The Law Comes for Helene

 

A routine day went off the rails today.   May I just say, if you knock on my door at 9:00 am you have only yourself to blame.  Just don't do it.  

For the past few weeks the mail delivery here has been fairly reliable except that there is no telling when it will show up.  This is because poor Roxie, the mail carrier, has been ill.  Sometimes she can still make her appointed rounds, and sometimes another mail carrier brings the mail after their own route is delivered.   Or not.   

Saturday.  No mail.  What usually arrives on Saturday?  The newspaper.  This is a highlight of weekly excitement around here, if that tells you anything about the excitement levels.   So it was a bit disappointing that the paper didn't arrive.   On Monday I truly thought the paper would be here.  Understand, this paper is printed on Wednesdays.  I went out twice to the mailbox.  No mail.  When the mail wasn't here at 2:30, I just gave up.  I figured the situation would turn around on Tuesday.  

This morning I woke up late, feeling refreshed but surprised at how late it was.  Nine am.  I went to the kitchen to make coffee, but checking Mrs. Billingsley on the way,  I noticed that she was still sound asleep.  So I changed my plan and just drank a Coke.  

I took my nice drink back to my room, and started a game of chess on the internet, which is usually the first thing I do in the morning.  The receiver to the phone was next to me, with the ringer off, but as I  played my game, I noticed the screen lit up.  I checked the caller ID.  It said, "Wireless Caller."  This was no one I knew, so it had to be a telemarketer.  I ignored the call.  However, immediately the same number called again.  Can't you see you're being ignored??  A third call instantly came in from someone called "911."  Oh all right.  I answered.  "This is 911,'  someone said.  Usually 911 doesn't call people.  "The sheriff is trying to call you.  The postal carrier knocked on your door and no one answered."  They were concerned about Mrs. Billingsley.  Was I Mrs. Billingsley?  I suppose I should have said yes. 

When did it become illegal not to answer the door?  So I supposed everyone was satisfied that I didn't hear the knock from my room, and Mrs. Billingsley probably didn't hear it because she slept through it.  No, no one was satisfied.  The screen lit up again and it seemed to be the sheriff.  Okaaaaay.  The sheriff asked me to answer the door.  ??  What for?  But, I went out and opened the front door.  In front of my home was a sheriff's SUV with the lights flashing.   OK fine.  Where was the rascal anyway?  Well, he showed up in a few seconds.  He told me his name.  Deputy Gray.  I still thought he was going to go away.  He began to demand entry.  Whaaaaat?????  He spoke in a raised, slightly high pitched voice.  It did occur to me to ask for a warrant, but I went ahead and let him in.  He saw Mrs. Billingsley lying in her bed in the living room still asleep.  Well, he started speaking to her in a shout and woke her up.  She sat up, completely dazed.    The sheriff was a little taken aback at all the commotion he had caused in order to wake up a sleeping woman, for no particular reason.  And so he zoomed off.  

Mrs. Billingsley started telling me she wanted to go home.  "You are home."  "It looks like home, but something isn't right."  "Yes, the sheriff did a welfare check on you, and woke you up and confused you.  You're home and everything is OK."  So we finally had coffee after the rough landing to a winter sleep.  

Had I not noticed the screen lighting up on the phone, and eventually answered it, the sheriff was getting ready to use a battering ram to batter down the door.  With the door caved in and dangling from the hinges I would have been forced to have my door replaced, while having the door wide open in the meantime during the winter.  Brilliant.  

What had started this insanity?  Roxie had seen my mailbox stuffed with the mail from Saturday and Monday that had been delivered late yesterday evening after I had finally given up on checking the mail.  I had checked over and over and I decided to let it go until today.  To Roxie mail left in the mailbox could only mean one thing.  We had all died.  Perhaps murdered.  I can only guess what she told the sheriff, but it was dire.  Dire and dumb.  This is the second time Roxie has done this!  The first time she noticed I had not collected the mail from the day before, she told David that there was an emergency over here.  David called, and I said I had forgotten to get the mail.  End of silly story.   But is it the end?  I have a horrible feeling it isn't.