Wiser With Age
I had a neighbor who lived in the government housing next door who was in her 50s. She didn’t like her house and would spend her days begging in the city.
At night, when she was home, she would smash things in her house and yell sporadically. Her accent would change based on her mood.
One day I came home from work, and she was pacing back and forth on the footpath. I stopped to ask what was wrong, and she told me she’d locked herself out of her house and insisted I help her break-in. She asked if I had a crowbar or a hammer, but I didn’t.
I offered to call a locksmith, but she said she didn’t need a locksmith; she required the authorities. I didn’t understand how the authorities would help in this situation, but she was very insistent.
I gave her my phone, and she called them. After a heated exchange, she threw my phone to the ground in frustration and started telling me stories about her life.
She’d been orphaned at a young age and had lived in institutions for most of her life. She asked me for a crowbar again.
I told her I didn’t have any tools, and she screamed. She told me that I should be the one to call the authorities as they would listen to me. I called the non-emergency line, and the woman who took my call audibly sighed when I gave the address and name.
This was not the first time this neighbor had been locked out of her house, apparently. Within five minutes, two squad cars and an ambulance arrived.
My neighbor explained that all she needed was a crowbar. Her request was refused, and they took her away. Story credit: Reddit / (Beeduckbeeduckbee)