I can't believe it's been nearly nine months since I've dedicated an entire entry to the jerks in my neighborhood. The previous entry featured Homeless Carriage Woman, Cookie Thieves and Jerks Around the Bush. Here's an update on all three:
Homeless Carriage Woman: I have not seen this lady for months. Perhaps she migrated south for the summer. Maybe she's passed out in a gutter somewhere. Or could it be that my Russian gypsy neighbors discovered that she was trying to steal their jewels, so they called the local mental asylum so that she would be locked up?
I'm not going to ask. For one, I'm still interested in these precious Russian jewels. And two, I'm happy to get rid of a crazy woman who spent the entire day wheeling a dead squirrel around in a baby carriage.
Cookie Thieves: The Native American kids who sold me cookie dough instead of cookies often play a game outside. Sometimes they're throwing a football around - don't be surprised; Native Americans invented pigskin, along with corn, wheat and soda - and sometimes they have big games of pseudo-baseball going on near the mailboxes, which is annoying because I always feel like a douche interrupting their game whenever I have to get my mail.
The game itself is very weird. There seems to be a pitcher, a hitter and several fielders, like in baseball, but there is always a rectangular rack with three wooden slots of some sort behind the batter. The bats, meanwhile, are wooden paddles, resembling something you'd see in a sex shop.
Hey, look, I know the Native Americans have their own culture, but I don't mind making fun of theirs because they sold me cookie dough instead of cookies. The cookie dough is still sitting in my freezer. I have no idea what to do with it. How do I cook and/or fry and/or bake and/or grill (are these synonyms?) cookie dough into cookies? Do I use my microwave and/or my stove and/or my oven (are these synonyms?) Alas, I fear that the cookie dough will remain cookie dough for the rest of eternity.
Jerks Around the Bush: I haven't seen Lesbian Haircut Man for some time, while the bush that these a**holes tried to cut down is still standing. Nice try, losers.
I haven't seen any jerks through my office window lately, but all I had to do was open my front door to find one recently:
1. Yevgeny Lungin
I normally don't use real names in my Jerks of the Week entries. I don't want to get into trouble, and besides, it's fun to create appropriate nicknames for strange people. However, this is a special case because I found this paper lodged in my door one day:
An armed-and-dangerous fugitive lurking in my neighborhood? Normally, I'd be nervous, but I have an awesome security system with motion detection. Also, I'm up all hours of the night, so he'd see that all of my lights were on, so he wouldn't bother me. That's why I'm not too concerned. I mean, yeah, there's a chance that he could kidnap a little kid or something, but my safety is the primary issue here.
What did this guy do anyway? I actually found my answer about an hour later when I was coming back from a trip to Bottom Dollar. This chick who always walks her boyfriend's dog saw me and asked me about the FBI flier.
Dog-Walker Girl: Hey, did you see the flier about the armed-and-dangerous guy?
Dog-Walker Girl: That's weird that we didn't get one.
Me: Strange. Do you want mine?
Dog-Walker Girl: No, it's OK, we already saw our neighbor's.
Me: Oh, OK.
Dog-Walker Girl: Do you know who that guy is?
Me: The fugitive? No, I don't.
Dog-Walker Girl: Oh, he lives right over in the next development. I know his wife.
OK, a few things here:
1. I'm even more relived now. Chances are this Yevgeny guy has seen my house already, so he knows I'm going to be up late. I'm even safer than I initially realized. That's great news because that means he'll be able to concentrate on kidnapping children instead of doing bad things to me. Phew.
2. A guy with a tattoo of "MAMA" on his back was able to get married? Does his wife have no shame? Man, South Park wasn't kidding about the recent "lowering the bar" episode.
3. Dog-Walker Girl was annoying me because she was moving away from me as we were discussing this fugitive. She was walking in the opposite direction in the first place, but she still could have stopped briefly to talk, especially since she was the one who started the conversation. I thought that was rude, but maybe I smelled, or something.
Me: That's crazy that he lives so close to us.
Dog-Walker Girl: Yeah, I know.
Me: Do you know what he did?
Dog-Walker Girl: I think he robbed a bank or something.
Me: Really? That's all he did, and he's an FBI fugitive?
Dog-Walker Girl: Yeah, I don't know all the details, but I think he was holding a gun or something.
Me: Well, what else would he have been holding if he robbed a bank? You can't exactly rob a bank weaponless.
Dog-Walker Girl: What?
Me: I SAID YOU CAN'T ROB A BANK WEAPONLESS!
