Buff Bluff

We were living in unit one on the basement level of our building in a suburban apartment complex. Once a year management would have the floors buffed and shined; not the stained, tile floors inside the apartments, but the ones in the foyer that could be seen by those wishing to land an apartment and move in. Whenever this time of the year rolled around (usually summertime), each tenant would receive notification in order that they may not utilize the hallways between the hours of 10 p.m. and 5 a.m. This would give maintenance time to strip, buff, wax and dry the floors without having to redo anything because of unwanted footprints.

My mom lived on the 3rd floor in apartment #4. Oftentimes, she would have a smoke with the maintenance staff which consisted of two men: Bob and Dale. She and I would watch “The First 48” marathon that aired every Thursday until I would go downstairs to my own apartment to turn in.

This particular Thursday happened to be the day Bob and Dale went around to each apartment to make it known to each tenant that the floor buffing process would begin later that night, and therefore they wanted the hallways cleared of any shoes, etc. by 10 p.m.

I happened to be at my mom’s place when they made their rounds, and I answered her door. “Hello Bob! Hello Dale!” I greeted them with a smile, as always. “Hi Shanita, is your mom home? We just wanna let you guys know that we’ll be doing the floors in this building tonight, and we need the hallways cleared out by 10. We apologize up front for the noise you all will hear between 2 a.m. and 5 a.m., which is when we’ll be using the buffing machine. So please don’t be alarmed or cuss us out if we wake ya. We’re already sorry.” Dale laughed and Bob just smiled and shook his head. “Okay I’ll let my mom know.” Before I could finish that statement good, she shouted from the living room, “I ALREADY HEARD ‘EM! THANKS FELLAS! ANYBODY GOT A CIGARETTE?” Bob pulled a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and gave me two. My mother yelled her ‘thank yous’ out to them and they left.

Later that night around 3 a.m. I was awoken by the sound of my daughter’s voice. She was calling me from her bedroom which was right next door to mine. I could hear the fear in her voice. “Ma, Mommy!” she cried. I quickly sat up. “What’s the matter?” My daughter was so dead serious at this particular moment that it didn’t even make no sense. She was absolutely terrified, and I’ll get to how I know that infallibly without a trace of doubt, in just a moment. “Somebody’s trying to get in our house!” My first thought was “WHAT?” So I said it. She repeated, “Somebody’s trying to get in our house! Mommy please get up! Do something!” Who in Jesus’ name did this little girl think I was that I could get up and run to battle with a burglar (or burglars)?

Suddenly I heard the buffing machine hitting up against the main door to our apartment, and the conversation with Bob and Dale hit me like a ton of bricks. “Oh Sweetie, nobody is breaking in. Go back to sleep.” Couldn’t sell it to her because she wasn’t buying it. Now she is yelling, “NO MOMMY, THEY ARE BREAKING IN! I HEAR THEM TURNING THE DOOR KNOB! PLEASE GET UP!” Once again, who does this kid think I am? What superpower does she think I possess? And if there is a burglar, why are you yelling, letting him know I’m getting up to come after him so that he can stand somewhere in this dark apartment and knock me out when I come flying around the corner like Superwoman? Like seriously!

So I said, “Bootsie, everything is okay…” But before I could explain why, she interrupted with, “NO IT’S NOT! MOMMY PLEASE DO SOMETHING!” At this point I was a little tickled at the desperation and panic I heard in her voice, so I thought if I kept my calm voice (which was also mixed with my sleepy voice), that she would calm down, but she didn’t. To make things worse, the buffer was hitting against the door and we could hear the knob jiggling. “SEE, THEY’RE TURNING THE DOOR KNOB! MOMMY, OH NO, THEY’RE GETTING IN! ``''Sweetie, it’s the maintenance men working on the floor in the hallway. What you hear is the buffing machine hitting up against the door. Nobody’s breaking in.” She sounded as if she was going to cry. “IT’S NOT A MACHINE! I HEARD A MAN! MOMMY PLEASE GET UP!”

This kid was scared for our lives, and in full panic mode and it was sort of hard to make her believe me because the machine was barely making noise. I could only think of one way to diffuse her but first I tried explaining in more detail. “Bob and Dale told me earlier that they would be working on the floors between two and five this morning.” She immediately cried out, “WELL MOMMY WHAT TIME IS IT?” Fear will make you think fast. I glanced over at my alarm clock. It’s 3:09. “MOMMY YOU SURE? CAN’T YOU JUST GET UP AND SEE BECAUSE I THINK I HEARD SOMEBODY COME IN OUR HOUSE. ''How many people know there was no way I was getting out of that bed?”

This was just getting more and more ridiculous in her young mind so I did what I knew would be best--”Why don’t you come in here and sleep with me?” My daughter is h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s. She replied, “CAN YOU COME GET ME?”

I did not get out of my warm, cozy bed because I knew there was no one in our home. Finally, my daughter got up and made the dash into my room, jumped in my bed (in the back next to the wall, of course) and covered herself up completely. “Are you alright now?” I asked. Although she answered, “mmm hmm, goodnight Mommy,” she was shaking like a leaf. As a matter of fact, she was shaking so hard, my bed was vibrating. I said goodnight and kissed her head through the covers before I turned over, buried my face in my pillow and laughed so hard I cried. I had never seen a kid so scared in my life! She is now 27 years old, and we still laugh about it until this very day. It is as funny to us now as if it just happened last night.