I’m the last person you want watching your home while you’re out of town. You’d think everyone would understand that by now. I’ve had to make some absurd phonecalls over the years.
“You had a roof when you left, right?”
“Does your yard flood every time it rains?”
“Didn’t you say you had two hamsters?”
“Did you have a dining room ceiling when you left yesterday? Uh-huh. And was it, um, on the floor?”
“Did your dog have a history of heart problems?”
“Remember those stairs you had to the 2nd floor?”
“When did you get a python?….What do you mean, you didn’t?”
“I’ve never seen a cat do that before.”
“Yes, we put him in the freezer.”
“The manager says they’re scheduled to change the locks today and they won’t give me the key. No, I don’t think 3 cats can take care of themselves for a week.”
“Really? Your basement has never flooded before?”
“I’ll call you back as soon as I clean up the 3 gallons of icecream that melted out of the freezer and onto the floor after the landlord accidentally shut off the power.”
And my all-time favorite 911 call:
“I’m housesitting and there are 2 men in the backyard with automatic weapons.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Please get on the floor and stay away from the windows.”
(SWAT team descends on house nextdoor).
Yes, you get the idea.
Nevertheless, I agreed to help out a neighbor this week. It seemed simple, in that dangerous “what could go wrong?” sort of way. All I have to do is pick up the paper and then deposit said paper in the recycling bin, I don’t even need to step foot on the property since I’ve got pretty good aim.
Except this morning when I picked up the paper the front door was standing wide open. My first instinct was to leap into action (read: sit down on the sidewalk and cry).
Fortunately, I didn’t have to take such drastic measures since it turned out my neighbor’s mother had stopped by to pick some things up.
This is good, because I’m too hungover to cope with anything huge today.