Cheese it, it's the fuzz!

There is an officer in Calgary who has an accent that sounds like it is from somewhere in the United Kingdom, but I could not quite figure out where it was from. It was definitely not a classic, stereotypical British accent, but it seemed to me to be an accent of a native English speaker, and not someone who started with another language.
How do I know this, you ask? Well, I met that officer today. I also met many of his colleagues as well. Very nice men. I've always liked the red stripe on the side of the police pants. It somehow makes their uniforms much cooler looking.
I went to the airport today to pick up Peter (Peter Ralph, in case y'all were wondering) because he is going to the indy race in Edmonton but it was significantly cheaper for him to fly to Calgary and drive to Edmonton. So I picked him up and we headed to his sister and brother-in-law's house so that he could borrow their car. They were out of town for the night, so they had given Pete their security code and house key.
We got there and entered the house. The alarm system is odd in that you have to enter the code into the phone. The cordless phone. The cordless phone that had been left sitting on the TV cabinet so that it was easy to find. The cordless phone that was now completely dead. So all we could do was nothing. After a minute or two, the alarm proceeded to ring. The security company then did their live talk to us thing that they do. Peter somehow understood what the disembodied voice was saying (I had no idea) and gave them the code. The security dude seemed satisfied and said goodbye. A few seconds later, a pleasant female voice said "Alarm set" and there was a beeping sound. The beeping was regular, and after a bit it sped up until it stopped. A minute of silence was followed by the blaring alarm.
The disembodied voice sounded again, apparently wanting us to answer the phone. Peter told them that the whole reason we were having troubles was because the phone was dead. A movement on the lawn caught my attention.
A few seconds later, we opened the door and headed outside, putting our hands where the officers could see them. We explained ourselves and they seemed pretty calm, which was good. They took our licenses, which was fine because that is their job. They also headed inside and checked out the house just to be sure. During all of this, the alarm went off a couple of more times, each time resetting itself immediately after.
I counted eight officers at least (and later one of them mentioned that there had been more in the back alley that we never saw). I thought that was a bit excessive until the tenant in the basement suite headed upstairs and mentioned that he had called the police because he heard voices and footsteps upstairs. Apparently he had grabbed his largest, sharpest knife and then called 9-1-1. I guess a call like that (he didn't mention his knife, but he did mention the fact that someone had broke in to the upstairs) gets high priority, and it was a slow night.
Eventually, the cops headed off to the rest of their evenings. We finally got our licenses back. Apparently their system says that I surrendered my license a while back so that I could go to Germany. The funny thing is, though I did do just that, when I got back I did everything they told me I needed to do to get my license back in Canada. Apparently no one told the computers, though, so I now have to go get that whole situation figured out.
Yay.
Life with Peter is just odd.

Grasp the Nettle