I make the most 911 calls of anyone I know.
Drama in the laundry room today:
1. Shortly after loading my machines, I had a severe coughing fit, and fainted and hit my head on the folding table. I was out long enough for my face to get chilled from the cement floor. Nobody else was there, and I'm fine now, so...
2. When I came back down to collect my clean-and-dry stuff, I got to witness and report a laundry theft-turned-assault.
Details: A woman who was visibly stoned/drunk tried to leave with a basket of another woman's wet(!) laundry. We'll call the thief A. The other woman shall be B.
B notices that her basket of stuff is missing, and comes out after A. Stuff is returned peacefully, and A goes back into laundry room to find HER stuff. Is so hammered/baked that she can't walk three steps in a straight line. Tips over by some dryers that have been opened to be emptied. They are full of B's stuff.
A locates HER basket, and comes over to B's dryers, where she takes some of B's wet(!) laundry and puts it in her own basket. Again, she tries to leave. B notices again, and yells at her to stop touching her stuff. A protests that she's only got her own stuff, so B starts grabbing her wet things out of A's basket.
A goes BERSERK. The two of them scuffle and scratch at each other, and I'm freaking out, so I called 911. Of course, I'm losing my voice because of the coughing and the Cold That Will Not Die, so I'm repeating my details and explaining things three times just to be understood, and the pair of scrappers are screeching at each other and at me... blah blah blah.
Eventually, B gets A pinned. Headlock, legs wrapped around her, the works. This lasts about five minutes, and the police have been dispatched. Finally, the manager (who'd been off showing a flat to prospective tenants - good luck renting now) turns up and peels them apart and lectures both of them like naughty six-year-olds. Keeps A from leaving until the police arrive.
Statements. Contact details. Unexpected flirting from the tall blond cop who interviews me. He says I have pretty eyes, and I regret deeply that I'm wearing my doing-laundry outfit, but I grin like an idiot and tell him he's got nice eyes too, and then the other cop comes over and says they have to deal with 'the primaries'.
Damn it, now I've got a bigger headache from listening to those two shriek at each other inside a concrete box. Hey, at least I know the pretty cop has my number.
----------
Addressing the head-bonk: no concussion. I've had those, they suck a lot, and this is just a bruise and a headache.
ETA: Discovered a HUGE bruise along my ribs on the right side. Must be where I landed when I passed out, and it aches like hell. Didn't even notice until I'd been sitting still for a bit and then went to wash dishes. Not funny, Universe.
1. Shortly after loading my machines, I had a severe coughing fit, and fainted and hit my head on the folding table. I was out long enough for my face to get chilled from the cement floor. Nobody else was there, and I'm fine now, so...
2. When I came back down to collect my clean-and-dry stuff, I got to witness and report a laundry theft-turned-assault.
Details: A woman who was visibly stoned/drunk tried to leave with a basket of another woman's wet(!) laundry. We'll call the thief A. The other woman shall be B.
B notices that her basket of stuff is missing, and comes out after A. Stuff is returned peacefully, and A goes back into laundry room to find HER stuff. Is so hammered/baked that she can't walk three steps in a straight line. Tips over by some dryers that have been opened to be emptied. They are full of B's stuff.
A locates HER basket, and comes over to B's dryers, where she takes some of B's wet(!) laundry and puts it in her own basket. Again, she tries to leave. B notices again, and yells at her to stop touching her stuff. A protests that she's only got her own stuff, so B starts grabbing her wet things out of A's basket.
A goes BERSERK. The two of them scuffle and scratch at each other, and I'm freaking out, so I called 911. Of course, I'm losing my voice because of the coughing and the Cold That Will Not Die, so I'm repeating my details and explaining things three times just to be understood, and the pair of scrappers are screeching at each other and at me... blah blah blah.
Eventually, B gets A pinned. Headlock, legs wrapped around her, the works. This lasts about five minutes, and the police have been dispatched. Finally, the manager (who'd been off showing a flat to prospective tenants - good luck renting now) turns up and peels them apart and lectures both of them like naughty six-year-olds. Keeps A from leaving until the police arrive.
Statements. Contact details. Unexpected flirting from the tall blond cop who interviews me. He says I have pretty eyes, and I regret deeply that I'm wearing my doing-laundry outfit, but I grin like an idiot and tell him he's got nice eyes too, and then the other cop comes over and says they have to deal with 'the primaries'.
Damn it, now I've got a bigger headache from listening to those two shriek at each other inside a concrete box. Hey, at least I know the pretty cop has my number.
----------
Addressing the head-bonk: no concussion. I've had those, they suck a lot, and this is just a bruise and a headache.
ETA: Discovered a HUGE bruise along my ribs on the right side. Must be where I landed when I passed out, and it aches like hell. Didn't even notice until I'd been sitting still for a bit and then went to wash dishes. Not funny, Universe.