Thursday, 19 March 2009

Cozumel Intruder

After a long day camping at the beach we returned home exhausted and I feel asleep really early. I woke up to the sound of husband rummaging around like a crazy person in his nightstand. After 10 years together I’m used to the Fab man doing some weird stuff at night, so I just rolled over, however, it really got my attention when he leaped out of bed, grabbed a tennis raquet and charged down the stairs screaming, “motherfuckers!,” like an extra in the movie Platoon.
I heard our front door slam and realized that someone was in the house, so I ran out onto the front balcony so I could inform the husband which way they ran off. Never saw anyone. Meanwhile, he’s conducting a room to room search and finds our burglar trapped in the backyard, attempting to hide behind our grill. (we have walls on three sides and barbed wire on the one open side.)
“Call the police, baby, call the police,” he yells.
From upstairs I dial 066 my hands are shaking and I can barely speak, but I manage to say (in Spanish), “I live at 25c between 21 and 23 and someone is robbing my house.”
The imbecile at the other end of the line tells me she doesn’t understand me, and what was the address again?? I repeat it no less than 3 times, with Fabian, and the burglar yelling at each other in the background.
I’m standing in the middle of my street in PJ waiting for the cops to show up when the phone rings, and it’s the same stupid woman. “There’s no 26 Av. We’ve been looking at a map.”
“No, between 21 and 23.”
“26 and what? (and then as an aside) “It’s that she’s foreign and I can’t understand her,”
“Look, stupid, is there someone more competent that I can speak with?” (ok, not really proud of that one, but it did get results…)
Meanwhile, the husband, still brandishing the racquet, has made the burglar, empty his pockets, and take off one shoe. Our burglar is crying and pleading to be let go. Fabs drops his guard for one second, the burglar sees the opportunity and takes off running down the street, headed directly for me, who is still one the phone with the police.
I realize now that I made the wrong decision and I should have tripped him or kicked him in between the legs, but at the time, this was the best thing I could come up with. I attempted to football tackle him, I drove my head into his stomach and threw all my weight into it. We ended up rolling in the road and into a pricker bush. Burglar gets up and starts running with the Fab man, and the tennis racquet in hot pursuit. It’s then that I realize that my brave husband has NO PANTS ON.
The police show up at that moment, Fabian speeds them off after burglar. I pick burrs off my PJs while convincing Fabian to cover his bottom half so he no longer resembles a cartoon bear. Back at the house, we discover that intelligent burglar left his driver’s license, not to mention the one shoe, intended to hamper his ability to run.
Now, there’s at least 3 cop cars at the house, and I’m making offers of coffee and sodas, when another squad car comes by and they have our guy, and his lookout, who was waiting on a further street corner away.
Burglar is formally identified, the Fab man goes off to make formal complaint, and it’s my job to check our house and see what’s missing, since there was nothing on his person.

He got nothing. I’m so proud of my husband, for holding a robber at bay while half naked! He has to go back later to see the judge, but the case is closed as far as the cops are concerned.
The husband isn’t really ready for the Agassi jokes yet…but we’re working on him!!

1 comment:

Tiffany said...

quite a story!

P.S. if you leave your email on my site I'll tell you where I'm hiding my blog.