The Scariest and Most Mortifying Night of My Life

We moved to Des Moines in June, 2004 and rented a quaint (nice word for too effing small) 2 bedroom apartment on the ground level thisclose to David’s new work.  It was a nice complex, full of 20 something couples and co-eds.  The price was right, the space was okay; the only thing I didn’t like was the fact that it was a ground level apartment that backed up to train tracks.  I swear that flippin’ train came through at least 5 times a night at two hour intervals.  Seeing as though I was 26 and partied like a rock star I, generally, slept like the dead and barely budged even though it shook the walls, well, except at 8am when it came barreling through and made my head feel like it was going to explode completely off my little body.


One night, late, David and I stumbled home from whatever watering hole was within walking distance, probably Legends.  We stripped down to our skivvies and went to bed.  He fell asleep immediately and starting snoring.  Back in the good old days, he only snored when he was a little drunky drunk.  Now?  Every damn night.  He was snoring and apparently it was enough to drive me to the couch wearing only my bra and undies.  I turned the TV on and within minutes was sleeping soundly, probably sawing a few logs myself.

About an hour later, I was jolted awake by the sound of the patio door sliding open.  Disoriented and definitely still intoxicated, it took several moments for me to register that someone had just walked in our apartment.

The guy meandered right on in, and SAT DOWN ON OUR EFFING COUCH.  

Yes, this happened.

It took me several more seconds to realize that this guy had no business being in our apartment and a few more seconds to eek out a scream.  I stood up, quickly realizing I was half naked, grabbed a knitted blanket and yelled for David.

The guy, completely oblivious to the half naked screaming female, picked up the clicker and started changing channels.

“David! David! DA-VID!”

David stumbled out of the bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, saw The Guy sitting on the couch and said in a perfectly normal calm and confused voice, “What’s that guy doing here?”

He clearly did not understand the urgency of the situation.  And I could tell that we desperately needed help from the channel changing intruder, so I wrapped the knitted blanket tightly around my body and dashed out the front door of the apartment seeking assistance.  The only neighbors we were on speaking terms with happened to live right next door, so I began banging wildly on their door.  It seemingly took hours for them to finally answer.

I can only imagine the sight I must have been.  Here I was, the mascara rimmed eyed, crazy haired, wearing only a blanket, clearly not sober, neighbor chick banging on the door at 3am.  Good thing I can laugh at myself.

Somehow, in my distressed state, I managed to squeak out the fact that there was a stranger in our apartment and David needed help.  Neighbor Dave, being the responsible person he is, had answered the door actually clothed, and was able to run right on in.

I stayed in the hallway with Neighbor Dave’s girlfriend for a few minutes to let him figure out if there was any possible danger and determine if a remote control could indeed be used as a weapon.  We didn’t hear anything menacing, so we ventured in. The Guy had apparently decided to sleep it off on our couch because in the 30 seconds that I had been gone, he laid right on down and gotten comfy, mid channel switch.  Neighbor Dave and the hubs tried to cajole him into leaving but to no avail.  I think The Guy was already snoring when they threatened to call the police.

So we all moved out into the hallway, Hubs had managed to pull a shirt on, I was still standing there in my not so cozy  blanket, debating what to do, when a group of guys walked in the building.  Neighbor Dave asked if they were, by chance, missing a friend; that Dave, he was a smart cookie.

Clearly not sober, the young men start looking at each other and apparently came up one drunk guy short.

Drunk guy 1:  ”Anybody seen Peter?”

Drunk guy 2:  ”Naw, man.  He stopped over by some building to take a piss.”

Neighbor Dave, the only sober one of the bunch, said, “Can you see if you know this guy?”

Drunk guy 1 agrees and follows the husband and Neighbor Dave into the apartment, leaving Dave’s girlfriend and me, the blanket wearing gal, in the hallway.  Probably not smart, but whatever.

Sure enough, The Guy, was in fact Peter, a guest visiting from out of town.  Peter’s three friends managed to haul him off our couch and the eff outta our apartment with a great deal of maneuvering.  Apparently, we learned, when Peter passes out, there ain’t no waking him up.  We also learned that Peter’s friends lived in the apartment 2 floors above ours.  I’m not exactly sure how Peter managed to mistake a ground level apartment for a third floor apartment, but apparently it made sense to him at the time.

After, Peter, aka The Guy, was gone, we all stood around, awkwardly talking about the situation for a few moments.  Finally, after numerous expressions of thanks, I gracefully, in my blanket, excused myself.

So there you have it kids, the scariest night of my life and the most mortifying night of my life, all rolled into one.  I learned a few lessons from this experience.  1) Always lock your doors.  Duh. 2) Always go to bed dressed in  something other than undergarments. 3) A remote control is not a scary enough weapon to go running into a hallway wearing only a blanket.

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About Andrea

Andrea is a 35 year old mother to 5 year old twin boys, a wife, a devout Catholic, a web designer, entrepreneur and speaker. You can view all of her projects at


  1. says

    I can see why this is funny now, but I would have been scared to death while it was happening. Glad you guys got rid of him and he wasn’t intending to do anything harmful to you. Did you see any of the guys from the 2nd floor apartment after that? I bet that would be awkward.
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