I was napping peacefully, a fine Saturday afternoon respite on the couch, filled with images of white sand beaches and soft ocean breezes when the noise startled me.
Thunk.
And again. Thunk.
Maybe it was part of the dream. Maybe there was some work going on at the resort behind me in la la land.
Thunk.
Now it was bothersome. The noise had managed to wedge itself into my consciousness during my afternoon of hard earned bliss, and it was demanding attention be paid to it. I’d have to give in and open an eye, but only a crack, and just for a bit. I would identify the source of the noise, determine it was nothing, and then get back to sleep, hopefully picking up the dream right where I left off.
Unlikely, but that was the plan.
Thunk.
I sighed and rolled onto my side and looked for Butch. As usual nowhere to be found. A watchdog in the truest sense. Usually watching when he should be acting.
The noise had ceased for the moment and I was about to try and resume my beach dream when I heard a voice.
“There you go fella. Here’s a little something for you. Good boy. Aren’t you the cute doggie.”
I froze rigor mortis like. An intruder. In my house. In broad daylight. On a Saturday afternoon. And giving Butch treats to buy his silence. I knew we should have gone for the Rottweiler over the Pug, but I was voted down. Last time that will happen.
I did a family inventory. Where was Terri?. Shopping and then the nail salon. Daughter? Ditto. Son? Basketball and a friend’s house. I breathed easier. At least they were safe. But I wasn’t.
My blood was going now, it was time to defend the family’s turf, with or without Butch’s help. I slowly worked to raise my body against the back of the couch and peer over the top into the kitchen. I’d eyeball the home invader, see who I was up against, and put together a plan.
Big problem, I couldn’t get any traction on the damn leather couch. It was as slippery as scaling a glacier in cotton pajamas. Why on earth we had to have leather was beyond me. All future furniture choices would be evaluated on whether the material would be helpful during a home invasion.
After much exertion I was able to see over the top of the couch. There he was. A guy at the fridge with his back to me. Wearing a…vest of some sort? What the? Do these guys have uniforms now? And there was Butch sitting nicely at the guy’s feet pretending to be well-trained.
I sank back into the couch and plotted. I was going to need a plan, and a good one. My phone would help. If I knew where it was. Darn, it was on the table in the dining room. I left it there foolishly thinking I wouldn’t need it while napping. What a stupid idea that was. From now on it goes where I go.
I needed to process the information I had. The guy had his back to me, so I’d have the element of surprise. But I’d need to move stealthy, like pork slipped into a piece of legislation.
I gave myself a little pep talk and it was time to take care of business. I slid off the couch onto the floor. Stay low, I told myself, just like on TV. I rose halfway and in a crouch started across the living room, big slow steps like I was suffering from a serious bout of gastro-intestinal pain coupled with a shaky sense of balance.
I crossed the living room and was at the kitchen, the intruder on the other side of the island, still at the fridge. I sprang from my crouch with all the speed of a ninety-year old doing a squat in a Zumba class.
“Freeze,” I yelled, for no other reason than I had no idea what else to say.
The intruder turned and I caught sight of the weapon in his hand.
“Drop the..the gun. Now,” I commanded.
The kid look down, puzzled.
“It’s a squash,” he said.
“Sure it is,” I said, lunging for a banana from the fruit bowl. I waved it menacingly and said, “So that’s how you want to play this, huh? You want me to think it’s a vegetable?”
“It is,” the kid said.
“Right, and this is just a banana,” I said.
“I know,” he said.
“No, it’s not,” I said.
“Yes, it is. It even has a Chiquita sticker.”
“Who are you?” I demanded.
The kid glanced down at a name badge on his vest with the name Stephen.
“What turned you to this life of crime, Stephen?” I asked.
“You can call me, Steve,” he said.
“Ah, I get it,” I said, “trying to form a fake bond of familiarity with me so I’ll drop my guard. Maybe even put down my banana, I mean weapon.”
“No, I just like to be called Steve,” he said. “Wally Mart has us use our formal name on our badges.”
“Wally Mart, huh?” I asked. “That’s a good one. Trying to tell me you’re just a hard working young guy and not a home intruder.”
“I am,” Steve, Stephen said. “That’s why I’m wearing a Wally Mart vest. I was dropping off your groceries and stocking the fridge. It’s part of our new service. We got an order for a delivery here from Terri. She gave me the code to get in.”
I chuckled and shook my head at the pathetic attempt to weasel out of taking responsibility for his crime. “Hah, I’m not falling for that, pal. You think I was born yesterday?”
“No, definitely not.”
“A real smart guy, huh?” I said, waving the banana at him to move away from the fridge.”‘Let’s get you out into the open space there in the middle of the room where I can keep an eye on you.”
Stephen took a sideways step and was free of the fridge and the island. Butch growled at me and I pointed the banana at him.
“Enough out of you,” I said.
I was trying to determine my next move when I heard the front door open. This is where it always get dicey on TV. A distraction is all guys like Stephen need to make a move, but I was having none of it.
“What on earth?” I heard Terri ask from behind me.
“Look what we have here,” I said. “A home intruder pretending to be Stephen from Wally Mart.”
“You can call me Steve,” the kid said to Terri, looking past me.
“Hands in the air,” I said.
Stephen held his hands high, proving he was indeed capable of following instructions.
“Why are you making him hold a squash, honey?” Terri asked.
“And why are jabbing a banana at him?” our daughter asked.
“I’m not jabbing. Brandishing is more like it,” I said.
“But it is a banana,” she said.
“If you say so.”
Terri held her phone up for me to read. It was an order. From Wally Mart. Something called the To Your Home service. I read it as she scrolled. Hmmm. It certainly did look like our grocery list. Chicken, coffee, some fresh fruits and veggies, eggs.
“Can I put my hands down now?” Stephen asked.
“Yes, please, before the banana goes off,” Terri said.
Our daughter shook her head and exited the kitchen. Butch looked at me and did likewise. Stephen finished up and turned and said, “Well that was certainly interesting. Any questions?”
“Yes, when did chicken get so expensive?” I asked.