It's 4:45 AM Saturday morning. There's snow. I'm asleep, having taken Advil cold and flu, feeling a little crappy, deep sleep.
There's a banging on the front door. Loud. I ignore it. It continues. I ignore it. I'm awake. I imagine a roommate, drunk and locked out, about to head around back and knock on MY door. Fuck that. I get up and answer.
It's the cops. The knocking was so loud because it was being done with a nightstick. He looks at my sleepy, pyjamaed self and says, "You owe this cabdriver some money?" I notice a cab and two cop cars. There's acouple more cops in the parking lot. The cabbie is staring at me. "Uh, not me. I haven't left the house all day. Sick." I sniffle for effect.
"White guy," the cop says. "Around 25. Long hair." Roommate, I think. Motherfucker.
"I'll go get him." I go upstairs. "Hey Charlie?" I say, disgusted. "I'm in the restroom," he replies.
Sure enough, the bathroom door is cracked and there he sits, pants around ankles -- at quarter to five with cops outside!?!
"Man, it's the cops. They're not gonna just go away."
"I'll be down when I'm done."
"Fine." I apogize to the officer, tell him my roomie is inexplicably on the john. He shrugs and tells me it's not my fault. I agree and go back to bed, only to lie awake until the sun comes up.
My roomies explanation made little sense. He was left at the bar and had to take the $70 cab ride by himself. He couldn't find his bankcard. None of this explains the bathroom thing. Was it an automatic stress response? If so, what a nightmare of a hostage he would be. How do you take a crap with the cops beating on the door? People are strange.