Monday, December 18, 2006
Another Point Of View...
To read Sean's take on the situation, check out his blog www.myspace.com/sflinn and click on the "Hostage" entry.
Cops in Protective Armor Really Do Look Like GI Joe
This past Saturday was going to be the 2nd annual Groble-Flinn Holiday Cocktail Party. For some reason, though, the universe did everything in its power to prevent it from occuring:
Monday night - I realize the oven doesn't work. Spent an hour trying to figure out how to relight the pilot light, called dad to talk me through out. Then realized - I don't have a pilot light. I have an automatic ignitor (?). Call landlords to send over repair guy. Why the hurry? I have 3 different cookies to bake before Saturday night - where we expect to have approximately 25 people over for the party.
Tuesday - repair man is suppose to come to house. Wrote down wrong address, couldn't get in touch with landlord. Will reschedule, he says.
Wednesday - no repair man. I'm a bit frazzled, realizing I'm going to have to bake 3 different types of cookies in one night, as opposed to spreading the cooking out throughout the week.
Thursday - no repair man. Freak out because half of the items on my menu require the use of an oven. Come up with Plan B - make appetizers that can be fried or nuked. Go to C & D's house to use their TWO ovens to bake cookies. Am up until 1:00 am baking.
Friday - repair man comes. With the wrong part. Can he come back tomorrow morning? *sigh* Yes.
Saturday morning - repair man comes. Fixes oven. Hurray! Except I no longer need the oven because all of the menu items are either served cold, cooked in the crock pot or fried in wok.
Saturday 10:00 am - 7:00 pm - make fruit kebabs, pasta salad, spinach dip, meatballs and sausages and spend an ungodly amount of time making thai potato pancakes (fyi - the amount of work that goes into making them does not equal the satisfaction you get from eating them. easier just to buy the frozen ones and nuke em.) Run out to the store because I need more mini sausages. Moved the dining room table to the side to make more standing room. Discovered that the carpet's FILTHY - to the point that I'm disgusted by it. Send Sean to Target to pick up an area rug. Oh, and we scrubbed the condo to the point that it sparkles.
At 8:00pm I'm FINALLY ready to start the party. I've made it past all the roadblocks the universe has thrown me. I'm victorious over the battle with the universe to hold my Cocktail Party. Right???
http://www.ocregister.com/ocregister/homepage/abox/article_1386435.php
Apparently, when the universe doesn't want you to throw a Christmas party, you don't get to throw your Christmas party.
What Went Down:
At 8:15 I receive a call from my friend S (this is abbreviated):
S: What's going on?
Me: What do you mean?
S: They won't let me into your condo. I'm at your pool and can see your porch, but they won't let me in.
Me: Who? What? What do you mean?
S: You don't know what's going on? Your condo is crawling with cops. I just had a gun in my face.
Me: ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
S: I'm going to find out what's going on.
Me: I'll call the police station. (Which ironically - is right down the block from the house).
Situation: the complex is crawling with police in full on protective gear and armed with automatic weapons and sniper rifles. The police aren't letting anyone into the complex. Which means all of our guests are being told to turn away. Sean goes outside to talk to a police officer. Here's the phrase, "sir, stop walking RIGHT NOW." Sean freezes, puts his hands up, takes a step forward and hears the cocking of a rifle. At which point he explains who he is and asks for the cop to explain what's going on.
Long story short: A man killed his wife, barricaded himself into their condo and told police he'd shoot at any police who approached the building. The police believed the man to be delusional. They couldn't see him inside the condo and were afraid he'd get out. He shot at the cops. At 11:30pm the cops went into the condo, where they discovered the man had killed himself.
We didn't learn any of this information until late Saturday night when a friend of Sean's, B, called us. Apparently, after B realized he couldn't get to our condo, got chummy with a cop and listened to the whole thing go down over the police radio. And he kept us informed with half hour-to-hour updates.
The crazy thing (although, what isn't crazy about this situation) is that we had NO IDEA this was going on until S called me to say that cops were preventing her from coming to the condo. The police made no effort to alert anyone in the condo complex that this was going on. Save for the condos directly next door to the delusional's condo.