Dog-Walker Girl: WHO'S ROB BANKONLESS!?
Me: NEVER MIND!
Dog-Walker Girl: NO, IT'S SUPPOSED TO STORM TOMORROW!
Ugh. So annoying. I still can't get over that she wouldn't stop and talk to me, but the more pressing matter is that I should be safe from this Yevgeny character. I was going to request that the Philadelphia police assign three, perhaps four officers outside my house as a precaution, but that no longer seems necessary. Perhaps I'll ask for two cops.
But you know what? If all Yevgeny did was rob a bank, then who cares? He probably just wanted access to his brother, who's on death row. I think the real jerk here is apparent now:
Two reasons why the FBI is the real jerk. First, they shouldn't scare everyone half to death because of a stupid bank robber. When I saw the flier, I thought Yevgeny was a serial killer or a rapist. No one cares about bank robbers.
And second, they really should know better than to ask a neighborhood comprised of mostly Russians to turn someone, especially one of their own, into the authorities. That just shows complete ignorance.
Newsflash to any FBI agent who might be reading this: No Russian will ever contact you about this guy. Not in a million years. Russians don't trust any form of government, thanks to what happened in the communist USSR, so they'd prefer to keep things "in house." This is why every Russian you'll ever meet is Republican or Libertarian.
So, next time there's a bank robber or a candy-store thief on the run, don't kill a tree and make these useless fliers. And leave poor Yevgeny alone. His life is already ruined by that dumb "MAMA" tattoo on his back.
The Yevgeny Lungin flier wasn't the only notice I've received lately. Some company called Aqua sent me a letter saying that they're going to be installing a "new transmission water main" on the main street right outside of my development. This thing will "increase service reliability and improve firefighting capabilities in the area."
I'm fine with that - until I read a sentence that said, "We will be closing Philmont Ave. on or around Oct. 8, 2012 during work hours." I was flabbergasted when I saw this. Philmont Ave. is the only way out of my development. I work at home, but how were others going to drive to their jobs if Philmont Ave. is closed? More importantly, what if I needed to make an emergency trip to Taco Bell? Would I be prohibited from doing so? Good God, these Aqua people are evil.
Aqua certainly got the "around" part of their tentative date correct because they started construction on Oct. 2. I discovered this as I tried driving to my sister's birthday dinner. They still allowed me to exit my development, but I had to take the long way around, so I arrived there in 15 minutes rather than five. I feared that the cheeseburger my parents potentially ordered for me would be cold, but they were waiting on me. Thank the gods.
As it turns out, Aqua didn't block my development, but they sealed in the next one over. Those poor people were not permitted to leave on three consecutive evenings. I only pray that the fat guys like me over there survived without the necessary trips to Taco Bell.
3. Broken Car Man and His Wife
Broken Car Man is a seemingly normal dude who lives five houses down from me. There are only three or four American households in the neighborhood, and he and I live in two of them. So, it's only natural that he'd confide in me, rather than the off-the-boat Russians, Asians and Native Americans.
I was walking to the mailbox one day when Broke Car Man stopped me to ask me a question.
Broken Car Man: Hey, did you see my car?
Me: No... why?
Broken Car Man: Take a look at it.
He pointed to his car, which was across the street for some reason. It was wrecked. The whole front was totaled.
Me: Whoa, when did this happen?
Broken Car Man: Last night, you din't see anybody drivin' fast around hmy'all did you?
Me: No. I didn't hear or see anything.
Broken Car Man: I'm tellin' ya man, it was dem Asians.
Broken Car Man pointed to a row of six houses, four of which were occupied by Asian families.
Me: Dem Asians? Which ones?
Broken Car Man: Dem Asians. Dem Asians over there.
Me: But four of those are Asian households. Which one in particular?
Broken Car Man: Does it really matter? Dem Asians broke my car, and now I'm gonna have to get it fixed!
Me: But how do you even know it was Asians who did this?
Broken Car Man: Because dem Asians are always makin' a dang ruckus every night and drivin' real fast in the neighborhood.
Asians drive really fast? And here I thought the stereotype was that Asian women were slow drivers. Are Asian men fast drivers? I don't think that's a valid stereotype. It's a known fact that Asian men are great at math and eat fried/baked/grilled/cooked cats, but drive fast? Not so sure about that one.
I left Broken Car Man to his delusions and went to get my mail. About a week later, I saw his wife, a short brunette in her early 30s, walking with her baby in a stroller. This happened to be the Wednesday after Labor Day. I remember that vividly because of our brief exchange:
Broken Car Woman: Hey, do you know when they're picking up our trash? It's Wednesday, but they haven't come yet.
