Preash: Someone Tried to Break Into My Apartment While I Was Home

It's been a while since I posted a personal anecdote and, believe it or not, there a few devoted Preasher who enjoy them. So here goes my story. Maybe it'll help you out somehow.

I couldn't wait to get home from work yesterday so I could check out the much talked-about McSteamy-Gayheart-Peniche video. After I took Boone out and got back in the apartment, I began my research. If you haven't seen it already, the video is worth a look but nothing too exciting. Naked celebs cavorting in the nude under the influence of some apparently strong drugs.

As my internet research continued beyond said video, I suddenly hear my door open. I didn't lock it after I got back in. Boone starts barking like a mad man. My first thought is that the wind blew it open because that's happened a couple times before when I have the windows open. But it wasn't windy and the windows were closed.


You're letting the cool air out, MFer.

Then I hear think Spanish accent saying something to the effect of, "Maintenance." I immediately freak because, midway through my internet exploration, I am in no state to socialize...or even be seen, for that matter.

After a minute or so making myself presentable I head to the door. The whole time the door is open and the guy is quietly making his presence known.

I am greeted by a thin, dark-skinned, shady-looking Hispanic man in a green collared shirt. He's kinda sweaty. I give him a look like WTF!? and say, "Yeah?"


Not our suspect. Just some other suspect.

I couldn't make out exactly what he said next but it sounded like, "You call about dee beenches?" I say no and he tries to give a friendly shrug. "Oh, sorry." He walks away and I close the door and lock it behind him.

My brain goes into full gear at this point. I'm thinking, What kind of maintenance worker just opens the door without even knocking first? The apartment office closes at 6. They wouldn't send a maintenance worker out after the office is closed. This guy wasn't wearing the typical baseball cap with the apartment complex name and white collared shirt like every other maintenance worker I see around. Some shady sh*t is going down here.

I grab a pen and a piece of junkmail and start writing down bulletpoints of what just happened while it's fresh on my mind.

-Hispanic male
-sweaty, green collared shirt with stripes
-thin
-6:45 pm
-dark-skinned

I decide that no matter what that was, the apartment management needs to know. I call the office and leave a message. Then I got outside to see if I can see the dude again to ask him some questions and see if he actually found the apartment he said he was looking for. He's nowhere to be seen.

I can't get a Preash post I made just yesterday off my mind - 13 Things a Burglar Won't Tell You. "#9. I always knock first. If you answer, I’ll ask for directions somewhere or offer to clean your gutters. (Don’t take me up on it.)" Maybe I'm just being paranoid but things are really starting to lean towards one conclusion.

I decide to do what any independent guy in his mid-20s living alone would do in a situation like this: call mommy. I need to bounce this off her and see what she thinks.

My mom is a paranoid woman. She's the lady in the neighborhood who's always looking out through the blinds and keeping track of anything even slightly suspicious. The lady calling in police reports because it's better to be safe than sorry. The lady who got hung up on by a 9-1-1 operator because kids were shooting fireworks too close to the house on New Year's Eve. Plus she's overprotective when it comes to her kids. So I already knew what her advice would be.



"Oh, yeah, that's someone trying to break in to your apartment. That's what that is. Yeah, I would definitely call the police and file a report. Do that right now and call me back... Oh, wait just a second. (pause) Yeah, he knows... Dad says don't call 9-1-1, call the police. Ok? Call me back."

I decide I'll go ahead and file the report real quick and be done with it. I look up the number for police (3-1-1). "I need to report what I think was an attempted break-in." The operator asks if I live in a house. I say apartment. She says, "OK, that's a 9-1-1 call, I'll tranfer you right now." Oh, here we go.

I found it humorous that even for police and 9-1-1, the hold music is still annoyingly soothing symphony ballads. The same music you'd hear if you were put on hold at Dillard's or the bank. They should really consider some more appropraite hold music.

I hear the operators switch me over. It suddenly felt very real. I explain what happened again, this time to the 9-1-1 operator. "Okay, we're sending an officer out right now to check the area and come talk to you."

I call my mom back, as instructed, to give her the update. "Dad says you're paranoid just like your mom." Thanks, dad. That's what I need to hear right now.

An officer shows up after about 30 minutes. He's a young dude, probably in his late 20's. I explain what happened as I nervously roll a chewing gum wrapping between my thumb and forefinger. The officer keeps looking back from my eyes to the wrapper in my hand, as if it's a weapon. Maybe he thought it was a doob. Who knows.

He says there have been reports of guys going around pulling on car door handles to see if any are unlocked, but nothing like this. He recommends I keep the door locked and says he'll file the report. I say, "OK, cool man, thanks." Oops. Probably should have said, "Thank you, sir." Oh well.

The night goes back to normal.

...

This morning I'm running late for work. I'm brushing my teeth when I hear the doorknob turn. You gotta be kidding me. This time the door is locked. I look out the peephole and see two Mexican cleaning ladies with their backs to the door. They don't knock or anything after that. There's no way I'm answering the door this time. I get ready to head out for work and lock the door behind me. The cleaning ladies are gone but there are trucks with big rolls of carpet.


"¡Te rompes, por favor!"

Suddenly I think I have it figured out. The office made a mistake and told the workers that they needed to completely clean and recarpet a vacant apartment. But they accidentally marked my apartment as the vacant one. Damn, the management at this apartment must be even more inept than I first thought. I later find out otherwise.

The manager of the complex finally returns my call this afternoon at about 2pm. "Sorry I couldn't return your call sooner, it's been crazy around here." Yeah, no sh*t.

I tell her exactly what happened and describe the guy who opened the door. "Yeah, that definitely sounds suspicious," she says. "We only have one Hispanic worker and he's a groundskeeper. He doesn't do maintenance. All our maintenance men wear ballcaps and shirts with 'Atkins Circle' on them. None of them would be working after our office closes at 6. It's good that you already filed a police report. Thanks for telling us. I'm going to talk to all of our staff and see if anyone knows anything but, yeah, that's definitely not right."

So there you have it. This guy was probably just going to a few doors and turning the knob to see if any were unlocked. If he finds one that's unlocked, he pretends to be a maintenance man and (not too loudly) makes his presence known. I guess if no one comes to the door after a while, he just walks on in and sees what's there for the taking. Pretty freaky, huh? And what if I was just a chick living alone?

I probably wouldn't have been as aware and alert if I hadn't just read 13 Things a Burglar Won't Tell You, so that's defintitely worth looking at if you haven't already.

Moral of the story: Lock your door, dummy. Especially if you're unwinding from a long day at the office with a pre-shower perusal of the best the 'nets have to offer.