I was in a strange bedroom, totally exhausted, trying to get some sleep. Just as I’d drifted off, sounds outside woke me up. I got up and looked around. The bedroom had two windows, and at each of them, neighboring pre-teen girls were gathered, talking loudly. I asked them politely to be quiet, and they started mocking me. They made fun of the way I talked, the way I looked, and all my belongings, and then they started climbing in through the windows. I tried desperately to close the windows and the blinds, but I wasn’t familiar with the way they worked, and the girls kept on coming. I picked up random objects and tried hitting them to make them fall back outside, but they’d only stop briefly and then go back to mocking me and climbing through the window.
Very soon I was surrounded by these girls inside the bedroom. They were jumping on the furniture, destroying my stuff, and all the while continuing to laugh at me. I threatened that I would call the police, but they didn’t care. I picked up my cell phone and dialed 911, but then regretted it instantly — this was not a life-threatening situation. I waited until the 911 dispatcher came on the line, then apologized and told him to please not send anyone. He said he wouldn’t. Then I tried to find the number for the local police. Finally I located it and wrote it down on a piece of paper, but when I tried to dial it, the girls kept pulling at me and laughing loudly, and I kept misdialing. I was getting more and more desperate.
When I finally successfully dialed the number, a man picked up and said, “Garcia.”
I asked, “Is this where I call to report harassment?”
He replied, “Yes, you can do that right here.”
I sighed with relief and started telling him, “My neighbors are harassing me. They keep climbing through my window and they won’t leave me alone.”
Garcia’s voice now became cold and he asked, “What does this have to do with Homeless Services?”
“Oh, I didn’t realize this was Homeless Services! I’m sorry! I’m looking for where to report harassment!”
“Oh, harassment. Let me transfer you.” Garcia sounded friendly again.
The transfer seemed to take forever. At this point the girls were throwing things around the room and screaming in my ear, so I went outside. The sun was just coming up. A farmer walked by and greeted me, but didn’t notice I was upset. I paced back and forth in the dirt.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice came from the phone, “Harassment Department.”
“I’m trying to report that my neighbors are harassing me.”
“That’s what we’re here for!” she replied in an extremely chipper voice. “Here at the Cambridge College of King’s Cross Harassment Department, we’ll do everything we can to solve your problem.”
“Thank god,” I replied. “These girls–”
“But first, please listen to this liability contract.”
She clicked off, and an automated message started to play, introduced by cheesy PSA-type music. “Here at the Cambridge College of King’s Cross Harassment Department, we’d love to help you. But first, we want to review some legal terms with you to make sure we’re all in agreement…”
I looked at my cell phone and saw that I was nearly out of batteries. The automated legal message was still playing, and I knew I would never get to make my report. I could still hear the girls wreaking havoc in the bedroom, and I was afraid they’d come after me.
I looked down and saw a pair of sturdy, ugly shoes, and recognized them as my own. Keeping the cell phone up against my ear, I laced up the shoes. I looked around, chose a direction, and began walking, just walking, to get away.
satsumabug.com | Lisa Hsia 