Desperado

It was during the brief spell we call "spring" here. We had settled into our new office upstairs. The phones were quiet on this Friday midafternoon, so I'd jumped into QuickBooks sufficiently to cause the furrow near my right brow to deepen.

It happens that David owns a world-class automobile. He takes extremely good care of said vehicle and often when he applies his good brain to something, he does so while applying some potion to that car with a microfiber towel. He rubs it everywhere and it is obvious to the onlooker that he is deep in thought. On this particular afternoon, his shih tzus - Chloe and Cashlynn - were present for the car-rubbing under the sun canopy.

I sat at my desk with the doors thrown wide open, enjoying the sun, but - damn! - that helicopter that was hovering right off the deck had droned for far too long and was beginning to annoy me. "Come on, already," I thought. "Catch whomever it is, and leave us in peace."

The phone rang - hooray! Maybe I'd book a job. "M'am, this is (Someone, not sure of the name) with the Las Vegas Metro Police Department. Are you being robbed?" I looked at my fish, my birds, my calm, mood-lighted, quiet office . . . . . "No, I'm not." "Well, your alarm is going off. ADT has rolled an armed guard, Metro has rolled a unit, and there is a helicopter hovering." Oh! The helicopter is for me? "I'm not being robbed. I'm sitting here looking at my absolutely silent alarm. It is not going off."

Downstairs, David had noticed the police activity and knew he needed to come out from behind his car. Bending down, moving up and down behind a car could look suspicious. He calmly walked himself out into plain view and kept on rubbing. He saw the armed guard and the police unit pull into the parking lot, blocking the exit.

"M'am, I need you to give me your full name." "LimesNow." "Give a physical description and describe what you're wearing, so I can notify the officers." By now I'm not laughing. This is crazed. The officers in the helicopter and I can actually see one another's facial features - we're watching each other. "5'1", brown and blonde, I wear glasses, blue jeans, yellow and blue top . . . " She's repeating the information into a radio as I'm giving it to her.

"M'am I want you to step outside of your office with your hands in the air so the officers can see you." What? I do not like this at all. I am not a woman who thinks police officers are my knights in shining armor and they have a stressful job. I don't want to startle them or do anything that attracts any kind of negative attention . . . . so I'd better do what she's telling me. I don't know why I asked the question, probably because it was still new to me: "Do they know I'm up on the second floor?" Obviously they didn't because she gave that information rapidfire into the radio which caused the officers and the armed guard downstairs to run toward the stairway. As I stepped outside with my hands in the air, I could hear them running below.

Our deck is configured such that people standing on it can only be seen from below when they stand right at the edge of the deck. The staircase is "blind" until one's head reaches the level of the deck and one would be looking at someone's feet standing on it. I didn't want to startle anybody or make any sudden movements - hey, I watch TV. I had a lot of deck to cover, too! So I stepped out into the sun, hands in the air, waved gently at the helicopter officers. They didn't wave back. We could practically touch noses. Knees knocking, I kept walking to the edge of the deck. David spotted me, arms in the air, and thought I was waving at him. He waved back. And then it hit him that the cops were charging up our stairs.

I looked down on the tops of the officers' heads and said pretty calmly, "Hi, officers, LimesNow, 5'1", yellow and blue top . . . . " David and the shih tzus were right on their heels, David likely thinking, "What's she done in the half hour I've been outside?" Now folks, I'm no lawman, but this puzzled me. After all this action, the officers - who appeared to me to be 21 and 22 respectively - never came all the way up onto the deck. They never looked into the office, even just a peep through the door. They didn't look behind the barn or along the balcony at other businesses. They spun on their heels before taking the last few steps. "Have a nice day, M'am." The helicopter home dudes flew off. Anticlimactic, even.

Everyone likes a good yarn, and this story has become better with time. The Badger e-mailed: "Desperado!" The home dudes listened to the story with wide eyes as it was told by David, me, and then one home dude telling the next. We hired a new, very young and pleasant carpet technician a couple of weeks ago. All the veterans have taken Mario under their wings and they're showing him the ropes. Mario was appropriately appreciative to learn that Limes is a certified carpet technician who nearly aced the test. But I liked it even more when I heard Justin say to him, "Limes is little and she looks like the school librarian but she's really tough and she's smart and she keeps her cool. She can juggle lots of balls at one time. " And he began telling Mario the tale of the desperado.

In my ears right now: the drone of the helicopter. I wonder if it's my helicopter.

Why I like it: I don't.

Something that charmed me today: hearing myself described as tough and smart and capable. If you don't tell me that's what you think of me, then I don't know, do I?