That's What She Said: Home Security
- Dawn Dumont | November 10, 2013
According to my mom, I was born giving the side-eye. She said that I wouldn't hug anyone until I had checked them out from afar, done a perimeter and a background check. If my siblings and I were a bunch of Carebears, I’d be "Distrustful Bear." You know that cliche that nobody on the rez locks their doors? Not in my house, punk. When people came to our door, there was none of that walking in helping themselves to a bowl of soup and bannock nonsense, people had to knock. (Also there was no bannock because I'd already eaten it.) Only after they had identified themselves, would I unlock the door aka take out the butter knife. And after dark, I used the deadbolt aka the butcher knife.
My distrust in people worsened when I lived in Edmonton. In one year, I had my car broken into 15 times – once on my birthday! It kept happening until one of the thieves broke the locks on my car doors. It just takes one clumsy thief to ruin it for everyone. Lots of stuff was stolen but not my Buffy Ste. Marie cd, which goes to show you that thieves have terrible taste in music.
I learned from these thefts that you cannot leave anything in your car. To this day, I treat my car like the city bus, I leave nothing of value in it and sometimes I charge people $2.50 to ride in it.
I believe my innate distrust in other human beings makes me an excellent roommate. Sure I'm messy, inarticulate and uncivil before coffee, and a diligent thief of grapes, but my security skills really elevate me beyond the average roommate. I am at all times watching out for bad people and finding ways to stop them from doing bad things – to my house at least. The rest of the street – have att'em.
My current roommate doesn't understand the finer points of security. She loses her keys and then wanders around the house testing all the doors and windows. I've explained to her that doing this will make our neighbours think that casing the house is a normal occurrence.
My roommate is also lax in the invites she extends. She's obsessed with renovating her house and as we know as much about home repair as we do about the Grey Cup, she hires people to do the work. She calls them handy-men, I call them murderers with safety tickets. I've suggested a series of safety policies when handymen come in, like wearing a fake wedding ring and saying things like, "My husband would have been here but he's teaching an advanced karate class – it really helps him cope with his insane rage issues."
I also know that my roommate needs my help because one day I came home after work, and I found the following tools left on the front steps of the house: a rake, a hammer, and two hatchets. As I stared at the implements that could have been used in our murder (such a variety!), I realized that I had failed in my efforts to destroy my roommate's trust in humanity.
But I was wrong. One night while we were watching movies, we heard a sound at the back of the house. "It's just the dogs," my roommate said. But then I looked down and saw both of the tiny dogs nestled on their respective pillows in the corner, dreaming of dropped food.
We rose from the couch in unison. I went to the front door to select my ass-kicking weapon – I had a choice of a golf club or a bike chain with the lock on the end. I decided that my goal was to punish so I chose the bike chain. My roommate came out of the other room with a hatchet. While I silently wondered how many of those she had, we headed to the back of the house, the dogs jogging beside us. Were any criminal outside, we would deliver a severe beating and then the dogs would lick the body clean of the evidence.
We looked outside the window into the pitch black night but saw nothing. But that could have been because we are humans, not bats. I held up one of the dogs to the window – dogs can see in the dark, right? But the dog only licked my hand – which I took as a good, albeit gross, sign. My roommate turned on the outside light and we searched the backyard for bad people, aliens or Jason in a hockey mask. The light revealed no enemies and so we went back inside.
But the moment taught me that my roommate is ready to deliver a beat down when necessary and, strangely enough, that helps me to sleep easier at night.
My distrust in people worsened when I lived in Edmonton. In one year, I had my car broken into 15 times – once on my birthday! It kept happening until one of the thieves broke the locks on my car doors. It just takes one clumsy thief to ruin it for everyone. Lots of stuff was stolen but not my Buffy Ste. Marie cd, which goes to show you that thieves have terrible taste in music.
I learned from these thefts that you cannot leave anything in your car. To this day, I treat my car like the city bus, I leave nothing of value in it and sometimes I charge people $2.50 to ride in it.
I believe my innate distrust in other human beings makes me an excellent roommate. Sure I'm messy, inarticulate and uncivil before coffee, and a diligent thief of grapes, but my security skills really elevate me beyond the average roommate. I am at all times watching out for bad people and finding ways to stop them from doing bad things – to my house at least. The rest of the street – have att'em.
My current roommate doesn't understand the finer points of security. She loses her keys and then wanders around the house testing all the doors and windows. I've explained to her that doing this will make our neighbours think that casing the house is a normal occurrence.
My roommate is also lax in the invites she extends. She's obsessed with renovating her house and as we know as much about home repair as we do about the Grey Cup, she hires people to do the work. She calls them handy-men, I call them murderers with safety tickets. I've suggested a series of safety policies when handymen come in, like wearing a fake wedding ring and saying things like, "My husband would have been here but he's teaching an advanced karate class – it really helps him cope with his insane rage issues."
I also know that my roommate needs my help because one day I came home after work, and I found the following tools left on the front steps of the house: a rake, a hammer, and two hatchets. As I stared at the implements that could have been used in our murder (such a variety!), I realized that I had failed in my efforts to destroy my roommate's trust in humanity.
But I was wrong. One night while we were watching movies, we heard a sound at the back of the house. "It's just the dogs," my roommate said. But then I looked down and saw both of the tiny dogs nestled on their respective pillows in the corner, dreaming of dropped food.
We rose from the couch in unison. I went to the front door to select my ass-kicking weapon – I had a choice of a golf club or a bike chain with the lock on the end. I decided that my goal was to punish so I chose the bike chain. My roommate came out of the other room with a hatchet. While I silently wondered how many of those she had, we headed to the back of the house, the dogs jogging beside us. Were any criminal outside, we would deliver a severe beating and then the dogs would lick the body clean of the evidence.
We looked outside the window into the pitch black night but saw nothing. But that could have been because we are humans, not bats. I held up one of the dogs to the window – dogs can see in the dark, right? But the dog only licked my hand – which I took as a good, albeit gross, sign. My roommate turned on the outside light and we searched the backyard for bad people, aliens or Jason in a hockey mask. The light revealed no enemies and so we went back inside.
But the moment taught me that my roommate is ready to deliver a beat down when necessary and, strangely enough, that helps me to sleep easier at night.