It’s been quite an interesting week.
I have a crazy man living below my apartment. I live in a house, in case you didn’t know, and he lives in the basement apartment.
He’s really verbally abusive towards his kids, and his “wife” (estranged, or ex, not sure yet). After living here for over a year, I’ve endured many yelling matches between him (lets call him Stuart) and his wife.
A few days ago, it was different, the yelling was so loud (and they were outside), it sounded like he was strangling her. She was making that gurgling sound; you know when Arnold Schwarzenegger is pulling the probe out of his brain through his nose in Total Recall? Yeah it was like that. So I did what many people would do – call the police.
That is where my troubles began. Ohhhh the troubles. The police came; rather 2 young guys with guns came about 25 minutes later. They were more interested in finding an alternative way into his basement apartment than really getting to the bottom of this. So I let them into a “Secret” entrance, which is a door in my kitchen that is normally blocked off, and they went downstairs with their GUNS drawn.
Let me stop right here and say that their tactics / behavior were weird from the start. They drew their guns, and went down the secret door, and never even announced that they were police. So this guy down there could’ve thought there was a burglar and rushed the officers and gotten shot.
Anyways, he wasn’t there when the cops went down (I guess he left after the yelling match), so the police left and told me to call when he comes back.
Oh yeah, the police messed up his apartment.
Well, this guy, being as violent as I’ve tried to describe him, was furious. He thought *I* broke into his apartment and messed up his shit. It was 2am when he finally came back and all hell broke loose. So I call the police again in a panic, saying that he was trying to break into my house, which it sounded like he was.
6 Police officers show up, and speak to the guy. They never come back to speak to me, and just leave again. Fishy? I thought so. I called the dispatch and she told me the cops didn’t need to talk to me anymore.
Anyways, now I have to endure living above this fucking maniac (for a few more weeks anyways – moving soon). I’m pretty much regretting calling the police in the first place. So in a fit of frustration and anger, I composed a stupid song about the whole thing.
It made me feel a little better. You can check it out here: