Um, I'm a little scared right now.

"911. What's your emergency?"

"There is someone trying to force his way into my apartment."

"What's your address?"

"[Address]"

"What's the gate code?"

"Gate code?" The full effect of what is happening is beginning to overcome me. I'm shaking. I'm pacing in my apartment, quietly, so the guy banging and trying the handle doesn't know anyone is home.

"Does your building have a gate?"

"Um, yeah. But there's no universal code. You have to call me through the call box." And by the way, why the fuck isn't there a emergency code so the police, fire trucks, or ambulances can get in that much quicker? I don't need to know what the code is; it should be worked out between the complex and the city.

"What's your name?"

"J-Jamie." The operator is no nonsense and not very calm herself, which is making me that much more on edge.

"The police will call you to buzz them in shortly."

The good for nothing fucking dog is sitting at a distance and staring at my door. She knows it's not a friendly knock and is just watching, not barking, by the way.

It had been a good five minutes and the banging on the door has stopped. The police aren't here yet. I took off my shoes and tip toed to the front door and looked out the peephole.

I sharply inhaled. He's still there and slumped against my door jamb, pathetically trying to turn the handle.

Insane fear of peepholes back on.

So what do I do? I run to the computer and blog about it.

I wish the police would get here soon.