to think that someone wanted to see if we were home and if we didn’t answer they were going to attempt to burgle our place. We live on the ground floor so it’s totally doable. To make me more nervous I remembered that french doors in our bedroom. We quickly barricaded the doors with the dresser. Yes, we’re that paranoid. The doorbell rang again and G called 999. Thank goodness he knew the emergency number because I forgot it. Anyhow, the dispatcher didn’t stay on the line with him. The police showed up and it ends up the door-buzzer-dude was just a drunk guy. The cops shooed him away but they never contacted us to tell us they had come and gone; we just saw the confrontation through our window.
So 911 dispatch gets a point for staying on the line with you but 999 gets a point for getting those cops to our place in five minutes. But I have to admit, the police station is less than a mile away from our flat. Thank goodness. The event seems silly this morning but after living through one near break-in you can’t be too careful. Are G and I are destined to have interrupted sleep? Nuts to that!