Adventures in freakdom.
I walked through the darkened house to the front room, one hand in my pocket gripping the utility knife, thumb pressed hard on the switch controlling the razor blade. I turned on the front porch light and opened the door.
It was the walkin’ dude.
He stood huddled on the porch, his head drawn down into his jacket like a turtle’s into its shell. He kept his hands in the pockets of his coat, out of sight.
“Hey, man,” he said. “Can you come out here and talk to me for a second?”
I slid through the doorway, making sure he couldn’t see into the house, and pulled the door closed behind me. I kept my hand in the pocket of my paint-covered sweatshorts, wrapped around the utility knife. Mom and Dad kitty ran over and twined around my feet, meowing for food.
“You’re a man, and I’m a man,” the walkin’ dude said. “And I need to talk to you man to man.”
He took a step toward me — into my bubble — and pulled his hands out of his pockets. I saw that he had a big Bandaid on the index finger of his right hand. Earlier (which I completely forgot to mention yesterday) he’d stuck his hand out to shake mine after I gave him the money, but yanked it back with a gasp when we shook. At the time, I thought he’d been playing injured, but now his reaction made sense.
His proximity set my alarm bells clanging. With my thumb, I slid the razor blade out of the utility knife. Slowly, so it made no sound.
Let me interrupt here for a moment. Consider the paragraph above. Long-time readers might remember the incident from years back when I was stopped at four in the morning by someone asking for money and I put my hand on the butt of my pistol because the guy was approaching me and I didn’t know his intentions. As it turned out, he just wanted to shake my hand.
I feel that when I write about things like that and this situation, I come across sounding like someone on the verge of panic who’s about to wildly start shooting, slicing, or stabbing. Put those thoughts to rest if you have them. Things like sliding the blade of the utility knife out or putting a hand closer to a gun are simply preparatory moves. They’re done so that if a situation becomes threatening, mounting a defense is that much quicker. Even if I’m antsy or nervous, I’m not panicky.
Except for the shrieky little Prissy that lives in my head.
With my thumb, I slid the razor blade out of the utility knife. Slowly, so it made no sound.
“I need a little bit more help, man,” he said. “You got any more money?”
Goddamn.
You know, all my life I’ve been told, “never feed a stray because they keep coming back.” Sure enough, we have some proof of that adage living on the front porch in a nifty little yellow house I built. Now, I was seeing the human corollary to the stray animal theorem. Give someone a handout and they’ll keep coming back, shame be damned.
I hate to lie. Absolutely hate it. But you know what I hate more? People who try to take advantage of me because I’m nice.
So I lied through my teeth.
“I don’t have any more money,” I said. “I gave you all I had. I don’t keep much cash on me.”
“You sure, man? I’ll get it back to you. I just need some help to get my car fixed. I’ll pay you back by seven thirty or eight tonight when she gets off.”
I assume he was talking about his sister, whom he’d earlier told me works at K-Mart.
“I’m sure. I don’t have any more money.”
He took a couple of steps away, then turned back.
“Okay, man. I’ll get that twenty-fi’ back to you tonight.”
As if I wanted him to keep coming back. Or believed he’d repay me. I held up my free hand in a placating gesture I hoped didn’t look condescending.
“That was a gift. You don’t have to pay it back.”
Don’t come back. Seriously.
“For real?”
“For real.”
I watched him leave, gave Mom and Dad a quick head rub, and went back inside.
“Well, I feel better about it now,” I said to Robyn, after I’d briefed her on the front porch shenanigans.
“Why?”
“He wasn’t really pushy about it. He left as soon as he found out he wasn’t getting any money. That makes him seem more like someone who thought he’d get as much cash as he could while the getting was good. Not a thief or murderer.”
I considered.
“Unless that’s part of his game,” I said with a sly smile. “Trying to lull us into a sense of false security so he can pounce later.”
“What are you going to do if he comes back tomorrow, when you’re here alone?”
“You mean when you’re not here to save me from your hiding spot at the other end of the house?”
“Shut up. What’re you going to do?”
“I’ll bring one of the guns, and I guess bring it from now on. If he comes back, I’ll ask him to leave and stay away.”
I’ll say this: it’s easier to speak your mind when you’re packing. Obviously, not in a reckless sense, like talking shit because you’ve got a gun. Only an idiot does something like that. I mean having confidence in what you say because you know that if a situation happens, you have a way to protect yourself from threats.
It sure does suck to feel like I need to keep a gun on me at the new property.
“God,” I said. “I hope we don’t have to put fucking ‘no trespassing’ signs up all over the yard just to keep people away. You know, I used to wonder why so many country houses had them. Now I’m starting to understand.”
We returned to work, and before we left we locked all the tools in the shed with the tractor.
I emailed the previous owner when we got home, both to share pictures of the computer room (she’s asked for regular updates, and seems to enjoy them. Matter of fact, she’s asked if they can come back to the house when we’re done for a walkthrough. It’s nice to have dealt with such nice people throughout this.) and to ask about the people coming to the door.
