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July 22, 2002 - Monday | 11:06 PM, CST
This is Part 2 for today. You can read Part 1 here, regarding last night's fight.
Ok, so here's the deal. Nathan and I are sitting in my room, and I look out my window to see Bill drive by slowly, staring at my house.
"Interesting," I thought, and decided that it would be a perfect time to sit out on the porch and oil my shotgun. As Nathan and I sat there, sure enough, Bill drove by again twice, giving me the death glare. I smiled at him with as much jovialness I could muster, and ran the cloth down the length of the barrel.
Sounds kinda sexual, huh?
Anyway, Bryan was on the phone inside, and after the second time Bill drove past, he joined us. I put the shotgun back in the house, as it had been thoroughly lubed by then.
Bill approached the house for his fourth time (I'm including the time I was in my room), and saw that Bryan had joined us on the porch. He slowed his big, white, Chevy Caprice almost to a standstill, put his arm out the window in a gesture of aggression, and said "C'mon!" over and over.
Oh, and did I mention that his three year old son was standing unbuckled in the passenger seat?
Because he was.
"What's the matter, you want me to throw you down another flight of stairs?" Bryan called out as Bill turned the corner.
This was followed by more arm-out-the-window, and a chorus of "C'mon!'s" being shouted from the Caprice. "We're not your type, buddy. We're not women!" I yelled to him when he invited us to "Come up town."
I guess he thought we were all gonna rumble in the town park. Or maybe in the school playground, cuz you know thats where all the good fights happen.
But Bryan and I, being the good outstand citizens we are, decided to keep everything legal, and we called the cops. They sent a County Mounty down, who asked questions about our predicament. We told him the story, starting with last night, and then told him of Bill's recent escapades in front of my house.
I had my camera out by then, because I was hoping to take some good pictures of Bill as he drove past my house harassing me. I figured the cops would like to see that, plus it would make some interesting content for the ol' webpage.
The cop thought this was a good idea as well. "Good," he said, "next time he drives by, he sticks his finger up at ya (at this point he raised his middle finger to Bryan and I), you take a nice little picture to use when we get enough grounds for harassment."
I thought this had to be an interesting sight for Marcus, should he have chosen to stick his head out the window to look at our conversation. Watching Bryan and I sitting on the porch and getting the middle finger from a cop would probably have been one of the more interesting points in his day.
"You know, I really don't give a damn about him driving past my house. But if he steps in my yard, I'm gonna have to beat his ass," Bryan told the officer.
"Hey, thats your problem. He steps foot in your yard, beat his ass. You're defending yourself. Just be careful if you see him uptown and he starts something. Let him throw the first swing, then you do what you have to," the officer replied.
I liked this cop's reasoning. But the fun didn't end there. No, sir. After the cop left to go talk to Bill, Bloomer and his brother - in - law stopped by on their way to work.
Popeye (my nickname for Bloomer's brother - in - law) asked us to watch his house for the night, because Bill had started to involve his wife in the situation. Popeye's wife and Bill's girlfriend are sisters.
They left for work, and Bryan, William, Erin, and I went to Wal-Mart so I could buy a pair of steel toed boots. I normally wear Jerusalem Cruiser sandals, but I most definately don't want to be wearing them when Bill finds me uptown alone and decides to jump me. Because there will be a day, very soon, when Bill will find one of us alone and kick our ass.
When that happens, I want to first shove a pair of size thirteen steel toed boots right square up his bum. That'll give him something to think about!
After we got back, Popeye walked over to our house. He left work, because his wife had called him up worried and asked him to come home. Now normally, I used to silently loathe Ebonics (in case you didn't know, Popeye is black), but now I've come to appreciate its applications in the recounting of stories.
"I's all lookin' out my window," he began, "and I says 'Josh, one o' yo boys is out on the po'ch wid a shotgun an' Bill's stopped out front!'"
Hearing him say this fully brought into perspective just how funny it must have been to see Nathan and I on the porch with a shotgun in my lap watching Bill drive past. I wish I'd have gotten a picture of that! Soon I hope to be able to post actual photos of Bill stalking past my house harassing me, because those will make for some interesting material!
Until then, wish me luck that I'm not the first one that Bill finds alone off my own property!
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