The Dead Lay in Pools of Maroon Below

Last night (Sunday) at about 7:30 the doorbell rang.

Since it was 7:30, I was wearing a bathrobe.  Since I'm 50, I was also wearing black socks.  Someday, you'll understand.

Since it's late October, it was completely dark outside.

I couldn't see who was out there so I turned on the porch light.  

It was a tall thin man with a thick dark beard.  He was wearing a fashionable snug fitting sport jacket and slacks.

I had never seen this man before.  He brought to mind a young Gundersen (Hell On Wheels) or that bad guy from "Something Wicked This Way Comes"

I just got into town

We have a problem.

I opened the door a little and leaned out to hear what the mysterious stranger had to say.  I felt vulnerable in my bathrobe and black socks.  I just looked at the man and waited for him to speak.

He looked around.  He was visibly shaken. "We have a problem," he started.

To the best of my recollection, this is the order of my thoughts:

1) Is this some kind of religious freak?

2) What horrible thing has happened to this person that he'd knock on a complete stranger's door for help?

3) He must be extremely desperate.

4) He's going to pull a gun out of his pocket and shoot me.

I realize the last one is kind of silly, but I was very confused.  Then the man said, "I just got into town."

Well that didn't help.  Here's how my theory at that moment went:

So this out of towner was looking for his grandma's house or something and he got lost.  He decided to ask for help - but he has a problem. He said so.  So maybe there's some sort of emergency and he needs to get somewhere and he doesn't know where it is.

So I repeated what he said.  It's something I do a lot when I don't quite know how to respond to something I've heard. It's a stall tactic.  

"You just got into town."

"Yes"

Then a short young woman ran from the driveway to the man's side.  She said to the man, "I'll explain it."

You know how women do that thing?  That "Let me handle it" thing when they think you are going to fuck it all up?  That thing where you've decided you're finally going to take a stand. You tell your woman all about how tough you're going to be.  What you're going to say. 

You think you sound pretty good.  You're pretty sure you're impressing the woman.  

You're not.  They know you.  You are actually just overreacting to some relatively minor incident. You think you can go in bullying and gun blazing because your target has on nothing but a bathrobe and black socks.  But then the woman comes to "explain."

Well - that's what this woman was doing.  It was the first thing from the time I opened the door that I understood.

Well that was emasculating, I thought.  Up until that point, I did not realize this guy had a bone to pick and it was with me.  

This whole time I'd been standing there, this guy had been "confronting" me and I had no idea.  Not until this short woman said "I'll explain" to her hero.

I chuckled inwardly.  We were now brothers, this stranger and I.  I've been put in my place a million times like that.  His journey is just beginning.

Anyway - I looked to the woman for this explanation, but she was just looking down at her Android, scrolling through photos. Oops.  Maybe she should have had the photo ready before she went after Jebediah's spotlight.  I guess she's also got something to learn. Amateurs!

While she was looking for the photo, I noticed the huge black GMC Pickup truck parked in my driveway. It was too dark to get the exact model, but I'm pretty sure it was the GMC Compensator.

That's when Jack walked up from behind me to see who was at the door.

I didn't know Jack was behind me but when the man saw Jack, he said to him, "You might as well stay right there.  You know what this is about, don't you?"

Then Jack started talking, "Well I think I might."

Back the truck up!  What the hell is going on?  So this guy knows Jack and Jack knows who this guy is.

The woman was still scrolling through photos.

Time to edit my confusion story with this new information.

Jack was doing something he shouldn't be doing in somebody's yard and the short woman got a photo of it. Presumably, she is much faster taking the photos than retrieving them.

The man continued to address Jack, "Maybe you should tell your dad what's going on.  Then we'll all know. I think he's pretty confused."

Hold on there, Abraham Lincoln, just because I'm standing here in my socks and bathrobe, my helmet hair all over the place like some kind of Doc Brown ...

What's going on Marty Jack?

"I work my ass off to have nice things," continued the guy on my porch who looked like he was missing out on a barn raising somewhere ...

