Heist victim Andrew. The sequel.

Andrew and Tracie
in the late 90s

In the late 90s, Andrew claims someone stole his credit card. He called Citibank and strenuously denied making the following purchases:
     --A hair weave
     --Lunch at Popeyes
     --One jug of kerosene
     --Four tickets to a Luther Vandross concert
     --One honey ham.
Eventually, his creditors believed him, but the incident cast a lingering psychological shadow that stretched across the years like long sticky fingers.

A snippit of the provided
400-point protocol to safely enter the
Tracie/Andrew domicile which
history would reveal to be
somewhat flawed.

So it is no wonder that Andrew froze, traumatized, when ADT called to say I was breaking into his house. He was at a big work conference, possibly swanning about the banquet hall enjoying a plate of vanilla macaroons when the dreaded security alert came in.

Andrew knew it was in fact myself perpetrating the home invasion because Tracie had perhaps warned him I was on the way over and/or ADT knew who I was and what I was doing. Despite the alarm blaring like ten thousand ambulances, I had answered Tracie and Andrew's telephone when it started ringing. 

I was like, might as well pick up. Nothing much was going on at that point. I had already entered in the alleged disarm code 400 times and poked every single other button on the alarm console with superhuman speed and the firm touch of  boxer in a title fight.

ADT was calling Tracie and Andrew's phone to ask if everything was ok on the premises. I told the lady that everything was not ok. I was losing every last auditory nerve in my entire neural web. Could she please shut off the air siren. She said no, she could not. She told me she had to notify "the phone tree" and then basically hung up on me.


The phone tree. Haha. If a phone tree falls in the phone forest but there is an alarm deafening everybody in a 10-mile radius, does it make a noise?

After I had a little laugh all by myself, I put the sack of goods I had come over to borrow in my car. While I was slamming the hatchback closed, Tracie called my cell to check in. She had received approximately 12 voicemails and 38 text messages from me within the previous 7 minutes. 

Luckily I was still talking with her when the cops came roaring down the driveway. I told the officers I was currently talking with the homeowner and asked if they would they like to have a word with her.

The Aftermath of Tracie's
 Open Sesame Texting Typo.

They said they did not. They asked me if I had permission to be on the premises. I said I did. The cops nodded. We discussed the minor flooding in Tracie and Andrew's garage for a pleasant moment. Then they got back in their patrol vehicle and took off.