Visit From the Fuzz

Tobern, our landlord, e-mailed Kendrick today, asking him to call him urgently. Kendrick forwarded the mail to me, because he was tied up in a meeting. I called but got no answer, so I replied to Torben on e-mail and left my cell phone number. (We've communicated many times by cell phone, I don't understand why they don't have it in their address book!)

I got the call at the end of the day, from Birgit, the landlord's wife. The first thing she asked me was, hi, is this Kendrick? I let it pass. She then asked me, have you been home today? Not yet, I answered, undecided if I should be nervous or not. Your door has been kicked in by the fire department, she said, brightly.

I headed home. It turned to be a very minor incident. Our apartment sits partially over the kitchen of the restaurant downstairs (Cafe Ketchup). Last night, one of the workers left a pan on the stove all night, resulting in a small fire. The fire department wanted to make sure there was no danger from our apartment so they kicked in our door to find out. After they finished with their inspection, the police then installed a temporary padlock on our door and left a little handwritten note for us - in Danish, of course. When I got home, I could see that the frame of the door was damaged, but that the door itself was not bad at all.. it had taken the beating well. The note was there as Birgit explained, so I called the phone number to find out how to get the key to the lock. I called the police station twice, and each time the phone rang for over 5 minutes with no response. Is that normal? I tried a third time, and this time I got up, took the note, and headed over to Cafe Ketchup. When I walked through the door I was still on hold, so I just marched up to the bar and handed the bartender the note. To their credit, Cafe Ketchup installed me at the bar, made me a free smoothie (which I suggested would be a good idea) and got through to the police for me. They told me that I would have to go across town (near central station) to the police station to present ID and pick up the key. I sucked back on the smoothie but I just couldn't finish it because it was too cold. Why oh why did I not suggest a steaming bowl of soup instead?? Luckily I warmed up after a brisk ride to the station. I showed the policeman at the counter the note, and without asking for ID, without even asking me my name, he rummaged around for the keys and gave them to me, just like that! Is Denmark a safe society? Hmmmph, it certainly is a trusting society. Oh, the policeman is a person in your neighbourhood, in your neighbourhood, in your neigh-bour-hooood...

So now I'm back in the apartment, sneaking in a blog post before Kendrick comes home. The apartment does have a funny burnt smell. It reminds of that time I got out of the Cavalier after I drove it at high speed on the 401 to Carole's house with the handbrake on the whole time... minus the guilt of course. I could leave the aromatic candle lit while we step out for dinner, but that's just asking for it!