Nightmare Scenarios & True-Crime Stories
Having tossed you a scrap last night, I feel I’ll be going on at length now, so you easily-addicted types can just settle in.
First off, I know a couple people have come looking around here because they see I write about religion and about correct use of the English language. While I have a fanatic’s passion for these things, the overall tone of this blog is Desperate But Not Serious. In other words, Warning: I Am a Smart@ss. Enter at your own risk. I attended the funeral of my husband’s grandmother at Sacred Heart (or Scared Heart, as my husband calls it), years before I became a parishioner there, and had to suppress giggling because the priest sounded just like the Grand Negus (sp?) on Star Trek. (Granted, I did not know the deceased very well. That’s not exactly an excuse, though, is it?) It takes a lot to knock the smirk off my face. One thing that would do it would be a helicopter ride with the Infamous Nick. You see, I’m afraid of heights. I could imagine a nightmare scenario where the police department acquired helicopters, and They decided it would be a mandatory training exercise to make us go up in one with that nice officer who’d learned how to fly these things. Fortunately, this is unlikely to happen, because there’s never money for stuff like that. And begging Nick for mercy would be an ugly thing, so in that way, life’s been good to me so far. I’m getting a little queasy thinking about this, so let’s move on, shall we?
CRIMES I HAVE ENCOUNTERED
I like to think I’ve lived an uneventful life, but read on…
—In St Louis:
You already know about me getting beaten up at work. But wait, there’s more!
–House broken into while I was at the mall. The suspect was apparently a teenage girl, because my blow dryer and heated curlers (yes, I used to style my hair, until I realized trying to curl this hair is wasted effort) were stolen, while the TV and music system were left behind.
–While at said mall, took off my grandmother’s platinum/diamond engagement ring to wash hands in restroom. Left said ring on edge of sink. Came back when I realized it, and guess what? My friend’s mother said, “But think how happy the person was who found it!” Yeah, that was a big comfort to me.
–Police helicopter (see, some places have them!) circling over my apartment building one night. Guy who was shot or stabbed, I forget which, found hiding in apartment hallway.
–Purse snatch while standing at the bus stop, by group of teen boys, one of whom poked what I’m sure was his finger into my back and said it was a gun. Purse was later recovered, missing the usual money and credit cards, plus my bottle of Scoundrel perfume. I guess he wanted it for his girlfriend. She was probably more of a scoundrel than I was, anyway.
–As I was walking down the street, a guy pulled over and said, “Get in the car or I’ll shoot you.” You may remember my ability to keep my wits about me and escape in the beaten-up-at-work story. This time, my wits told me, What kind of deal is this? Get shot on the public street with people around to help, or get in the car and be driven who knows where and be shot and/or worse anyway? I refused to get in the car, and guess what? There was a squad car lurking for speeders in the very next block! So they are there when you need them! They had me get in the back seat, and then took off in pursuit of the vehicle, with a presumably armed man in it, with me in the car. So my experience of involuntary ride-alongs goes way back. I ducked down in the back seat to escape any flying bullets, although there was no way to escape the way officers drive in pursuit of a possible felon. They apprehended the suspect. No gun was found, but they did find ammunition in the car. It ended up not going to trial for some technical reason, and I was glad, because I’d never gotten a good enough look at his face to positively I.D. him, and I wasn’ t looking forward to getting up in court and stating my name, etc., right in front of him.
Methinks this post is over-long, so I’ll get to the true-crime stories at my current residence tomorrow. I’d forgotten how many exciting St Louis stories there were. I only have to add, speaking of miscreants: Lisa–how do you know about my bathroom habits? We haven’t been on the same shift for years! So cease and desist. (What’s the difference between those two things, anyway? It’s like assault and battery, or barred/banned.) A person should only have one stalker, and I’m already taken.