The Break-in
Well. I've been robbed.
I spent 3 months trying to find a house in a good neighborhood, moved in, settled and loved life. Then, in February 2014, I came home from Fiddler rehearsal to find the back door kicked in. I had only been gone a couple of hours. Saturday afternoon. Broad daylight.
Wow.
My first thought was "how could the cats open the door like that?" My second thought was "cats can't open doors. Someone has been in the house." I turn around. Sure thing, the living room flat screen TV was gone. Crap. I walk toward the bedroom to check on that TV. The door is closed. I never close the bedroom door. Are they still in the house?
I make a beeline for the front door and get out.
My neighbors are on their front porch hanging out with friends. I walk over there and say "I think I've been robbed." What? "I think I've been robbed."
One of the guys dials 911 on his cell phone and hands it to me.
My first 911 call. I tell the operator I think the robbers may still be in the house. A few minutes later, two police cars arrive. No sirens.
Officers go in the house through the back door (I assume weapons drawn, but I don't know). All this time I'm on the front lawn pacing. Shell shocked. Numb. I call Deb. She's in Virginia. I call my friend Jonathan and ask if he would mind coming over. He arrives a little while later in a black suit and shiny black shoes, having just come from playing at a funeral. It's funny the things you remember.
Eventually we get the all-clear and go in the house. The officer asks me what is missing. Two flat screens and my laptop. I ask the officer to check the attic just to be absolutely sure the robbers have left. He doesn't judge me and just does it.
CSI arrives and starts dusting for prints. The back door frame is completely shot, so it's obvious I can no longer lock up the house. Jonathan says I should pack a bag. I can't stay the night here. "Bag. Okay, yeah. I need to pack a bag. I need a bag," I mumble to myself, completely out of it.
Eventually, the officers leave and we nail a 2 x 4 across the door. I spend two nights on Jonathan's futon, grateful for a safe place to sleep.
The next day, I call my contractor and ask what their time frame for replacing a kicked in back door might be. They are usually backed up about 3 weeks out, but they made this a priority and come out the next day. They use super long screws to secure the door frame to make it extra strong. And they show me that my swing lock was just screwed into the flashing, essentially providing a false sense of security. They screw it back in. With deck screws.
The same day, I get an alarm system. And file a claim with homeowners insurance.
In the big scheme of things, this could have gone so much worse. I mean, they could have absolutely trashed the place. They even unscrewed the cables from the backs of the TVs, instead of cutting them off. They didn't hurt the cats. And they were gone before I got home.
But I will never forget this happened. Every evening when I armed the alarm for the next four years I thought about that day. Wondering if they would come back. Wondering when the next shoe was going to drop.
In a way, I am grateful for the opportunity to start over in a new city and finally put all of this behind me. I will be living in a gated community, with an apartment on the second floor. I'll be able to open the windows again without being afraid someone might crawl in.
And let me just say: I hope this never happens to me again. Just as I hope it won't happen to you.
I spent 3 months trying to find a house in a good neighborhood, moved in, settled and loved life. Then, in February 2014, I came home from Fiddler rehearsal to find the back door kicked in. I had only been gone a couple of hours. Saturday afternoon. Broad daylight.
Wow.
My first thought was "how could the cats open the door like that?" My second thought was "cats can't open doors. Someone has been in the house." I turn around. Sure thing, the living room flat screen TV was gone. Crap. I walk toward the bedroom to check on that TV. The door is closed. I never close the bedroom door. Are they still in the house?
I make a beeline for the front door and get out.
My neighbors are on their front porch hanging out with friends. I walk over there and say "I think I've been robbed." What? "I think I've been robbed."
One of the guys dials 911 on his cell phone and hands it to me.
My first 911 call. I tell the operator I think the robbers may still be in the house. A few minutes later, two police cars arrive. No sirens.
Officers go in the house through the back door (I assume weapons drawn, but I don't know). All this time I'm on the front lawn pacing. Shell shocked. Numb. I call Deb. She's in Virginia. I call my friend Jonathan and ask if he would mind coming over. He arrives a little while later in a black suit and shiny black shoes, having just come from playing at a funeral. It's funny the things you remember.
Eventually we get the all-clear and go in the house. The officer asks me what is missing. Two flat screens and my laptop. I ask the officer to check the attic just to be absolutely sure the robbers have left. He doesn't judge me and just does it.
CSI arrives and starts dusting for prints. The back door frame is completely shot, so it's obvious I can no longer lock up the house. Jonathan says I should pack a bag. I can't stay the night here. "Bag. Okay, yeah. I need to pack a bag. I need a bag," I mumble to myself, completely out of it.
Eventually, the officers leave and we nail a 2 x 4 across the door. I spend two nights on Jonathan's futon, grateful for a safe place to sleep.
The next day, I call my contractor and ask what their time frame for replacing a kicked in back door might be. They are usually backed up about 3 weeks out, but they made this a priority and come out the next day. They use super long screws to secure the door frame to make it extra strong. And they show me that my swing lock was just screwed into the flashing, essentially providing a false sense of security. They screw it back in. With deck screws.
The same day, I get an alarm system. And file a claim with homeowners insurance.
In the big scheme of things, this could have gone so much worse. I mean, they could have absolutely trashed the place. They even unscrewed the cables from the backs of the TVs, instead of cutting them off. They didn't hurt the cats. And they were gone before I got home.
But I will never forget this happened. Every evening when I armed the alarm for the next four years I thought about that day. Wondering if they would come back. Wondering when the next shoe was going to drop.
In a way, I am grateful for the opportunity to start over in a new city and finally put all of this behind me. I will be living in a gated community, with an apartment on the second floor. I'll be able to open the windows again without being afraid someone might crawl in.
And let me just say: I hope this never happens to me again. Just as I hope it won't happen to you.
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