I Might Be The Problem

Leggings aren’t pants, ma’am. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So.  I know it’s probably not cool to complain about working from home because, by all accounts, I have it made.  I have no commute. I have no dress code. I have no need to ever wear a bra or real pants ever again in life.  But it finally happened.  I found the down side to all of this.  I guess I had to learn this lesson eventually, yea?

You know how, when you work in an office, you have to dial 9 to get an outside line?  Right.  I have worked in a physical office for a long time, and in a home office for only a short while.  So that habit is still with me.  Not surprisingly, when I needed to make an outgoing call several days ago, I dialed 9 first.  The phone started ringing after three numbers and I thought “well, that’s weird.  Phones don’t ring after three numbers.  I’m going to go ahead and hang up now.”  So I hung up.  Because 912 was not the number I wanted to dial.  But then I started thinking.  And, while thinking, I realized that 912 is not a thing.  But 911 is.  And while I was realizing that 911 is a thing and I had just dialed and subsequently hung up on 911, I heard a car come down my street at high-speed, followed closely by the slam of a door and the sound of running feet.  The response time in my town, if you were wondering, is outstanding.

Figuring I could make this cop’s day go more smoothly by making this one call take up as little of his time as possible, I decided to meet him at the door.  Since I had no emergency, I assumed we could quickly wrap this up and both go about our day.  So I ran to the door and swung it open and started very calmly explaining (frantically yelling) that it was ALL JUST A BIG MISTAKE.  I recognize now how this looked.  He is sent to a house in the middle of the afternoon where 911 was dialed and, when answered, there was no response.  A frantic woman meets him at the door declaring that everything is FINE and he can leave.   And there’s another thing that you should know before I continue with this story.

Here’s the thing.  I work from home.  In my house.  My only company is my dogs and cat.  This does not require a strict dress code.  My morning routine pretty much amounts to:

Step 1: Wake Up.

Step 2: Put on all the clothes.

I have found that I look, increasingly, like Helena Bonham Carter.  Last week I ended up, by the end of the day, in turquoise leggings, purple socks, a billowy pink shirt with hearts on it, and a green silk blazer.  Today I had on those same turquoise leggings with a green tank top, an off the shoulder white sweater, brown wool socks, and a terry cloth headband.  Somewhere around mid-morning, I added a belt just because the idea of adding a belt was HILARIOUS to me.  My dogs actually seem pretty delighted by this new look.  They’re very cuddly these days.  And yes, I’m aware that they’re probably just worried about me because I look like the scary lady who wanders the neighborhood yelling at the trees, but whatever.  I make my own fun.

Now that you know what he was seeing, let’s continue with the story.  This outstanding police officer races to my house without having any idea what could be happening and what danger he could be in.  He runs to my front door with no visible fear, ready to face whatever is behind it.  Not for himself.  FOR ME: the voiceless person who was able to dial for help but was cut off before she could even explain what help was needed.  And what’s behind that door?  An absolutely insane looking woman shouting about how there’s nothing to see here and he can just go along on his way.  Obviously, he came in.  And asked me all the questions.  And required that I present my identification and then explain to him, several times, how a grown woman accidentally calls 911 and doesn’t realize what she’s done until after she’s hung up.  And then he did a thorough search of my house.

I was actually feeling pretty relieved when he left.  I sometimes become very nervous about very mundane things.  (Landscapers are outside?  Turn the lights off or they’ll murder you.  Car out front that you’ve never seen before?  Robbers.  Robbers casing the joint.  ROBBERS SAY THINGS LIKE “CASING THE JOINT” AND THAT IS WHAT THEY’RE DOING OUT THERE.  Strange noise outside the window?  Snake.  Bees.  Snake covered in bees.)  So his quick response and thorough search of my home made me feel great.  The nice cop showed up quickly and ensured that I was not in danger of being murdered!  Yay nice cop!  Except, down at the precinct, it’s far more likely that there’s another story.  The one that makes them now patrol my neighborhood several times a day to ensure that I don’t have malnourished children eating the windowsills in a soundproof bunker, just waiting for their next opportunity to grab the phone and finally catch their first glimpse of the sun.

This is what happens when you leave me by myself.  Nothing I can do about that.