I experienced my first breaking and entering today.
At least, that’s what the police officer told me it technically was. (The police officer I’ve known since I was a child and who went to school with my goofy big brother. Small towns make you feel weird sometimes. Or maybe this is what being an adult feels like. Nah, I think it’s the small town thing.)
My step-dad was over helping me take apart the bed frame of a monstrous king bed. Perhaps it was only the unnecessary giant size of the frame in a small bedroom that made the king bed feel as if it were more of a King Henry VIII bed, but it felt like slaying a beast once we were done. Anyways, we were in the room with the door closed to prevent my adventurous kittens from getting squashed by falling metal when we both heard a male voice in the dining room. My first thought was that it may be my grandpa, who lives just up the hill, coming to check on me. Even then that would be odd because he isn’t really the type to barge in without knocking.
I open the bedroom door and come face to face with a person I’ve never seen before in my life. This guy is already a few feet into my home and closing the door behind me. My typically anxious brain switches into overdrive as this dude starts saying something about meat for sale. Meat? What? Sir, who are you and WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOME?
He then spots my step-dad in the other room and casually asks what we were up to and one of us (I honestly can’t remember who in my panic soaked memory) explains that I was moving in. My step-dad then tells the fellow that I don’t even have a fridge installed in order to get the guy to move along peacefully.
My step-dad left shortly thereafter, surprisingly unconcerned about the whole situation – I guess he wrote it off as another small town mishap. But that’s never okay, not even in a small town. I immediately changed my front door knob, something I had been meaning to do since I arrived, and made a mental note to find someone to come and cut the holes for my deadbolts. And to put chairs in front of my doors tonight. And things in front of those chairs that would make noise if they fell over. And explain to the kittens not to knock those things over unless they want their mommy to have a heart attack.
Once my mom left work, she called to check on how the disassembling of the King Henry bed went and I explained the situation to her. I was so frantic still that I forgot to tell her about Mister’s newly scheduled trip to the Rockies. She immediately called the Sheriff’s office and they sent over one of the best security guards Walmart ever had (told you it was a small town).
I’ve never lived in a home where I had solicitors knocking at my door, let alone walking right in them. Now, thanks to some creepy meat salesman with no personal boundaries and suspicious intent, my family is working on the double to get me deadbolts and are helping me install alarms on my door that will sound when they open. Also, the local police have my house on their patrol route for the next little bit to ensure that nothing out of the ordinary is occurring.
For the first time since I first saw this house, I’m thankful the windows are all nailed shut.