This morning, the first thing I typed to Cassie was, "i'm going to investigate a noise. if i'm not back in five minutes, call the police." She responded with, "will do".
I'm not entirely sure this was the most logical way for me to go about things.
In situations like this, I always debate my under-reaction and my over-reaction. I refuse to be the chick who calls the police over a noise at her window that ends up being a bird flapping around. But I'm also not going to be the one who is killed in her home because she startled a burglar. So how do I appropriate-level-react?
If I had called Sam, I figured he'd have said, "There's no one in the house... No, there's not... Honey, stop... Fine! What's it sound like?... What the hell does "two spoons" sound like?... I don't have any spoons to test it out, just tell me... Well, where's the noise coming from?... What do you mean you don't know? Find out... Find out... By walking around!... Listen, I don't have time for this. If you're really worried, call the police. If you're not, then just go!... Well what if it's the furnace exploding?"
See? He'd be no help at all.
But I figured at least someone should know that I was going to go all bad-ass investigator. I wasn't entirely clear on how Cassie would react to my request- had I not returned. Possibly, I put her in an awkward position. If it were me, I'd try calling her first. Although I'd wait longer. And then I'd get no answer and I'd call again frantically and still no answer and then I'd call the police and they'd balk at me and I'd demand they react and then she'd be dead, all because I'm a horrible person.
And now you've had your second peek into the running stories I have going on inside my head.
Alright, I just asked her what she'd have done.
me: okay, i have an important question
what would you have done if i hadn't come back in five minutes?
Flutterby: i was debating that, actually
prob at the 5 min mark, i would've msg'd you while digging through my chats, etc to find your address
i estimated it would take me an add'l 5 min to come up with your address and the number for your localish PD
and then I prob would've called bc better safe than sorry
i figured if you said 5 and you weren't back in the add'l 5, that was reasonable to make a phone call
then i would've played spider solitaire or something :P
She is apparently a better person than I. Better at keeping other people alive, anyway.
So back to the noise. I leave that message with Cassie, and I slowly walk into the front hallway to try to pinpoint the noise. The noise stops. Of course. I head toward the upstairs. The noise starts up again. Dammit! It's coming from the basement. (We all know how much I love the basement.) I open the door, peek down there, realize I can see nothing, and then belly-down on the floor to get a better view. Yes, yes I really do. I am about to go down the stairs when I realize, as I'm saying in my head, "this-is-so-stupid this-is-so-stupid this-is-so-stupid". Is it so stupid that I'm afraid to go downstairs? No. It's stupid to go down there without a weapon. So I turn around and search the living room. Connor's lunch bag- what the hell is that doing here instead of at school with him? Whatever, not a good weapon. Where's the bat? (Why did I think there's going to be a bat in my living room? I have no idea.) Crap. Weapon, weapon, weapon. There is nothing bludgeoningable in this room! I know, a knife! I tippy-toe into the kitchen, find a pointy knife. Wait. Would I be able to stab someone if it came down to it?... Yes, yes I could. Okay, down the stairs. Slowly, slowly. (Because someone who is hiding in my basement- playing with spoons- isn't going to have noticed me opening the door and sneaking down.) I squat down on the landing halfway down the stairs and rotate on the spot, searching the noise out. I'm not turning the lights on- better to be blind than to let the psycho-spoon-playing-killer get a better view of me. Ah! What the hell is that?! Oh, the ping-pong table. (Why was this more threatening than all the other crap piled up in the basement? I have no idea. Because psycho-spoon-playing-killers are actually big-flat-psycho-spoon-playing-killers, I guess.) The noise kicks in again. Alright, that's it. The lights are going on because... because the sudden light will blind the big-flat-psycho-spoon-playing-killer and I'll get the jump on him! (I watch entirely too much police-drama television.) The noise is coming from... there! Crap. The furnace. Why is the furnace playing spoons? Dammit, I hate it when Sam's right- wait, wasn't that in my head?
This was the point when the furnace turned off altogether. I couldn't therefore solve the mystery, but that was fine because it meant it wasn't a big-flat-psycho-spoon-playing-killer. Screw it. Sam can solve the furnace issue when he gets home. So long as it doesn't blow up in the meantime.