Pens championship blogging will resume tomorrow, but I wanted to share this story while it's fresh.
About fifteen minutes ago, just after Kim is in bed, I hear a very loud knocking on my back door. Whoever is here is very definitely here. So I throw on some jeans and open the door.
Hello, Mr. Police Officer!
He asks if this is apartment 32. It is. He asks if there's any trouble. There's not. He says someone has called in. I say it wasn't any of us. He asks if I stay here alone. I say my wife and toddler son are already asleep. He says thanks, that's all. Have a good night. He leaves.
I go into the bedroom to tell Kim what all the pounding was about and not to be worried and to go back to sleep (only not as a run-on sentence).
Then I start to think. You know, the guy never actually showed me a badge. I didn't think to ask to see one. He asked if I was here alone. Probably to make sure I wasn't hiding anybody who may have called for help. But what if...?
I decide to call the HPD to see if there's some way I can find out if they actually dispatched an officer (meaning someone is just pranking me, which I can deal with) or if it's some want-to-be burglar with a uniform, which I'm probably going to struggle with if that's the truth.
I want to hereby give the HPD a gold star for helpfulness. Yes, they did dispatch an officer. The guy at my door was, in fact, just doing his job. And we can all sleep easy.
Next time, though, I'm still asking to see a badge, just to be sure.