Doorstep Encounter

How safe are you when in the suburbs at night?

It was shaping up to be a quiet night after a hectic day. The local park bench had been commandeered by the family and bedecked with banners and bunting to celebrate a first birthday.  We enjoyed fizzy drinks, crisps, and chocolate cake with the adults scattered about on rugs while the grandchildren ran around like mad things, climbing trees, collecting conkers, and taking our dog for walks. We’d thoroughly enjoyed the event but we were now at home and beginning to flag. Television had become the norm for such evenings and my wife slipped off to bed at about ten, leaving just me and the dog to watch Match of the Day, a football program I’d watched since I was a nipper.

Next door, Peter my neighbor was also watching television when he became aware of raised voices coming from the street. He listened because he had no choice not to.

“Hey man c’mon let’s split,” said one guy.

“No, no stay here Damo man, I got a good feeling about it. ……..Come over here stay a bit longer.”

And so it went for the next thirty minutes. The too-ing and frow-ing of youthful male indecision ie. talking crap to each other.  Peter reached forward and turned the volume up on his television, tuning them out.

At about eleven p.m.I found my eyes closing. At the third time of asking I gave in and decided to go to bed. I rose from the couch and walked over to the television, reaching behind to switch it off at the socket. Then I switched the room lights off and pulled the door closed behind me. I was now in the hallway and was walking towards the foot of the staircase when I saw a figure through the stained glass window of the front door. There, right there, just a few feet away from me stood a guy! He, for it, was definitely a male, was standing on my porch and rocking back and forth, from heel to toe, as if to some inaudible musical beat. Maybe he was wearing headphones. All I could see was that he had his hood up.

I could hear the garbled scraps of a conversation he was having with someone. So I approached the door warily and stopped just opposite him. We stood just inches apart separated by the width of a door for maybe twenty or more seconds. He seemed completely unaware of my presence. He continued to stand there like a robot set in neutral gear, waiting for instructions to move off. It was a clear warm evening and with a bright Harvest moon, it allowed me to see that he was wearing a pair of dark shorts and runners. He had short-cropped hair and was definitely speaking with a Dublin accent. Dublin but not inner city Dublin, if you follow me. 

I felt compelled to do something so I flipped open the metal letterbox and leaning down spoke into it.

“Excuse me – What are you doing?”  I asked.

Well, he spun around 360 degrees, pirouetting with surprising nimbleness.

“Kindly move away from my door” I ordered before I straightened back up.

Startled he glanced down to where the voice came from and then his eyes travelled slowly up the door until he came to my face, visible though distorted, through the frosted glass.  At first, I thought he’d go away but unfortunately, my intervention seemed to have the opposite effect on him.

“Damo, I’ve got someone!” he turned to look over his shoulder and shouted enthusiastically. “Someone is here!” “C’mon over man!”

“Bugger!” I thought.  Fortunately, for his own reasons, Damo, whoever he was, didn’t come over.

Next, my swaying door stepper suddenly reached for the door handle and gave it a yank, trying to open it. Watching his movement, I became more convinced than ever that he was drugged or in a drunken stupor. He never uttered a word to me and he seemed sluggish in his movements. Getting no joy he let the door handle go, stepped back, and then ran as fast as he could at my door!

 Horrified I stood my ground. Whatever happened I made myself a promise that he would not enter this house. I stood on the other side of the door with my arms outstretched supporting the door and its frame. I  braced myself for the blow and when it came it sent vibrations around the whole building. The house shuddered with the impact and upstairs my wife in bed, watching a program on her phone, felt the house vibrate, not once, not twice but three times. Each time  I pushed back with all my might.  Now he dismounted the doorstep and stood on the driveway.  I braced myself for his next move.

I had a moment to think and I did then, what I should have done earlier. I dialed 999 on my mobile phone.

“What service do you want?” Ambulance, fire or Garda (police)?” came an anonymous clipped voice.

“Garda (police) please” I answered. I was put through in seconds.

“Hello? This is the Garda station in Dundrum, can I help you?”