She said:
“We had people stopping by all the time. The one guy would stop by asking for money occasionally or a ride to Wal Mart. To keep from being taken advantage of, you might want to ignore the knocks in the future or if you’re outside tell him you’re busy. Bob took him to Wal Mart a couple of times, but that gets old fast. There was another man who would stop by to ask Bob questions about his old Audi when he saw we had one about the same year as his. He really had the nerve. Once he knocked on our door on a Sunday morning around 6:00 a.m. We ignored his knocks and he finally went away. Most of the people that stopped were just curious about what changes we were making to the house. They stopped by a lot before we moved in and Bob was there working.”
As much as the thought of people stopping by all the time sucks, her email made me feel a little better. The stoppers-by seem harmless, and from a previous conversation with the old owners I know that they never had any problem with things getting stolen or broken into.
But still. Damn people.
No one showed up on Wednesday night.
If you want to get notified whenever Fred writes a journal entry, this link will do the trick.
If you want to get notified whenever Fred posts a crazy link, this link is what you want.
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We used to have a frequent visitor, too. John, the love of my life, was working in the yard when a Native American stopped to ask for work. John gave him several chores and he was a good worker. This went on for many months until the doorbell started ringing at 2:00 a.m. There was always some hardluck story and desperately needed funds involved. I finally expressed concern over this situation. Oh, did I mention that the visitor was always three sheets to the wind at 2:00 a.m.? We stopped answering the doorbell. The last time John answered the door,due to continuous pushing of the bell, he had had some major surgery…he lifted his shirt to show the visitor his scars, told him he was on disability and we had no extra money. This pretty much ended the doorbell ringing. Every now then he returns, but we ignore the damn ringing bell!
There are times when it just doesn’t pay to be helpful!
This paragraph:
“I feel that when I write about things like that and this situation, I come across sounding like someone on the verge of panic who’s about to wildly start shooting, slicing, or stabbing. Put those thoughts to rest if you have them. Things like sliding the blade of the utility knife out or putting a hand closer to a gun are simply preparatory moves. They’re done so that if a situation becomes threatening, mounting a defense is that much quicker. Even if I’m antsy or nervous, I’m not panicky.”
Made me cackle like a loon, out loud…. good thing I was home alone. Thanks for the laugh, I needed it.
Fred, I wonder what it would cost to put a chain link fence around the front yard and a pad lock on the gate.Once a long time ago I lived in one of two small houses directly in front of the main road. One morning a stranger entered my neighbors’ house, held a gun on her while she prepared him breakfast. After he ate, he left without further harm. She was lucky that he left so quickly.
We took in a stray dog once. I fed her and cut hundreds of burrs out of her coat. We built her a house out of straw bales in our garage and she just hung around keeping an eye on things. We gave her the original name of Lassie, since she had a least part collie in her ancestry. I never saw her be mean to the many farm cats or any livestock or any of the people who stopped by to buy eggs. One night a car with 2 guys pulls in an wants to use the phone. I was outside and my mom came to the mudroom door and cracked it and said she couldn’t let them in right now, but she could make a call for them or they could go to the gas station a 1/4 mile up the road. They both got out of the car and tried to argue with my mom. Alarm bells were going off in my head and I could tell my mom was scared. All of a sudden Lassie ran around the house, stood by me and issue the meanest snarl and teeth baring I had ever seen. I grabbed her collar as the two guys beat a hasty retreat to the car and fairly shot out of the driveway. Sometimes angels come disguised as strays.
It would rock if Mom and Dad cat would do that for me, Pat.
(very cool story)
Fred, Maybe you should start wearing your gun in a holster in plain view when you are at the house, so when people stop by that is the first thing they see.. or is that illegle in them parts?
I seem to be a target for these kinds of people, too. I guess I look like a pushover (which is pretty close to the truth). I always stutter some kind of excuse on why I can’t give them money, and get nervous and red in the face and my heart races. Even if it’s a woman (I’m a woman, too). They don’t seem to bother everyone, but they do bother me. I guess I don’t look like a badass. And I just can’t seem to be hateful to them, which would probably work. Geez. I know how you feel. I think you should lie when he comes around again and say that you’re just there to work, you don’t carry cash on you when you come to work.
Fred, I live in the country also. I have a pellet pistol with a laser pointer on it. As I approach the door (to answer) I wave the pistol around (to make the laser obvious) seems to make people a little wary. The pistol looks like a real gun from a distance. I also have a dog that shows her teeth to all that come to the door. What they don’t know, is if they said BOO to her she would run for cover. She has ran off several sales people with her snarly greeting. My other 3 dogs happily greet anyone that stops by, they think someone has come to see them. julie
Oh my. What can I write in a concise manner? I could write volumes on country living versus city living. I know, because I’ve experienced both.
My husband was in county LE, so he knew about those problems. The hand-out guy will probably be back, though he may be harmless so far as violence and/or stealing is concerned. Be firm, get rid of him.