Me: I think they're doing it on Thursday this week because of Labor Day.
Broken Car Woman: What does Labor Day have to do with it? That was on Monday. This is Wednesday!
Me: Well, I figure that the people whose trash is supposed to be picked up on Monday went on Tuesday, and then the Tuesday people went on Wednesday, and now we go on Thursday because of that.
As I was explaining this to her, I noticed that she was using the same tactic that Dog-Walker Girl pulled. As we were conversing, she was walking in the other direction even though she was the one who initiated.
Broken Car Woman: Oh, I guess that makes sense.
Me: Hey, did you ever find out who wrecked your husband's car?
Broken Car Woman: What?
Me: DID YOU EVER FIND OUT WHO WRECKED YOUR HUSBAND'S CAR!?
Broken Car Woman: WHAT DO YOU MEAN I'M GOING TO GET A SCAR!?
Me: NO I SAID CAR!
Broken Car Woman: NO, I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE BAR, BUT THANKS FOR ASKING!
Seriously, what the hell? Why does no woman want to stand still and talk to me in this neighborhood? I have a girlfriend, and they have a husband or boyfriend, so it's not like I'm trying to game them or anything.
I've thought about it, and I've come up with three reasons why these women walk away while talking to me:
1. I'm so astonishingly handsome that they're worried their husband or boyfriend will get extremely jealous. The husband or boyfriend will then team up with Yevgeny Lungin to steal all the candy in my house. Unfortunately, I won't be able to ask the FBI for my help because no Russian in this neighborhood will be willing to assist me.
2. I'm so astonishingly smelly that they don't want to talk to me. I don't think I smell, but perhaps those damn Aqua pipes are messing with their olfactories. Hey, anything's possible. If these evil Aqua people kept fat people from eating Taco Bell, I'm sure they're capable of all sorts of atrocities.
3. They know I write this Jerks of the Week column, so they were desperately trying to avoid being written about. Well, looks like your plan failed, ladies! Muhahahahaha!
At any rate, I made a trip to Bottom Dollar on a recent Sunday morning. I bought pancakes at Wawa, but upon arriving back home, I quickly realized that the only syrup I had in my house expired over the summer.
Panicking, I quickly grabbed some money and sprinted to Bottom Dollar. And by "sprinted," I mean "walked sluggishly" because I am too fat to run.
I carried the syrup to the register. The cashier seemed confused about this because it was the only thing I was buying.
Cashier: Is this it?
I tried to answer her, but I was out of breath in the wake of my sluggish walk.
I paid for the syrup, but didn't have a bag to put it in because you need to bring bags with you to Bottom Dollar. In my haste, I forgot to do this, so I just carried the syrup back home.
As I turned the final corner while walking toward my house, I bumped into Broken Car Man and Broken Car Woman. They looked at me quizzically because I happened to be carrying a lone bottle of syrup.
Broken Car Man: So, maple syrup, eh?
Broken Car Woman: I was wondering what you were carrying. It looked like soda from a distance.
Me: Nah, it's syrup.
Broken Car Man: So, do you just buy syrup often?
Me: Well... I brought pancakes from Wawa... and I didn't have syrup... and...
Broken Car Woman: Oh, OK. We understand.
Broken Car Woman said this sarcastically, but that wasn't my main focus at that moment. Not only was I still out of breath; I noticed that both Broken Car Man and Broken Car Woman stood their ground for once instead of walking away from me. I was pretty flabbergasted by this.
Me: I needed syrup... had no syrup... but wait, why aren't you guys... walking backward... you always walk away from me.
Broken Car Woman: What?
Me: You walked backward... then the other girl did the same thing... I didn't think anyone... wanted to... stand still and talk... to me...
Broken Car Man: You OK there, bud?
Me: Yeah... just surprised... and I needed syrup... for pancakes...
Broken Car Man: Sure, you did. It's all good man, we understand.
I once again picked up on the arcasm. Both Broken Car Man and Broken Car Woman looked at me strangely. In fact, it appeared as though Broken Car Man sensed I was up to something sinister. Perhaps he was thinking that I was the one who ruined his car.
Broken Car Man is an American, so if he truly believes this, he may report me to the police, which means the FBI may begin printing fliers with my picture and information. So, if you see any fliers saying that I'm "armed and dangerous," please don't turn me in. I'm just a fat man who wanted syrup for his pancakes.