Never a Dull Moment at The Reynolds Hotel

We're still living with my in-laws and will be for a couple more months.

Something happened a couple of weeks ago that was just too good not to document:

It's a Sunday night/Morning morning and I'm asleep in bed when I'm awakened by Go, who's standing over me and shaking me.  It's about 12:45am.

Me: What! What! What is it?

Go: I want you to listen to me.  Something's going on outside.  Stay up here.  Do NOT go downstairs, no matter what.

Me: What?  What are you talking about?

Go: Annie, I'm serious.  There's a whole crew out there and they're organized.  My Dad's already called the police.  Stay upstairs.

Me:  What! Are you seriously going to go down there?  What's going on?

Go:  Just now, I got up to go to the bathroom and I'm getting back in bed when I look out the window, and this truck, like a UPS-type truck but smaller, drives up on the lawn, like all the way up on the grass, almost up to the house, with the headlights shining in.  A guy, not the driver,  jumps out and he's wearing a one piece zip-up jumpsuit and a hat, like a hard hat, and he's running around the front of the house carrying this big box, like a tool box or something.

It's about this time when my father-in-law, who is in his mid-to-late sixties and clad in a flannel robe comes barreling down the hallway into our room to get Go.  And he's carrying nunchucks.  Yes, you read that right.  NUNCHUCKS.

Like as in:

Then comes my mother-in-law, who is in a nightee, and is close to hysterical.  We all shush her.
The men creep downstairs. The women look out the window, scanning the front yard for a sign of anything amiss.  We see nothing unusual.  We hear them downstairs start talking, loudly but less tense.  Whatever/whoever they are looking for has gone.  My MIL and I go downstairs.  We stand by a tall window by the front door while my FIL and Go continue to walk around outside.  The police arrives.  They all walk around the house to do one more sweep.  Nothing.  They come back to the front door and are going over what happened, writing a report of what Go saw.  All of a sudden, I see the cooler sitting outside by the front door, the cooler that my FIL puts out every Sunday night.  I recall the vehicle Go described.  It hits me. I interrupt their conversation with the cop.

Me: Go.  Check the cooler.

Go:  Huh?  What?

Me: Check the cooler.  See if there's milk in there.

He lifts the lid to the cooler.  Yep.  The milkman had come.  What Go thought was a highly organized crime group was actually THE MILK MAN.

I'm not going to lie.  I was relieved to know that a group of thugs in zip-up onsies were not systematically attacking our family, but I was really hoping to see some nunchucking.