Did I tell you about the time when I was home alone and someone tried to break in and steal the stuff they didn't take the last time they broke in? Oh it's quite a tale! I like to think of it as a movie where the protagonist doesn't own any guns and is afraid of the dark and even the dim.

It happened like this: It was a bright and clear Sunday morning. The sound of a loud car pulling on to our gravel driveway woke me from my plans to sell the human race into servitude by offering the aliens a really good deal on Earth's coordinates . Oh, did I say "plans"? I meant "dream" of course, just a dream, yes.

I got up to investigate the car that was now idling in our driveway. I peeked through a window in the master bathroom, and saw that the car was silver and filled with atleast one burglar. The car honked it's horn a couple times. Burglars do that to make sure no one is home; If you answer them they say "Just stopping by", drive off and come back for your Jango Fett blaster pistols with foam dart action later. I decided not to alert them to my presence since I wanted them to get caught somehow. If I knew what "get caught" involved I probably would have taken another course of action that wouldn't result in my turning into a complete pussy.

I guess I could give you an idea of what I was feeling at the time. I was basically experiencing a combination of fear and super-they-are-going-to-kill-me fear. I dashed for the nearest phone. The first phone I grabbed in the kitchen was corded so I dropped that one and grabbed the cordless that was about 2 inches further away. I dialed 9-1-1 and ran into the weight room (actually just a storage room with a wieght set I obviously never use) on the side of the house opposite the master bedroom and hid behind an inflatable matress (I think, I may actually be remembering the time I went to the swimming pool?).

The operator came on the line at this time and said something I didn't quite understand like, "blah blah emergency blah." So I replied "What? I'm sorry? (???!!)" and the operator, now annoyed with me, said "You've called the 9-1-1 emergency dispatch (you jackass)" and I said back in a hurried but hushed tone "Oh, yeah. My house is being broken into right now." I think my voice was trembling too. Now the operator, err, I guess they are actually dispatchers. OK, the dispatcher was now taking me seriously since it didn't sound like I thought I had called Pizza Hut anymore.

I'm actually a bit hazy on the details of my conversation with the dispatcher since this all happened back in October. The dispatcher had a calm and clear voice. I couldn't tell If it was a female or a male with a femalish voice. It didn't sound like anyone from Hawaii, that's for sure. Anyway, I think dispatcher asked me where the burglars were and my response was something like "outside the house THEY ARE COMING IN NOW." I said that because I could hear footsteps on the back porch.

Dispatcher tells me to calm down. I was totally freaking out by this point. It had been probably only one minute since I was jarred awake and now I was in a total state of fear and panic. Dispatcher asked "OK, what's your name?" Maybe more than once. I was busy trying to make myself smaller so I could fit behind some boxes and I was becoming impatient I think. I probably answered back something like "...don't you have to find out where I live and stuff??!!"

Dispatcher says "Calm down, sir. The police are already on the way." And then I realized 'oh yeah, they get my address automatically when I call..' I did my best to calm down and gave my personal details. The operator eventually asked where I was in the house, and If I could lock the door to the room." I tried to explain where I was, "In a room on the left side of the house." My voice was quiet and trembling. I later realized that I was on the right side of the house but by the end of this story you'll realize it didn't matter anyway.

I don't recall the reason, but I slowly left the storage room. Maybe it was to peek out into the living room to see how the burglar(s?) were progressing. I then went into a room opposite the storage room that exits onto the porch. Again, no clear idea why I did this but maybe I was following advice of Dispatcher. Ah right, Dispatcher told me to go to a room that has a closet I could hide in.

Dispatcher was telling me things to calm me down I think and asking the route police could use to get to my house quickest. I had actually planned out the route police should take to get to my house after it was broken into a couple weeks earlier, since I thought something like this might happen. I recited the route back to Dispatcher perfectly.

I quietly closed the door to my new hiding room. Everything seemed eerily quiet. Except for the noise that sounded to me like the back door that enters into the living room was being pried open (I later found out it was the sound of the window louvres being taken apart). I probably mentioned this to this dispatcher. My palms were sweating. Time seemed to slow down as I carefully maneuvered to hide myself behind some clothes in the closet.

At that point I was the most scared I had ever been in my life, including the time i rode an escalator with my shoes UNTIED. Obviously, since I'm here writing this today, nothing happened to me. But at the time I was imagining how I was going to die. I was feeling paranoid and irrational. More quiet. Dispatcher tells me more things to make me feel better. Maybe only 4 minutes had passed since the ordeal started. Could have been as many as 7 or 8 minutes. I have no idea.

More quiet. Standing in the closet scared and thinking I'm going to die alone. (I come off as a real wuss in this story!!!1) Then I hear the car in the driveway take off. They must have realized I was home (isn't this all so stupid?). All of the sudden Acneboy not afraid anymore. I don't remember what I said to Dispatcher. I ran out of the room, out the door to the front of the house and barefoot accross the cinder driveway shouting letters from the car's license plate interspersed with the word "FUCK" every so often, and Dispatcher repeats them back to me as the car peels away.

But the road the car drove down was narrow and unpaved, and a cop pulled up right in front of it. The cop got out, pointed his gun at the driver (actually one of the coolest things I've ever seen. I don't live in LA obviously.) and damn this is a long entry. The car turned off. I thanked Dispatcher and said something like "well I've proven what a wuss I can be!" Dispatcher said something like "same thing happened to me last week." (or something to that effect, not sure what was meant by it) and that I needed to go talk to the police officer.

Police officer told the people in the car (3 of them, but probably only one tried to break in) not to fucking move or he'd shoot them (I may be embellishing here a bit. I atleast like to think he said that. He defintitely used the word "fucking!"). He looked pissed. I guess he gets angry when people try to break into my house or something. Soon many police showed up and I was talking on the phone with Shelly.

I should mention that for about a month after this incident my heart would race anytime I'd hear a car coming up our road.