I get back home from babysitting around 11:30 p.m. At this point all I’m concerned with is my homework. I get in my bed and start reading Module 2.1 for my Beatle’s online class. My roommates are not home, and I am all alone. I start listening to Abbey Road (my new favorite Beatles album) and get typing. As I am about to submit my last discussion post I heard the back door close.
I hear footsteps above the music and subconsciously decide to wait for the footsteps to get closer. Then they stop, so I lower my music and greet Greta, my roommate, with a loud, “HEY”.
No response.
“Oh shoot, it must be Carol (my other roommate),” I thought. “HEY, Carol!” I yell.
Panting.
Suddenly, I am confused. Who is breathing like that? “Oh my God, are my roommates okay?” I thought. As I get up, I realized that there is a slight chance that it might not be my roommates.
I panic.
I grab the first thing I see, a full water bottle. With my water bottle in my swinging hand; I open the door with my right hand. “Greta?! Dude, it’s not funny,” I say.
Panting.
As the shadow becomes clear I see a guy. His name is Charly (not sure how to spell it). I realize I had been holding my breath and release a nervous laugh, relieved. “Great, it’s just some wimpy, intoxicated guy”.
It’s fine, I’m fine. Breathe. He’s so drunk, I could kick him if he tries to do anything.
What do I do? Phone! I call Nina, she answers. I tell her what's going on. I'm speaking calmly, but my body is starting to panic. My muscles start to spasm and the ground is not as sturdy as it usually is.
What surprised me the most, was that I was more concerned with this guy's safety than my own. All I could think was that he needed to go home. I try to call him an Uber, but he is not giving me a clear address, let alone a clear thought. His phone is dead, so I take it from him and charge it. While I wait for his phone to turn on I give him water.
After what seemed like years, his phone turns on. I see the name "Dad" on his recent calls. I call his Dad. I can barely say what is happening when Charly gets angry. He takes his phone and runs away. I lock the door and look out my window. I see Charly heading north on Sheffield, sprinting. I laugh. What in the...
At this point, I am not sure what has happened. But I do know two things:
1. I was being nice by calling his Dad and NOT the police. I know a thing or two about having one too many and would genuinely hate to see someone getting punished for underage drinking, especially when the consequences in Chicago are extreme for a "University".
2. I need to go get a copy of my keys and start locking my doors.
Aftermath
I know this scenario could have gone bad, really quickly. Now before you start assuming, here are the facts:
I lost my keys in October, and for some reason convinced my roommates to leave the door unlocked so I could get in. I live in front of a Church, so I feel safe. (I still feel safe, even after this happened). I also live next to two bars, so drunk people are always around.
My life is a joke.
