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Bad Boys, Bad Boys…Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come for You?

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Nothing seemed exceptionally exciting about last night; I had packed a gym bag, prepared my lunch, and gotten my laptop ready for work in the morning before going to bed. I was in the middle of a dream where Goose from Top Gun and I were hanging out at an all-you-can-eat gummy bear buffet and had just run into Chris Farley and David Spade circa Tommy Boy, when I was jolted awake by some loud banging. What the Christ was going on out there? BANG BANG BANG! The force at which someone was banging on my door was alarming. I grabbed my phone- it was 1:43 am. Hoh-ly. Shit. It was like that Dateline episode where the dude came into the house and shot the girl right in the face with a shotgun.  The pounding continued, more urgent now.

Nofuckingway, I thought. Nofuckingway was I getting shot in the face by some angry guy from Minnesota on a rampage over people riding horses on his property! I had just watched THAT episode not too long ago and Nofuckingway was that going to be me. “Fight or flight”, I thought as I threw myself off the bed and onto the floor. I listened as the banging continued. Crawling on the floor, I peeked my head out the door and saw what looked like a dim blue light flashing through the front living room windows. I sucked my breath in as my heart beat even further out of my chest.

He must be casing the joint! He’s casing it, trying to see if I’m home before he bangs the door down, I thought. There was that blue-ish light shining in through my windows again.  I needed a plan. I crawled back into my bedroom and flicked off the fans. I didn’t want there to be any signs of me being home. I looked around my tiny bedroom and concluded that the only place to hide was in my shoebox of a closet. I shoved a pile of shoes aside and crawled into the tiny space. There, I thought triumphantly. Now if he comes in, he won’t think I’m home and he won’t blow my face off. The banging continued- the killer was outside really going to town on the metal security door. It would probably only be a matter of minutes before he smashed in a window. In fact, I wondered then, from the suffocating confines of my spot in the closet, why he was causing so much racket. If he wanted to come in and kill me, wouldn’t the upstairs neighbors hear him banging away at the door? Wouldn’t they call the cops? My mind was hazy from sleep and my heart was still beating heart attack fast and nothing seemed to make sense.

Eventually, the banging stopped. It was as if the killer had given up. And if he hadn’t….well, frankly I had given up on hiding. It was uncomfortable down there squished between my shoe rack and my hamper and I couldn’t take it anymore. So, I crawled back into my bed and eventually dozed off around 3am.

When my alarm went off a few hours later, I was wondering if I hadn’t dreamed the whole thing up. Certainly a hiding- in- the- closet-from-a-Dateline-killer dream was NOT my subconscious’ best work…

I was still gathering my bearings and texted my girlfriend Amy about it:

text message

Still confused, I showered and left for work. Sipping coffee from my travel mug, I halted at the sight of my car in its spot in the driveway. There was debris and glass all around it, and the fence that I parked next to seemed to be sort of…inside my car. I put my belongings down and rubbed my eyes. Was I still dreaming? What had happened? Did a tree fall on my car or something?

I surveyed the area and saw the next door neighbor outside sweeping glass off of her driveway. Her car was crushed like an accordion from the side and her yard looked like a tornado had come through it. “Good morning,” she said, as cheerfully as one can be while sweeping mounds of glass from ones own smashed up car. “You missed all the excitement last night. Some guy I guess was on meth. He blew through here on the wrong side of the street. He took out a street sign, drove into my yard, smashed my wife’s car, then smashed into my car, which smashed into the fence and then into your car. It was crazy, the whole neighborhood was out here! I can’t believe you slept through it. We were with the cops knocking on your door but you didn’t wake up! I guess your doorbell is broken but we really did try…”

“Oh. Um. Yeah, well…” I stammered. “I gotta lay off the darn Ambien- slept right through the whole ordeal!” I lied.

Ohmergod. The cops. It was the cops banging on my door. I was hiding in my closet with my phone cued up to dial 911- terrified and hiding- FROM THE COPS.

[ Bad boys bad boys whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do when they come for you? I’ll tell you what I’ll do- hide in my closet. D’oh! ]

And yet another reason I need to stop watching crime shows.

Also, boys and girls: #dontdometh

car crash

car crash tracyontherockscar crash tracyontherocksIMG_2823

 

**Nobody was hurt as a result of this car crash. But seriously, people- don’t drive while impaired!

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Thanks for reading! ~Tracy

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9 Responses to Bad Boys, Bad Boys…Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come for You?

  1. Jacqueline says:

    Jesus fucking christ!! Did they arrest the guy, at least??

  2. Florence Henderson says:

    When imagination, fear, and reality collide!

  3. Barry says:

    Tracy, don’t worry about the accident, no-one was hurt and your insurance will cover everything…..HOWEVER…. who is this Amy Bitch that does not think you can fit into a “tiny full closet” (whatever that is). Tell your so-called friend Amy to come on over…to kiss your white, pastey, tiny-full-closet-fitting American ass…..xxoo

    • Amy says:

      Oh hi Barry… That’d be me-her BFF, practically her wife. The first person she called when she walked out and saw her car. The one who helps her push her car down Adams Ave when it breaks down and that drove to her house immediately to check on her Monday. So lovely to meet you. I will make sure to send you some frozen peas for both of your black eyes.

      • Barry says:

        Friends don’t question Friends about fitting into tight places…ever…especially BFF/practically her wife friends…PS..keep the frozen peas, seems like you’ll need them to cool yourself down….xxoo

        • Tracy says:

          HEY! No fighting on this page! Barry, Amy didn’t mean it as a put-down-she is my girl, the real deal. To give it some perspective, my closet probably wouldn’t fit my 5 year old niece comfortably!! Let’s all go cool off over beers…and make Joe R. buy!

  4. Joe says:

    Ok ok….bitch can be a term of endearment and Barry, four packs of pease is more like it…Amy can be like Conor McGregor when provoked.

    Love you all!

    Sincerely,

    Guy buying beers

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