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perldiver at 10:55am on 24/02/2010
perldiver at 10:55am on 24/02/2010Sunday evening someone unlocked my front door and walked in.
It was a young lady...late 20s, early 30s. Dark hair, big sunglasses of the "hide my wildly dilated pupils" type, reasonably well dressed and attractive (albeit in a mildly skanky bar-scene way) if it weren't for the fact that she stank like a distillery and was clearly three sheets to the wind.
We had a bit of discussion about what she was doing in my apartment ("Oh...I guess...I'm in the the wrong apartment...."), why she had a key (no answer, blank hostile stare), what her name was (no answer, blank hostile stare), and then I put her out the door. She went next door and started knocking. After about 20 minutes of this, I went out to see what was going on. She was still out there, still trying to unlock the door with a key that clearly didn't fit the lock, banging on the door, and calling out for "Adam" and "Kat".
Now, the guy who lives next door is named Mr. Singh. He's 50ish, Indian-complected, works at an Indian restaurant, and wears a turban--so I'd give high odds that his first name is not "Adam" and he's not a friend of this drunk twit. I talk to the twit a bit more, still get blank hostile stares when I ask for her name until I used the magic word ("police") at which point she shows me her license. Michele Ochoa (Ochda? Couldn't quite read it), you really should drink less--you don't have the judgement to know when to stop. We talk a bit more, she comes up with a series of lame excuses ("I just want to get some water", "I'm just going to go inside and go to sleep") and then incants the spell of Slay Sympathy: "I just want to get high and have a good time."
At about this point, she realizes that this conversation is not going well and I'm not inclined to let her stick around, at which point she tries to be more friendly, introducing herself and even trying to drape herself on me (ewww). I told her she needed to leave. She refused, I used the magic word again, she left.
After the fact, I found myself wondering if it was entirely ethical to let an intoxicated woman walk off like that. Then I decided that I wasn't going to worry about it because (a) she made her bed and she can lie in it and (b) it had been about 30 mins since she stumbled into my apartment and she was clearly more sober than she had been. Besides, this isn't exactly a bad neighborhood.
I can only chalk this one up to "Welcome to San Francisco, here's your bowl of nuts and flakes."
Anyway, I had my locks changed the next day. Which leaves just one question: what the hell was this woman doing with keys to my apartment?
In more positive news, I discovered this morning that cheddar cheese + spinach + blackberry jelly makes a delicious sweet-n-savory omlette.
It was a young lady...late 20s, early 30s. Dark hair, big sunglasses of the "hide my wildly dilated pupils" type, reasonably well dressed and attractive (albeit in a mildly skanky bar-scene way) if it weren't for the fact that she stank like a distillery and was clearly three sheets to the wind.
We had a bit of discussion about what she was doing in my apartment ("Oh...I guess...I'm in the the wrong apartment...."), why she had a key (no answer, blank hostile stare), what her name was (no answer, blank hostile stare), and then I put her out the door. She went next door and started knocking. After about 20 minutes of this, I went out to see what was going on. She was still out there, still trying to unlock the door with a key that clearly didn't fit the lock, banging on the door, and calling out for "Adam" and "Kat".
Now, the guy who lives next door is named Mr. Singh. He's 50ish, Indian-complected, works at an Indian restaurant, and wears a turban--so I'd give high odds that his first name is not "Adam" and he's not a friend of this drunk twit. I talk to the twit a bit more, still get blank hostile stares when I ask for her name until I used the magic word ("police") at which point she shows me her license. Michele Ochoa (Ochda? Couldn't quite read it), you really should drink less--you don't have the judgement to know when to stop. We talk a bit more, she comes up with a series of lame excuses ("I just want to get some water", "I'm just going to go inside and go to sleep") and then incants the spell of Slay Sympathy: "I just want to get high and have a good time."
At about this point, she realizes that this conversation is not going well and I'm not inclined to let her stick around, at which point she tries to be more friendly, introducing herself and even trying to drape herself on me (ewww). I told her she needed to leave. She refused, I used the magic word again, she left.
After the fact, I found myself wondering if it was entirely ethical to let an intoxicated woman walk off like that. Then I decided that I wasn't going to worry about it because (a) she made her bed and she can lie in it and (b) it had been about 30 mins since she stumbled into my apartment and she was clearly more sober than she had been. Besides, this isn't exactly a bad neighborhood.
I can only chalk this one up to "Welcome to San Francisco, here's your bowl of nuts and flakes."
Anyway, I had my locks changed the next day. Which leaves just one question: what the hell was this woman doing with keys to my apartment?
In more positive news, I discovered this morning that cheddar cheese + spinach + blackberry jelly makes a delicious sweet-n-savory omlette.