“Guard, a man has been standing on my doorstep this past half hour and he’s just attempted to force his way in. He standing less than a foot away from me, on the other side of the door. Can you help?”

“He’s still there?”

“Yes”

“I’m dispatching a car right away.”

I rang off and looked at my would-be intruder. Again I leaned down and used the letterbox.  “I have rung the Guards and they are on their way,” I said.

The news didn’t seem to make any visible impression on him. Perhaps he was too far gone to understand what I’d said.  I heard a noise from behind me and turned to see that it was my wife who had come down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” she asked innocently, looking past me and at the shadowy figure still on our doorstep. I brought her up to speed and she decided to return upstairs and survey the street from the upstairs bedroom window. I watched her go and checked my watch. Three minutes had passed since I’d rung the guards. How long will it be before they get here?

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and looked again at my doorstep. I was just in time to see his back disappear around the boot of my car.

“Can you see them?” I shouted up to my wife.

“No, not now” she answered. “Just as I reached the window and pulled up the blinds I saw a figure walking away from our house. I think he’s gone and I never saw the other guy.”

She joined me in the hallway and three minutes later a garda car with flashing lights pulled into our cul-de-sac and came to a stop outside our house.  Two burley guards in full combat uniforms listened to my story. I gave them a good description of the lad but he’d left on a footpath that led to another estate with multiple exits. The police cars would have to take a more circuitous route.

It took a while to get off to sleep that night, I can tell you. It’s now been more than a year since the door stepper made his appearance and it appears that this incident was a one-off.

The Waiting Game

I’m playing a game that must be played in your home. You have probably played it already but for newcomers, it goes like this. Something breaks and needs repairing replacement or alteration. You see if you can do the job yourself and after several weeks of failed attempts, you accept that since it isn’t the fuse in the plug or a loose cable behind the television then it is beyond your limited skillset to fix. Now you start the game. You seek out an expert.

The best experts to employ, or so it was said, were ones with a proven track record and as you have zero personal knowledge of said experts, you plumb your friends and family for recommendations. The Yellow Pages has had its day and the internet alone is too unreliable. Anyone can claim to be a plumber, set up a website and load with self-posted five-star customer reviews. One way or the other, I thought the word-of-mouth approach was the best and so it turned out to be.

The particular expert had done a wonderful job at a friend’s house and duly appeared one day to bid for the work to be started in two months. “Mid-summer, say June” I suggested. “No,” he said he was very busy, which I took to be a good sign. I agreed to wait and accepted a slot in his conveyor belt of customers for August. Sadly that slipped to September as he had good work undone by another expert’s visit to a previous customer and had to revisit.

The day the job finally started was a memorable one. Everyone was in high spirits and he arrived with his team, an experienced man and a young lad  He repeated verbatim the details of what would be done and emphasized that it had to be done right. He picked up on mistakes made by previous experts, mistakes I’d not noticed but now that he’d highlighted them they seemed obvious. How could I have missed them? More to the point, how had my structural engineers missed them when I bought the place? He seemed every bit as enthusiastic as I was about the final look and shape and I ended the day believing I’d made the right choice.

“Would it over-run?” I asked as he left, “as I have a holiday booked in mid-October.”

“I cannot afford to let it over-run” he answered “Time is money. I have priced this job for four weeks.”

“I’m just saying,” I said and that was the last I saw of him for eight days.

In fairness, he left another experienced man to carry on, with a young lad as his sidekick and that’s the way it stayed for nine days. On his return, he again did brilliant work, what a day and disappeared again for another six days.

Then, after many promises he managed to appear and work hard for three days on the trot before arriving late on the fourth, a Monday, to say he’d fired the other man. He’d be doing it all himself and the young lads. I thought “Well, maybe this is good news. He certainly makes things happen.”

The next day, a Tuesday no one turned up for work.

The following day, Wednesday, they were back and again I saw major progress inside. Meanwhile, the rain poured down all day outside. A cynical part of me wondered if I had been favoured by his presence only because of the poor conditions outside. No matter how long he worked he always had time to call me down to admire what he’d done and I was fulsome in my praise.

