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[QUOTE]Originally posted by Balaam Xumucane: [QB] And not the striped disk kind either. At approximately 4AM (PST w/ DST) this morning, I awoke to the warehouse door being flung open and cops with flashlights and guns yelling at me. I still can't figure out it if this is a bad dream. They ask me if there was anyone else in here, and I hear myself saying that to my knowledge I am the only one. I have my hands up and they ask me to please step out into the hall. In my bedclothes, I shuffle out. I figure maybe they'd chased someone into my building and because I'd forgotten to throw the latch, maybe someone's gotten in without me noticing. I count about six police officers. Maybe seven. A policewoman makes me sit on the cold concrete outside against the big metal door of the adjoining space (barefoot, bedclothes here). She's got what looks like flashcards asks me if I'm on parole or anything. Asks my name and date of birth, taking everything down. I'm still pretty groggy at this point. Cops are moving around in my space. I guess she goes off to check the records about me. A big asian guy with glasses is my babysitter. He looks pretty awesome in his uniform and utility belt. I try not to shiver. I ask him what's going on. If they maybe were following somebody or got a tip or something. He says it's because the hallway door was open. ?!? But they've got the guns and flashlights and, WTF? He explains that it would be different if it were a residence and I'd left the gate open. He tells me he's been working this neighborhood a while and never seen the door open at night. We've been trying to make sure the door stays closed at night, but I've been here two years and it's open plenty. At their prompting I explain that there are six units off this hall and which ones do what. I envy one guy's turtleneck. They ask me what I do here. What the space is for. Seen a lot of liquor bottles. They ask me what kind of movies I make. How much my rent is. How long I've been here. I answer all their questions. The policewoman who interviewed me before comes back and asks me my name a DOB again, looking at the card she'd written before. I tell her. I spell it again. She asks me if I have a driver's license. I say I do, that it's inside. She asks me where. I tell her it's upstairs. She asks me where upstairs. I tell her I can come get it. Did I mention that there are six armed, presumably trained cops here? I'm a big dude, but even if I were so inclined there's approximately zero possibility of me getting the drop on any/all of them. She insists that she get it. I tell her where the wallet is. I'm fucking freezing at this point. Raining outside. They're probably warm in their body armor. It's more friendly now. No one has touched me. But it's still intimidating as hell. It's some sort of cock-up with a confidential block on my records. Hooray, I exist. They search some more. I feel weird. They tell me that I should keep the door closed. If there was an apology, I didn't hear it. They don't even close the big door. They just walk off, joking with one another. I slam the big door. I think later they're patting each other on the back. [i]Stupid civilian. Leaving the door open. Don't they know how dangerous this place is? Fuck anybody could come in here.[/i] [/QB][/QUOTE]
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