I don’t usually lie down and nap in the middle of the day. I take meds at night that usher me off to sleep and if I try to nap during the day I often have wild and crazy dreams.
I ate some leftover pizza that didn’t quite agree with me so I went to lie down and drifted off into sweet slumber.
It was early morning around 5:00 a.m. I woke up in a housing project and went into the kitchen to make some breakfast. I was making biscuits when this large black man walked in through the kitchen door. He was dressed in a headful of blond dreads, but holding a black wig in his hand. He hardly had any neck at all. That’s how heavy-set he was. He made his way past me into the bedroom, stripped off his big, black boots and his clothes. This huge, strange, naked man stood in the center of the room.
I grabbed the phone to dial 911 because I didn’t know this man. When I peered into the bedroom he was wearing pale blue scruffy house shoes and pink, lacy, see-through, longjohn style pajamas. His jeans, underwear, shirt and jacket were lying in a pile on my bed. I told the dispatch operator what was happening. She kept telling me to repeat things to her and I was getting frustrated.
His eyes rolled back in his head and I thought he was going to fall onto the bed. I grabbed him by the arm and he pulled my arm around his shoulders and leaned into me. He didn’t say a word. Thinking he was drunk or under the influence of drugs, I tried walking him and he followed me into the kitchen, bumping the table and knocking the flour sack over.
Then he pulled me toward the door, out the door and across the parking lot. A heavy rain started falling. Within minutes the parking lot was flooded and we tromped through the parking lot in the downpour, me in my house shoes and he in his house shoes. My arm was still around his thick neck.
I had given the dispatcher my address and she told me she could not send anyone to help me. I went into a tangential rant about who I would call and what I would do if she couldn’t do her job and get some help to me. She tried to explain that the address I gave her was for a building and she needed the apartment number. I calmed down and gave it to her.
Pulling him back into the kitchen to get out of the rain, sliding across the wet floor, we both collided into the table, which went crashing to the floor with us along for the ride. Drenched, we sat on the floor making dough out of everything we touched.
The police and paramedics came inside and asked if I was okay. I told them I was and explained what had happened.
The over-sized doughboy was passed out face down in a pile of white powder, slimy, sticky goo clinging to his pink, lacy p.j.s.
They checked his eyes, started an IV of narcan, and hoisted him onto a stretcher. Within minutes he was gone.
About that time, my three kids appeared at the door. I woke up before I had to tell them what had happened.
This is the reason I take meds.
P.S. There is no sufficiently appropriate Google image to pull for this scenario, I checked.