On Thursday, they only appeared for half a day. “It’s OK though,” I comforted myself, “He’s promised to work tomorrow, Friday and Saturday too.”

Nobody materialized on Friday or Saturday.

Each day started the same, early. I was dressed and waiting for him by 7:00 a.m. The dog had been walked and breakfast was history. I was ready to react to any builder’s need for access or for extra tiles, flooring, paint, or whatever else was needed. And thus I remained hour by long bloody hour, sitting with the dog by the front window, gazing up the street and wondering, is he coming today?

Yes, I rang him. Yes, I texted/messaged him.

He ghosted me. Amazing, no?

Finally on Saturday at 1:44 p.m. I texted this:

“This is the third day this week that I have waited the entire day for you not to show. You said yesterday you would be here today and so far you have not bothered to ring or text to say you are not coming. You have ignored my text and call today. I have cancelled two doctor’s appointments and one dental to be here on the days when you did not show up. I need to remind you there is one week left before I am gone.”

This message of mine warning of time running out must have hit a raw nerve as I got a text/message back within 6 minutes:

 “ Hi’, Sorry. I will be there tomorrow around 9:00 a.m. I know it is Sunday. Please.”

So on Sunday, I waited, indoors, for him not to show. Maybe this was a form of punishment for me. For making him feel guilty. Here’s another day for you and that will learn you. Do not guilt trip me!

This week, on Monday he arrived late but worked late. All parties ignored the previous week’s behaviour and great progress was made. Just one more day will do it was agreed and Tuesday was to be that day.

Nobody materialized on Tuesday.

In summary, I have played the waiting game but would I do it again, if I knew what was in store? On balance yes, probably. The reward for me is a quality piece of work carried out to a professional standard by a skilled craftsman who ultimately did a good job, though the last few weeks have been a trial. Good men are hard to find.

Close encounters of the child kind

My wife and I stepped into the hotel lift, just behind two women, one with a buggy. It was a bit of a tight fit and all exchanged glances except the Mum who looked asleep on her feet.

From under a bonny pink bonnet, a cold pair of blue eyes surveyed me. Silently the mechanisms of a tiny brain turned and carried out complex calculations, estimations and evaluations. Based on current incomplete data the brain had to calculate whether the male standing within her personal space presented a credible threat to her safety.

In a nanosecond she decided, on the balance of probability, given her past experience, based on ten months on the planet Earth, outside the womb, no, he did not. She relaxed a little and took a comforting suck on her “doodie” that rested in her mouth, her lips tightly wrapped around it.

Then I caught her eye and we stared directly at each other.

I have a way with kids. Not sure why. Maybe it’s because I am just a grown-up kid myself. I’d just spent the previous day playing with three grandchildren and the afternoon had gone well. Adults would always say “Isn’t he great with the kids?” to my wife and I’d smile, embarrassed by the praise. But it was true. I just “get it” with kids.

I smiled, reassuringly at the silent bundle in the buggy and that’s when it all kicked off.

“DEFCON 1”…. “DEFCON 1”….. “DEFCON 1”

Alarm bells were going off in little “blue eyes” brain.

“DEFCON 1”…. “DEFCON 1”….. “DEFCON 1”

A threat had been detected.

The “doodie” fell to the floor as the mouth opened and an ear-piercing scream was emitted, swiftly followed by another and another.

Simultaneously the eyes welled up. The tear ducts opened and her face became a river of fast-flowing clear liquid. Water flowed past her open mouth, itself a great expanse of pink gums.

Mum, shocked into reality, leaned down and sought to comfort “blue eyes” but she was having none of it. Mum looked quizzically at me. I smiled weakly back and shuffled my feet. Eventually, it all became too much and I turned my back to the commotion, examining the plain silver metal wall of the lift and admiring the craftsmanship of the lift engineer, until mercifully the ding was sounded and the doors slid open. 

I let all the others depart before I stepped out of the lift and onto the mezzanine floor.  Yeah, I have a way with kids alright. Just not all kids.