Monday, December 13, 2010

Dear Kate,

I am no longer staying in the apartment in Chattanooga.  Did I tell you how sketch it was before?  Well, it was.  But I kept telling myself it wasn't bad.  I kept telling myself that it was fine.

But then my roommate left me there alone for the weekend.

Someone knocked on the door on Saturday night.  Repeatedly.  Someone knew I was there.  I put on my shoes in case I needed to kick someone and run, then with a can of Mace in one hand and my cell phone in the other, I went to the door.  "Who is it?" I asked.  There was a small but significant pause, then a man said, "Pizza."  It wasn't very convincing.  Now I don't know what compelled me to say this - maybe it was the effect of the Mace - but I answered, "Yeah right!"  There was no response from the knocker and I didn't hear him leave.


At this point, I called Chris and pretended to be talking to the police.  Then Chris made me call the real police.  I also called my roommate and she gave me a friend's number so I could have somewhere else to stay the night.

A half hour later someone started pounding on the door.  I was terrified and just sat clutching my can of Mace. 911 had told me to call back if the person started knocking again, so I did.  As it turns out, the police felt the best way to comfort someone stricken with fear from an unknown knocker was to pound on the door unannounced.  Needless to say, I almost hugged my roommate's friends when they came to rescue me.

I'm still carrying the Mace, but I leave it in my pocket.  I've been so jumpy since it happened that I might accidentally spray some poor person in the face if they came up to me to say "Happy Holidays!"  Honestly, I'm just afraid someone might mistake me for an extremist reacting against political correctness.

Love,
Bora. 

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