Happy Ending

Happy Ending

Wednesday night right before 11 p.m. our house was broken into by someone—or someones, as we don’t know how many. We were in bed asleep when we heard a loud bang, followed by more banging. As soon as we realized the door was being smashed, I called 999 and was put straight through to the police while my partner started yelling down the stairs to try to warn off the intruder(s).

My partner, who used to be a volunteer fire fighter, had the presence of mind to post a message on the internet letting folks far and near know we were being burgled—only in his haste he typed, “There are burgers in the house.” Thankfully there was no bodily harm, and we were able to clean up the shattered glass and replace the contents of our stolen wallets with relative ease. The burglar(s) managed to steal a total of ten pounds sterling (about sixteen U.S. dollars), enough for a couple Happy Meals.

“They say” we humans learn by hearing, seeing, or doing. While most people employ all three to some degree, each of us relies primarily on one over the other two. In general males learn mainly by doing—giving credence to the stereotypes of not asking for directions or reading instructions. Females predominantly learn by hearing—perhaps because literacy and autonomous action have long since been denied us, and we’ve had to rely on “gossip” and oral forms of communication to impart wisdom and knowledge.

Speaking for myself, that horrible crashing noise—my first thought was that a vehicle had rammed into something on our street—is one sound I do not ever want to hear again. But even though we were victims of a crime, we were not left to feel victimized thanks to the verbal support and sympathy that was backed up by visual commitment and vigorous action.

From the second I phoned the police—the break-in was happening as we spoke—until I said good-bye—only after a uniformed officer ran up the stairs with a police dog to check things out—the dispatcher’s clear, calm tone helped us to focus on what was happening and to keep safe. She remained on the line with me, asking critical questions (Where are you? Where are the intruders? What’s the lay-out of your house?) and giving vital instructions (Stay upstairs. Open a window and watch for the police who are on their way.)

When I went downstairs, I was met by a female officer who asked me if I was okay and would I like a cup of tea. I poured myself a glass of milk and my partner got a little whisky to settle our nerves. We began to express to the police what had happened. Neither one of us saw the intruder(s), who left before the police arrived, and part of me is relieved not to know what they or he—everyone assumes the perpetrator(s) was male—looked like. The police asked us to point out what the intruder(s) had done: kitchen cupboard doors were left ajar (looking for a cookie jar with money in it?), a dining room closet door was opened (revealing the boiler and a stash of crackers and corn chips), and muddy footprints were left on a bathroom mat (which got washed as soon as the forensics official had dusted for fingerprints).

That night one officer took a statement from my partner in the living room while another officer took my statement in the study. The ability to converse—to hear myself answer who, what, where, when, and how (we’ll probably never know why)—was, I realize as I write this, a key step in recovering from the shock of the situation. And receiving from the officers concrete assurances (a carpenter would arrive soon to board up the broken door, and a forensics official would come in the morning to dust for fingerprints) enabled us eventually to get some rest.

While waiting for the carpenter to arrive in the wee hours I phoned my mother, six time zones away, and relayed what had just transpired. Hearing her familiar voice brought comfort, and then listening to her describe what she was fixing for dinner made me laugh—which was a huge relief. Afterward I took the opportunity to type up the basic facts about our break-in and print them on half-sheets of paper addressed to “Dear Neighbour.” Doing this helped check my adrenaline, but more importantly, it allowed me to take my own statement and thus take back some control of an uncontrollable event.

At 8 a.m. two different officers visited us before going door-to-door to alert residents in the area. We gave them our story and I showed them my leaflet. Over the course of the day, as we spoke to more and more people, our narrative unfolded. It became less about details, immediate and in the present tense, and more about drama, as last night’s actions became past-tense and we added our hindsights and hearsays and to-do’s.

One to-do was to thank the Glasgow Police officers and personnel, each of whom responded magnificently to us during and following our traumatic moment. In our letter of gratitude we again told the tale, beginning with the dispatcher, the officers who arrived on the scene within minutes, those who stayed to take our statements and patrol the area, the carpenter, the forensics official, and the two officers who worked on our case the whole next day. Lo and behold, they returned to our house at 5 p.m. with my stolen backpack, fanny pack, and wallet, with all the contents still intact. A good citizen had spotted the bags in a backyard and reported them to the police. We very much appreciate that it ended up being a long night and a long day for the police. For us it made for a happy ending.