The new tenant and the Harvard Police

Don't panic...there is nothing wrong....no crime has been committed against us, unless you consider sleeping in the basement and smoking by my heating vent a felony.

For those of you not fortunate enough to have visited our 435 square feet of humble abode, you may not be aware of the massive storage room which runs underneath our entire building of 16 apartments. It is a very large and relatively clean storage room with low-hanging HVAC pipes and several stalls for storing whatever won't fit into your cozy 435 square feet. For us, that is a LOT of stuff. So much stuff in fact that we have actually spilled out of our storage unit and into the common area where *no* belongings are to be kept. It makes sense to me that all tenants should keep their belongings in a private locked stall, it does. I just happen to disobey the rules sometimes.

I should also point out that most of the belongings which have spilled into the common area are actually items that will be taken to Jamaica in a few weeks. So I'm stealing common space to give to the poor. That gets me off the hook in some way, right?

Last night we returned home from a visit to Notre Dame around 12:30 AM and it was really cold in the house after a long weekend without any heat, so we cranked it up. I regretted it once I smelled the sooty fumes of cigarette smoke snaking their way up into our apartment through the heater. I figured it was the remnants of a series of smoked and piled up cigarettes laying around our heater - the telltale signs of bored workmen taking a break after completing a repair on an apartment heater. Odd and irritating, but possible.

This morning when we turned on the heater again, the same scent floated up into our house and I vowed to call the housing office to complain. I figured they'd send someone over to clean up the butts and all would be fine. Of course, like many to-do lists I formulate in my head on the way to work, this phone call was lost once I got into the office and started to chip away at the series of serious problems which had built up during my 3 days away from the office. That's right...very serious problems (note the sarcasm).

I didn't give the cigarette smoke much thought after work, until Ryan and I went to the basement to dig our "travel Scrabble" out of one of the Jamaica suitcases. We had watched a movie ("Keeping Mum") and thought it would be nice to finish out a quiet evening at home over some friendly competition. As we approached our suitcases I noticed a Budweiser beer sitting next to them, a skirt I didn't recognize as mine, and a plate of half-eaten food. Ryan whispered something that I couldn't make out as I walked toward the stairs leading back up to our apartment. I noticed that across the room there was an accumulation of belongings - several of which appeared to be blankets and sleeping bags on the floor. And I definitely spied a pillow.

We headed back upstairs, both of us anxious and forgetting about our scrabble game. When we were inside the apartment (door locked!) Ryan mentioned again what he'd whispered downstairs - our suitcases full of donations had been unzipped! We figured it was time to call in the cops. Campus cops that is.

We called the Harvard University Police. Rather, I called them figuring that a female calling to report someone living in the basement might elicit a quicker response, and rattled off my hunch that someone might be camping out in the basement. They said they would send someone over right away to check it out. They weren't kidding. In less than 10 minutes the door buzzer rang and I let in two cops in their full uniforms. They headed toward the basement and mentioned that two plain-clothes cops would be coming over as well.

Now, Ryan who doesn't usually get so excited about this kind of drama was really excited about the prospect of plain-clothes officers coming to the apartment. He could hardly sit still and raised his eyebrows at every sound he heard, especially the buzzer ringing a second time.

The plain-clothes cops flashed their hip badges to me and headed quietly down into the basement to join their uniformed friends. There were loud sounds, laughter, talking, more loud sounds. Ryan had his ear pressed to the floor's heater grate trying to distinguish the muffled voices.

Keys jingled in the main door as the Harvard maintenance arrived and headed to the basement. 5 Harvard personnel had congregated in our basement while we waited it out for the final report. Ryan was on pins and needles.

But honestly, all of this bustle isn't that new to me. Some of you may recall the story where I coordinated the recovery of a stolen KitchenAid mixer from Crate & Barrel in downtown Boston 2 years ago. Or perhaps the story of the elderly woman who was hit by the car in front of the one my friend was driving - I was the first on the scene requesting that the woman lay still until paramedics arrived, thanks to Mr. Hann who was my 8th grade health teacher - he trained us in first aid basics and CPR. Then there was the case (a theory really) otherwise known as "The case of the pink Jesus" back when I lived with my girlfriends a few years ago. Indeed, mystery, cat-like reflexes, and using my 20/20 vision to solve crimes is one strand intertwined into my everyday life. Every year I grow more and more convinced that I should be a Private Investigator.

There was a knock on the door and one of the officers let us know that indeed someone had been camping out in the basement. We went downstairs to make sure that none of the "new tenant's" belongings were actually ours, and to shamefully claim our luggage which was not in the locked storage stall.

The personnel from the housing office boarded up the door (seems the lock on the back door of the storage room was broken) so that the new tenant couldn't get back in. They told us what number to call if we wanted the cops to show up in a REAL HURRY. I guess that getting here in less than 10 is somewhat slow, though I thought the response time was pretty good.

So now, at the end of the day I am writing a blog post and crafting the ending for the 3rd or 4th time. The story has ended in a variety of ways, some sad (my reflections on homelessness) some funny...but maybe I'll just take the positive route and say that I'm thankful for the flannel sheets on my bed, the fact that we can pay for rent, food, fun, and the extras....and that I'll be saying a prayer for our temporary tenant tonight. Shelter, comfort, and guidance.