Today when I arrived home from work I was met by a rather distressed husband and a mildly agitated cat. Gloria was probably just disturbed because her filet mignon and Cristal were being delivered a bit later than usual, but The Mister directed my attention to an open screen door and a partially removed screen window. The screen door isn't technically a screen door, but a glass one that opens onto the deck from our bedroom. It hasn't been opened in a year and a half. There are plenty of windows in our bedroom so there's not much need for door-opening.
The window screen in question belongs on the window of the bathroom directly adjacent the shower. That's because there's no better way to increase the pleasure of a nice warm shower than knowing a random stranger could be hanging around watching you bathe your delicates. And since we've never replaced that totally transparent window apparently we are not opposed to the idea. Anyway, the screen had been pulled off the frame so that it dangled at a tidy 45-degree angle. Someone had clearly tried to jimmy the window lock so that they could enter through the window, tumble into the bathtub, and rob us blind. I have no idea what they'd planned on stealing, and I imagine they would have been in for a rude awakening upon entering our domicile and finding a whole lot of nothing. Sure we've got stuff, but our stuff isn't the kind that is easily burgled. It's not as though they could hide a sofa or 35-inch tv under their coat. And I doubt a robber would spot the family china and decide to go after it since there isn't a big demand for 100+ year-old hot pink table settings. Yes, I said hot pink. I wish I were joking.
My husband called the police to let them know there had been a burglary attempt. Despite his protestations they insisted on sending an officer over. After a while the officer arrived and looked around our house. She asked us a few questions, but semi-shrugged it off. We live in a typically low crime area and since nothing was stolen there really wasn't anything she could do. After giving our house the once-over, she went out to her squad car to write up her report. A few minutes later she informed us that she had just learned there had been a robbery a couple blocks away with the same MO. (Oh my lord, check out my CSI shit!) She said that someone would be over shortly to take fingerprints at the crime scene, also known as our deck.
Another officer showed up an hour or so later, complete with fingerprint kit. He had the powder and the fluffy brush and the whole deal. He dusted for prints (Oh my god I am so Law & Order!) along the bathroom window, but since it wasn't a clear, glossy surface he was a bit skeptical about the results. I directed his attention to the knob of the bedroom-to-deck door. He glanced at the "screen" door and said that the handle was too textured for him to get any good prints. I pointed out the glass doorknob of the bedroom door itself and suggested he might get a decent print off that if there were any to be had. (Yes, we have a glass doorknob on an outside door. It's been there since we moved in. And I thought I had no sense.) He managed to get a usable print from that, and I would just like to point out how lucky he was to have me there to direct his investigation.
So, as the police officer was searching for fingerprints he mentioned that my husband's and my prints would undoubtedly be found on the doorknob. For whatever reason I decided to pipe up and volunteer that my fingerprints were already on file with the FBI. The police officer stopped mid-brush to glance at me, and I hurriedly told him that I used to work in investment banking and as a result I'd been fingerprinted, profiled, poked, prodded, and subjected to things that other people would probably litigate over. He blinked a couple times, said "Ok," and went back to his business.
At that time my wiseass husband chirped that I needed to quit trying to cover up because my previous busts for prostitution, assault, and drug trafficking were only going to come out in time anyway so I needed to quit lying about it.
I hope he has the money to make my bail.
The window screen in question belongs on the window of the bathroom directly adjacent the shower. That's because there's no better way to increase the pleasure of a nice warm shower than knowing a random stranger could be hanging around watching you bathe your delicates. And since we've never replaced that totally transparent window apparently we are not opposed to the idea. Anyway, the screen had been pulled off the frame so that it dangled at a tidy 45-degree angle. Someone had clearly tried to jimmy the window lock so that they could enter through the window, tumble into the bathtub, and rob us blind. I have no idea what they'd planned on stealing, and I imagine they would have been in for a rude awakening upon entering our domicile and finding a whole lot of nothing. Sure we've got stuff, but our stuff isn't the kind that is easily burgled. It's not as though they could hide a sofa or 35-inch tv under their coat. And I doubt a robber would spot the family china and decide to go after it since there isn't a big demand for 100+ year-old hot pink table settings. Yes, I said hot pink. I wish I were joking.
My husband called the police to let them know there had been a burglary attempt. Despite his protestations they insisted on sending an officer over. After a while the officer arrived and looked around our house. She asked us a few questions, but semi-shrugged it off. We live in a typically low crime area and since nothing was stolen there really wasn't anything she could do. After giving our house the once-over, she went out to her squad car to write up her report. A few minutes later she informed us that she had just learned there had been a robbery a couple blocks away with the same MO. (Oh my lord, check out my CSI shit!) She said that someone would be over shortly to take fingerprints at the crime scene, also known as our deck.
Another officer showed up an hour or so later, complete with fingerprint kit. He had the powder and the fluffy brush and the whole deal. He dusted for prints (Oh my god I am so Law & Order!) along the bathroom window, but since it wasn't a clear, glossy surface he was a bit skeptical about the results. I directed his attention to the knob of the bedroom-to-deck door. He glanced at the "screen" door and said that the handle was too textured for him to get any good prints. I pointed out the glass doorknob of the bedroom door itself and suggested he might get a decent print off that if there were any to be had. (Yes, we have a glass doorknob on an outside door. It's been there since we moved in. And I thought I had no sense.) He managed to get a usable print from that, and I would just like to point out how lucky he was to have me there to direct his investigation.
So, as the police officer was searching for fingerprints he mentioned that my husband's and my prints would undoubtedly be found on the doorknob. For whatever reason I decided to pipe up and volunteer that my fingerprints were already on file with the FBI. The police officer stopped mid-brush to glance at me, and I hurriedly told him that I used to work in investment banking and as a result I'd been fingerprinted, profiled, poked, prodded, and subjected to things that other people would probably litigate over. He blinked a couple times, said "Ok," and went back to his business.
At that time my wiseass husband chirped that I needed to quit trying to cover up because my previous busts for prostitution, assault, and drug trafficking were only going to come out in time anyway so I needed to quit lying about it.
I hope he has the money to make my bail.
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