If You Can’t Take the Heat
A newcomer’s first brush with ‘crime’ in the big city
By Linley Taber
November 11, 2009
As the air gets cooler, I’m reminded of my own first autumn in New York. One night in early winter, not long after I’d moved from my hometown of Baltimore, stands out.
It was 3:02 a.m. when I was jolted awake by an ear-splitting racket. BANG! BANG! BANG! From my spot on the couch, I scanned my first-floor apartment for the source of the sound. As a bubbly, blond 22-year-old dying to prove I could make it in the big city, I had thought my stretch of East 54th Street was safe. But I couldn’t ignore the increasingly loud banging noise. It sounded like something was pounding on the metal-barred door to my tiny outdoor terrace. And then it hit me: Someone was trying to break in.
Before I realized what I was doing, I sprinted to my bedroom, dove down into the narrow space between my bed and the wall, and dialed 911. Soon I could hear myself describing the emergency: There’s someone out on my terrace trying to break in! They’re literally trying to break down my door! Between the continuing banging noise and my own pounding heart, I was starting to panic.
“Stay calm,” said the operator. “I’m sending someone right away.”
The noise suddenly ceased, but I remained curled up in the fetal position, waiting for help to arrive. I couldn’t believe this was happening. The only remotely dangerous thing about my neighborhood was the Madison, a 24-hour diner on East 53rd Street and First Avenue that delivered thick slices of cheesecake to my door anytime I craved it. Yet what did I really know about New York City? I was just a recent college grad with a cushy suburban upbringing, and had only just stopped feeling like a wide-eyed, dumbfounded tourist. And now this!
When two burly cops finally arrived at my apartment, I quickly ushered them to the scene of the attempted crime.
“Someone’s out there!” I yelled, pointing wildly.
The cops burst out the door to the terrace, wielding heavy-duty flashlights. I stood at the edge, waiting for one of them to spot the crowbar the robber had left behind, or—better yet—apprehend the criminal himself, cowering behind the mildewed lawn chairs. But after a few moments of poking around, they reported that they didn’t see anything suspicious.
“What do you mean?” I demanded. It seemed impossible.
“I mean there’s nothing out there,” said the taller of the two.
“Besides,” the shorter one piped in, “this outdoor space is blocked in on all four sides by buildings. There’s no way anyone could have entered unless they came down one of the fire escapes.”
“Well then go check the fire escapes,” I blurted out. When neither of them moved after a second, I started up again: “Listen, I wasn’t hearing things—”
“Fine,” said the short cop. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll go check it out.”
After climbing to the top of my four-story building, the shorter cop, now flushed from the cold and aerobic workout, delivered the verdict: “Nothing.”
I couldn’t believe it.
“Give us a call if anything else happens,” he said as they made their way for the door.
Just then, something did happen: the banging started again. BANG! BANG! BANG!
“It’s back,” I shrieked. “He’s back!”
The cops exchanged a look. The short one cleared his throat.
“Miss,” he said, crossing his arms in front him. “That sound you’re hearing is your heat turning on.”
My what?
“Your heat,” said the tall one, an angry edge to his voice. “The sound’s coming from the walls. These old heaters make a lot of noise.”
“Oh really,” I mumbled, my face turning hot. I kept my eyes fixed on the cruddy parquet floor.
As the cops shuffled out my front door and mortification swept over me, I could only imagine that this snafu would soon become NYPD fodder. I could just hear it now: “Hey, Joe, you won’t believe this dumb blond we got a call from last night…”
I plopped back down on the couch, reached for my cell phone and called up the Madison. Could they deliver some cake and chamomile tea? I needed something to help me fall back to sleep.
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Linley Taber is a freelance writer now living in Greenwich Village. She has had no further encounters with New York’s Finest.
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