And this being Southern California, the news of a murder-suicide didn't make any of the news stations or papers save for a short article in the Orange County Register. But when you're competing with stories about men taking people hostage with a samurai sword and men stabbing their mothers 70 times - a murder-suicide seems somewhat quaint.
Monday night - I realize the oven doesn't work. Spent an hour trying to figure out how to relight the pilot light, called dad to talk me through out. Then realized - I don't have a pilot light. I have an automatic ignitor (?). Call landlords to send over repair guy. Why the hurry? I have 3 different cookies to bake before Saturday night - where we expect to have approximately 25 people over for the party.
Tuesday - repair man is suppose to come to house. Wrote down wrong address, couldn't get in touch with landlord. Will reschedule, he says.
Wednesday - no repair man. I'm a bit frazzled, realizing I'm going to have to bake 3 different types of cookies in one night, as opposed to spreading the cooking out throughout the week.
Thursday - no repair man. Freak out because half of the items on my menu require the use of an oven. Come up with Plan B - make appetizers that can be fried or nuked. Go to C & D's house to use their TWO ovens to bake cookies. Am up until 1:00 am baking.
Friday - repair man comes. With the wrong part. Can he come back tomorrow morning? *sigh* Yes.
Saturday morning - repair man comes. Fixes oven. Hurray! Except I no longer need the oven because all of the menu items are either served cold, cooked in the crock pot or fried in wok.
Saturday 10:00 am - 7:00 pm - make fruit kebabs, pasta salad, spinach dip, meatballs and sausages and spend an ungodly amount of time making thai potato pancakes (fyi - the amount of work that goes into making them does not equal the satisfaction you get from eating them. easier just to buy the frozen ones and nuke em.) Run out to the store because I need more mini sausages. Moved the dining room table to the side to make more standing room. Discovered that the carpet's FILTHY - to the point that I'm disgusted by it. Send Sean to Target to pick up an area rug. Oh, and we scrubbed the condo to the point that it sparkles.
At 8:00pm I'm FINALLY ready to start the party. I've made it past all the roadblocks the universe has thrown me. I'm victorious over the battle with the universe to hold my Cocktail Party. Right???
http://www.ocregister.com/ocregister/homepage/abox/article_1386435.php
Apparently, when the universe doesn't want you to throw a Christmas party, you don't get to throw your Christmas party.
What Went Down:
At 8:15 I receive a call from my friend S (this is abbreviated):
S: What's going on?
Me: What do you mean?
S: They won't let me into your condo. I'm at your pool and can see your porch, but they won't let me in.
Me: Who? What? What do you mean?
S: You don't know what's going on? Your condo is crawling with cops. I just had a gun in my face.
Me: ?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
S: I'm going to find out what's going on.
Me: I'll call the police station. (Which ironically - is right down the block from the house).
Situation: the complex is crawling with police in full on protective gear and armed with automatic weapons and sniper rifles. The police aren't letting anyone into the complex. Which means all of our guests are being told to turn away. Sean goes outside to talk to a police officer. Here's the phrase, "sir, stop walking RIGHT NOW." Sean freezes, puts his hands up, takes a step forward and hears the cocking of a rifle. At which point he explains who he is and asks for the cop to explain what's going on.
Long story short: A man killed his wife, barricaded himself into their condo and told police he'd shoot at any police who approached the building. The police believed the man to be delusional. They couldn't see him inside the condo and were afraid he'd get out. He shot at the cops. At 11:30pm the cops went into the condo, where they discovered the man had killed himself.
We didn't learn any of this information until late Saturday night when a friend of Sean's, B, called us. Apparently, after B realized he couldn't get to our condo, got chummy with a cop and listened to the whole thing go down over the police radio. And he kept us informed with half hour-to-hour updates.
The crazy thing (although, what isn't crazy about this situation) is that we had NO IDEA this was going on until S called me to say that cops were preventing her from coming to the condo. The police made no effort to alert anyone in the condo complex that this was going on. Save for the condos directly next door to the delusional's condo.
And this being Southern California, the news of a murder-suicide didn't make any of the news stations or papers save for a short article in the Orange County Register. But when you're competing with stories about men taking people hostage with a samurai sword and men stabbing their mothers 70 times - a murder-suicide seems somewhat quaint.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)