Thanks, MPD!!

This morning my dear husband left for work and I was hanging out in my cami, bare feet, and wet hair reading a trashy romance novel and waiting for just the right time to leave and go to school. The buzzer that indicates someone wants in the building rang. Our intercom doesn't actually work, so I pressed the button opening the front door to the apartment building thinking it was the UPS guy. Someone in this household has just ordered another guitar (that would bring the count to three and two amplifiers in our freaking living room) and I thought it was the guitar being delivered.

So, I meander downstairs, thinking I'll have to 1) sign for the package and 2) drag the damn thing upstairs. But, see, there are like seven people shuffling around in our foyer and they're looking at the mailboxes and whispering.

I quietly climb down the stairs and say, "Ummm...excuse me? Who did I just let in?"

This giant bald guy pulls a badge out from under his tshirt and says, "Police."

First off, for real? Second off, I giggled. It was just so late night television. They really do that? Pull out their badge and say police?

So, I say, "oh, I'm sorry. I just wasn't sure who I let in."

As they are busy telling me it's a good thing I came down to check, I nod and immediately take my bare footed, wet haired self back upstairs, hoping like hell that they aren't in the building to arrest me. I get upstairs and leave a frantic voicemail message for the boy, telling him that the police are in our building and they're taking over!!

A few minutes later (by this time I've put a shirt on over my cami, put socks on, and combed my hair, although my hair was still wet), there's a knock on my apartment door.

When I opened the door, somewhat nervously (what if they want to arrest me because I still have Michigan plates on my truck?) the giant bald man says, "sorry to interrupt you again, but do you know this man?" as he shoves a print off of a mug shot in front of my face. "He lives in apartment 1."

"Ummmmmm. . . no." I suggest he call the caretaker (sorry Kaitie!) and give him her phone number.

Then I call my husband and tell him that a gunrunner lives in our building. The charges the guy was wanted for include stealing weapons and selling them. Sweet. Living in the big city is AWESOME.