I work here on weekends. One night I had just gotten off, at 4 AM, when I walked into my apartment to find a man lying on the couch. I started screaming, “What the hell are you doing in my house?” But he was passed out, obviously drunk. I went into the kitchen and picked up a butcher knife before I headed into my bedroom–and there I found another guy passed out. I called the police, and then I started shaking the guy in the bedroom, brandishing the knife. Finally he woke up, saw the knife, and began screaming, “Oh my god! Oh my god!” I told him to wake up his drunk-ass friend and get him off my couch, which he did. At that point the police arrived. They told the police their friend Judd had given them a key, but I didn’t recognize the name. But the key they had did open my door–it’s an old building. They were really scared of me and kept apologizing. I didn’t press charges, but I did change the locks. I also called the guy who used to live here, who told me there was a Judd right across the hall. Aha! I went over there, but no answer. Another neighbor, who knows Judd, came over one day and said Judd had admitted he knew the guys. But to this day Judd has never come over to apologize.
–Cecilia Tripoli, accountant