12 Guys, 10 Guns, & The Grammy's

It was a Sunday night. I won't forget, oh boy I won't forget. February 9, 2009. The night of the Grammy's. Do I care about the Grammy's? Not really. But, I will always remember them. 

There I was in my loft, relaxing, finishing my salad, drinking my martini, mindlessly watching someone win an award, when I heard a commotion on the street. I looked out my 4th floor window and saw 10 squad cars surrounding the building. Not good. I had lived in the building only six weeks, and this was a surprise (I later found out if you lived in the building six years this was a surprise, but that is a whole other story). 

I quickly called my upstairs neighbor Amanda - who I had only known for a few weeks. "Amanda, there are 10 squad cars surrounding the building," I screamed, "Like, what do you think?" "Hold on Nancy, let me look out the window." She came back to the phone, and calmly said, "Nancy, I don't see anything." This was not a good sign. I mean whose reality was she living in? Not mine. But, being a pretty flexible Pisces and hoping for the best, I was willing to run with her answer.

Until....two minutes later....when there was a pounding at my door. Pounding so hard I thought the door was going to be smashed in. "Open up, open up, this is the police!" Now, I know you are supposed to look through the little peephole, but no way that was going to happen. I was so scared. So, I opened the door. And yes, there I was face to face with 10 guns, and an entire LA police swat team.

"Lady, lady move out of the way. We believe there is a gunman in the building." 

Now, you must picture this scene, I was in my faded yoga outfit, two sheets to the wind because of my martini, holding my salad bowl, and I knew the size of my loft. Let me put it this way, there was no room for a gunman - let alone a swat team. 

It was like I was in my own slow-motion movie. I calmly walked into the hall, asked the head swatty guy (since he stayed in the hall and his team went in) if he was okay - at which point he looked at me as if I was crazy. "What do you mean am I okay - this is my job!" he answered. And after two seconds, well maybe five, the swat team left. No gunman. Yeah. Right.

Now I had a dilemma on my hands. Being a good but shaken-up neighbor I wanted to let Amanda know what was going on. But if I called her to let her know they were coming up, I knew she would have a heart attack - and if I didn't let her know, I still knew she would have a heart attack. I decided not to call her. Ten minutes later the phone rang, "Nancy, Nancy, Nancy, there was a swat team that pounded on my door looking for a gun man!!!" "I know Amanda, I know all about it."

Well, now to the story behind the story. Why were they looking for a gun man in the first place? It seems that the woman who runs the Mexican wedding AND divorce place next door, saw a man holding a gun to a woman's head in front of our building. She thought he forced her inside. She called the cops and they responded. But, this is what really happened. 

The cops ran into two of my neighbors in our lobby after the woman reported the incident. They described the woman they were looking for as having dark curly hair. My neighbors told them the only woman they could think of with dark curly hair was me!

That is why they knocked on my door first, and then proceeded to scare the "sh...." out of my neighbors when they didn't find anyone in my loft. 

Turns out it was a false alarm, no woman was ever found, no missing person report ever filed. But now my friends, my building has an urban legend to endlessly talk about and I am the star.