You will always have people stopping in, some just to talk, some trying to buy something, some asking for handouts — some gathering info for community gossip (which was what I loathed about country life — tales get taller by the telling).
My husband DID have a business started, and we were located on a “high traffic” rural highway. He did indeed do LOTS of business, just by parking used horse trailers in the side yard. After he died, I had some VERY peculiar people “dropping by” even though I removed the sign, had NOTHING to sell. I don’t recommend it for a woman alone.
I sold the place. I am now back in the city, close enough to yell and have someone come running. I like it better, I feel safer. Maybe that is an illusion, but I don’t think so.
DO lock away all your expensive tools/toys, since it there are numerous/continuous events of such things being stolen — especially if you are NOT there full-time. Get motion-light detectors. A gun is a good idea, but don’t get impulsive with it… Remember, if the “intruder” isn’t INSIDE your door when they are shot, it’s usually murder, not defensive protection (at least in most states).
Like I said, I could write volumes…but I’ll end with one piece of advice. BEFORE you and Robyn move there pemanently, set up a bed, some basics, and stay there a couple weeks and see if you STILL want to be there BEFORE you put your other house on the market.
NOT to rain on your parade, understand. Just some stuff I learned from experience.
Slight amendment to my post above: city folk mostly mind their own business, keep to themselves, and respect privacy. (At least in this modest-sized city where I live). But IF you call on them, they will try to get help.
That last statement is true of the GOOD country people too. It’s just that I always found it more difficult to separate the good from the bad and/or gossips in the country. When I refer to telling tall tales/gossip, I mean they will be telling them about YOU and YOURS. And that most of the locals will know you, or at least THINK they know you.
Socializing is part of country life, like it or not. If you enjoy privacy, be prepared to accept that many will think you are “odd.” Didn’t it seem peculiar when you read all those “No Trespassing” signs in rural areas?
I’m sure you and Robyn know most of this; just realize that human behavior is sometimes weird — and magnified occasionally in rural areas.
Jennifer - that’s legal here. Matter of fact, on your property or in your place of business are the only places you CAN carry in plain site in Alabama.
Cara - thankya. I hope I don’t open a can of worms here, but the one good thing Governor Riley did in his last term was sign a “Castle Doctrine” law, which means:
“The “Castle Doctrine” bill removes the “duty to retreat” if an individual is attacked in his or her home, vehicle, place of business or any other place he or she has a legal right to be. This legislation also states that victims may use necessary force to defend themselves against the attacker.” (text courtesy NRA site)
It’s a good law, and makes for a more polite society.
The law also makes someone immune from lawsuits filed by the family of someone who got shot in one of these situations.
But don’t worry about me being impulsive with a gun. Despite my screaming inner Prissy, I’m a level-headed fella.
Julie - I’m not knocking your pellet gun idea, but I believe in speaking softly and carrying a big stick, to borrow from Mr. Roosevelt.
If I need to defend myself (and here’s hoping I never do), I want to make sure I have something that will do the job.
So, what was in the yard that neither you nor Robyn noticed? I am riveted! Please fill us all in!
Thank you Kerry Anne. I was thinking the same thing! Spill the beans Fred.
See comment #1 from previous entry.
A few years ago I had burglars will I was at work. Made the mistake of leaving “snarly teeth dog outside that day”. The burglars looked in the closets and opened drawers. They found my jewelry box (don’t keep my jewelry in there). Called the sherriff. WE figured they were kids looking for jewelry, guns, money. Didn’t find my jewelry, don’t have money or guns. (this was pre-pellet gun days). Only thing missing was my last 3 cans of Pibb extra! You don’t take a girls favorite form of caffeine! The sherriff called me later in the evening to let my know that I hadn’t been singled out. Several miles down the road they had taken a big screen TV. I just have regular tv’s and stuff, not cool stuff! I guess that was a good thing.
Sounds like it might be time for an outside dog…
Don’t I recall from Robyn’s journals that she particularly dislikes interfacing with folks? I’m sure you’ve considered this and will probably put out the don’t-come-around vibe more strongly.
I’ve lived in a teeny town (not out in the country, ours was the only trick or treating street) and it only hurt a little to be considered the odd folks who don’t want anyone to just waltz in their screen porch and tap on the kitchen door. I nearly freaked out one day when I was doing the dishes in a silent house and a little voice said behind me, “Where’s your daughter?” A little boy had come in the dog door, and the dog didn’t bark at kids. Thank God she barked at everything else. I suggest getting a six or seven week old purebred dog that has guarding instincts, but who luuurvs their family like a female german shepherd or a kuvasz. If you get it young enough you can train it not to jump or harass the cats. You could also get something like a bernese mountain dog which is basically like a huge clumsy cat … loves to cuddle and stretch, but still big enough to deter most.
Fred and Robyn,
how about just leaving a VERY LARGE DOG feeding dish and bowl? Making look they are used a lot of course.
Also, leave proof of a MAN around like a used ball cap or large old boots in plan site. And maybe instead of a no trespassing sign, several Beware of Dog signs????
Sammi