Monday, April 25, 2005
Psycho Neighbors/Thank God for 30-day Notices
So I'm getting into my car to go pick up my daughter when out of the corner of my eye I see one of my neighbors with a rather large kitchen knife. If I had normal neighbors this wouldn't be all that big a deal, as there would be the chance of some logical explanation for the blade. If only that were so. In fact I have psycho neighbors-ones that should not be allowed near butter knives much less a Norman Bates special.
Let me clarify something, these cats are not psycho as in, "dude, those cats are psycho." They're psycho as in someone with a medical degree has ran several tests and can say without a shadow of doubt, "dude, those cats are psycho."
Anyway, I'm sitting in my car watching Norman Jr. walk slowly into his garage. I guess now would be a good time to point out he was wearing khaki shorts, flip-flops and a Hawaiian shirt which just makes the scene all the more disturbing. At this point I don't know if anyone else is in the garage so I just sort of watch the scene unfold.
Once out of view the screaming begins, not "You stabbed me!" but, "You want me to go to the hospital, don' t you." He says this about six or seven times then walks out of the garage and sees me. I have to admit up until this point I was pretty casual about everything, now I've got a nutcase staring me down while holding the Excalibur of kitchen knives. He looks at me, looks back into the garage then tosses the knife out into the driveway and casually walks up the stairs to his house as if nothing has happened-and I'm sure in his chemically unbalanced cranium nothing has.
I took this as a sign to get the hell out of there and start backing up my car. As I'm backing up, psycho #2 comes barreling out of the garage, throws himself on the hood of my car and screams call 911. I nod my head-the international sign of "yes, I will call 911," and continue to back up. He gets off my car and twirls, yes twirls, about the driveway yelling for the other neighbors to call 911.
I finally get out of the driveway, pull around the block and call Molliwogg, explain the story and have her call 911 for me.
I got back to the house about five minutes later, just in time to see two cop cars, a fire truck and Norman Jr. being loaded into an ambulance, no doubt the recipient of a free visit with Nurse Ratched. Due to my tardiness I missed seeing Portland's finest pointing a bean-bag shotgun at Norman in an attempt to subdue him.
As Mr. Rogers would say, "these are the people in your neighborhood."
Labels: Portland
|