Then the woman showed me the photo she had been looking for.  It was a couple of pieces of lime green gum stuck to the tailgate of a huge black GMC Compensator.

Jack doesn't chew gum.

"Also there was gum on my driveway!"  Said the tall dark man on the porch.  Really.  He did,  He complained to me about gum on his driveway.  He parked his big huge truck in my driveway to complain about gum on his.

"Oh yeah ... Where's the photographic evidence of the gum on the driveway?"  I thought to myself.

At this point, I was no longer concerned.  I knew jack had nothing to do with this guy's problem and even if he did, they had pictures of the gum on the truck. Not someone putting it there.

I'm still not sure why the gum on the driveway was mentioned.

"Jack," I said, "If you know anything about this, please tell us.  This is expensive."

I only said that because the guy was so upset.  It's gum on a truck.  I don't know.  I wouldn't like it if someone put gum on my car.  I wouldn't like it at all.

And if I knew who did it, I might let their parents know.  But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't take pictures of it. Oh yeah - or care too much.

But then my car is just a car. Not an extension of my manhood.  Nobody wants gum stuck to an extension of their manhood.  Period.

So when I said to Jack, "This is expensive," The NBA Hipster said, "That's an understatement."

First of all, no it isn't.  You park your truck that you wish was your penis in my driveway and correct my English?  Geez.  Now I want to put gum on your driveway.

Understatement.  Was I supposed to say "Really really expensive?"

So now I was irritated.  I had been listening to "we have a problem" for a few minutes and now he's going to correct me on how I talk to Jack?

Mad or not - I now realize I'm dealing with a douchebag.  There I go again. I mean "a really really douchebag."

All this drama about gum on a truck.  And a driveway.

That's when Jill walked up and said, "Jeremy!  The short woman's name! Come in! What's going on?"

"Oh, hi Jill."

Turns out the mystery man lives across the street from us and 4 or 5 houses to the North.  I didn't know that.  I never go that way.  All the cool people live to the south of us (obviously).

Errrrrt!  He lives just down the street there?  He just got into town?  

Hipsters are lazy (understatement).

I realize that Jeremy is not technically a hipster.  No self-respecting (is there any other kind) hipster would drive such a monstrosity as the GMC Compensator, but since I'm 50 and wearing a bathrobe and black socks, I can get away with the occasional generalization.  He had a beard.  Therefore: hipster.

So - Hipsters are lazy.

If the gum thing happened while you were out of town, then you didn't take your truck out of town.  

Why drive to my house from 4 houses down? Unless you want to show me the gum on your truck.  But no, shorty has photos.

You are just lazy.  You do not work your ass off.  You sir, are a liar!  I am now convinced that you actually put the gum on your truck yourself.  You were chewing but your mouth got tired.  You decided to throw the gum away, but the trash container was far, etc.

Lazy hipster.

So anyway Jill took over.  She went outside and talked to Jeremy and whatsername while I went downstairs to read the twitter or something.

Jeremy recounted the story to Jill.  Apparently he originally suspected the girls that live across the street from him. However, when he went over and asked them about it, they said the boys who did it went over to our house.  Case closed.

By case closed, I mean I figured out why Jeremy works his ass off.  He's a moron.  Work harder, not smarter, eh Jeremy?

So you asked the little feral children across the street from you about the gum.  I bet they were blowing lime green bubbles at you when they told you the boys down the street did it.

I later found out that one of the kids came to his house a couple of weeks back and told him she was collecting for a school fundraiser.  He gave her $20.

She wasn't.  She does that to all the new neighbors.

~~

This whole thing happened about 24 hours ago so I've had time to consider better ways for Jeremy to open up a dialog with me.  Here's just one example.  Enjoy:

"Hi, I'm Jeremy.  I live in that house down there.  I know Jill real well.  May I come in ..."

To which, I'd cordially reply, "No way! Go back to hell you bloodsucking fiend!" as I produce a mallet and wooden stake from within my bathrobe and plunge the stake deep into the monster's black heart.

Readers of this blog will understand. I didn't get this far by inviting vampires (vampyres) into my home.

I gotta say - it's nice not getting all torn to bits at the end.