Embarrassing Moments

[John Lillico, RPT]

Years back, I used to travel to appointments by bus or taxi. (I have a full time driver, now.) On this particular January day I took a bus eastward to the next town where I had arranged to have a taxi meet me to run me to the next town north. The first time client had booked prior to Christmas. My recollection this day was that she was a librarian and if not at home, I was to walk in.

"Where to?", asked Peter as we drove north.

"Number 4 Ascot," I said, anxious to start the day's work.

Upon arriving, there was no answer except for a barking dog. I tried the front door knob. Locked! I went to the side door but the knob didn't turn. However, a little push from my shoulder caused the door to yield for the latch hadn't caught.

"Are you going in with that barking dog?", Peter enquired as I retrieved my tools from the taxi.

"Of course!", I exclaimed, for although the lady was working at the library, she must be very intelligent to foil potential break-ins by locking the doors, yet leaving me enough room to enter through initiative. And the dog? Well, he must be friendly too, or she wouldn't have said to "go in if I'm not at home".

Peter drove off, leaving me on my own. I was anxious to get inside, out of that cold January day. 

The door led straight into the kitchen. The dog barked and howled from the other room, but seemed afraid to enter. I put my tools down, removed my boots and looked into the living room where the dog was. No piano! "That's odd. I guess it's down the hall," I thought, remembering that I had tuned in bedrooms before.

The first open bedroom door revealed no piano. The second door was only slightly ajar. I went to the third door. Still no piano. Back to the second, not knowing what I would find on the other side. Cautiously, I pushed the door and peered in expecting some kind of scene. Nothing.

"Well, it could be in the basement," I muttered to myself. "Which door is it?" After a closet or two, and by this time becoming quite nervous, I found the basement entrance. By this time the dog had settled down.... just the odd growl here and there. Down into the basement I went. Nothing! Not even a stick of furniture!

I beat a hasty retreat back to the kitchen where I opened my toolbox to retrieve my appointment book. Yes, this is number four all right! But wait, the phone number on the phone is different than in my book! 

"Oh f___!", I muttered under my breath as I reached for the phone to dial my client. As I lifted the receiver, I heard a car drive up. I waited, still in my heavy winter coat. I listened as the motor shut off, footsteps approached and keys entered the lock from outside. I rushed to the door, grabbed the knob and flung it open exclaiming, "AM I GLAD TO SEE YOU"!

A much surprised and angered figure or a man stood two steps down. I must have appeared a formidable opponent in my big coat.

"What are you doing in my house?", he queried as I stood back to let him brush by.

"I came to tune the piano," I retorted sheepishly.

"That's a likely story," he quipped as he headed for the phone. "and what are all those burglar tools? You stand right there while I call the police," he commanded.

I complied.

After ten shaking, nervous, tense minutes for the both of us, the police arrived, sirens a-wailin'.

Two officers came in. The big guy interviewed me whilst the lady officer talked to the home owner. "And what about the dog?", she asked of him. "I guess I'll have to trade him in on a new model," was the only humour he displayed.

By this time, I was well aware of what had gone wrong. There must be two Alscot's! "Indeed," said the officer. "You're on Alscot Ave., but it looks like you should be on Alscot Ct." A quick phone call by him to my client confirmed this. 

They placed me in the cramped, caged rear seat of the cruiser with my tools and took me to the correct address.

The lady officer looked back at me and chimed, "You could have been shot, you know!"

"Why's that?" I murmured.

"Because the guy's house you broke into is a cop, too!"

They escorted the much embarrassed me to the front door of the rightful house where I commenced to perform a mediocre tuning at best.

And it turned out that the lady wasn't a librarian after all. But she did have me back on one more occasion!

Watch how you go.

John Lillico, RPT
Oakville, ON  Canada