Just call me “Mr. Static Electricity”

I have trouble getting rid of people. After my divorce call and letter to my mother last year (wherein I told her never to contact me again), she immediately countered by calling and then sending me a letter of her own. I didn’t respond to her voicemail and sent the letter back unopened, which seems to have discouraged her a little, but lately I’ve been getting a lot of hang-up calls and I think they are from her. I haven’t bothered to *69 the person calling, but in the past I’ve always had a pretty good sense for when she’s on the other end of the line, mostly because I know that she knows my schedule and when to call at the least opportune time.

After a week of daily hang-ups, I welcomed the approaching weekend. Historically, my mother called less on the weekend because she knew it would be less invasive. On Friday, I endured my first private Japanese session (more on that later) and spent the remainder of the evening studying. Knowing I would have to awake early (by Saturday standards) the next morning, I set the alarm for 8:00 AM and went to sleep around 2:00.

At 4:00 AM I received a knock on my door. Actually, that’s an inaccurate description. At 4:00 AM, somebody started pounding on my door. I went through several stages of disbelief, followed by convincing myself it must be a dream, to wondering if it was my door or a neighbor’s (the echo in the hall can be confusing), to covering my ears with pillows, and finally to wondering if I should get up and tell whoever to fuck off versus waiting them out. I chose the last option because every time I began to get out of bed the knocking stopped for a few minutes and, tired as I was, I immediately fell asleep again. After a few minutes, the pounding began anew and then abruptly died again. I wondered why nobody else came to their doors. Like me, they probably figured anybody who would bang on your door at that time of morning was not somebody you actually wanted to see. It finally stopped around 4:20. Before I drifted off the last time, I wondered if it could be my upstairs neighbor / mendicant, but thought not. It was a more insistent knock than she used, and she had been polite (if not slightly wacky) in the past.

The next morning when I awoke (tired), I gathered my stuff for class, stepped outside, and was hailed by her while I walked toward my car. She stood in the doorway of her apartment in the near-freezing cold waiting for me to appear. She quietly told me she had my money but made no attempt to bring it to me, so I turned and climbed the stairs to her level. On the way she repeatedly asked me a question. I honestly thought she asked me if I wanted a hamburger and was going to politely decline, but I decided to make sure I heard her correctly so I asked her to repeat herself one last time when I stood outside her door.

“I need to go to the bank,” she said.

That makes it official for her. She’s now asked for money, booze, and a ride – the big three here in Beggarville (a.k.a. Atlanta).

Question #1 – is it like this where you live? By which I mean, wherever you go, do people approach you for a handout?

I told her I didn’t have time as I had a class. She started with the questions, probably to see if my excuse held. I stood before her holding a notepad and textbook, so if I was making an excuse, I had prepared for it well. While trying to escape, I told her I was taking a class in Japanese. She asked if it was a karate class, to which I should have said yes and showed her my belt. I was wearing an expensive leather oxblood belt which I could have told her they only give to the most dangerous grand masters. “Black belts? Pussies! The reason you’ve never heard of an oxblood belt is because we are honor bound to destroy all those who have learned our secret. Oh, but now I’ve said too much…”

Question #2 – this is a real, genuine, cow leather belt which was made in India. WTF? Aren’t cows sacred over there? What’s the rule – they can’t kill them, but if we kill them and send over the parts, they can work them into fashion accessories (e.g. the Belt of the Gods). Shouldn’t they be able to eat hamburgers made in foreign countries?

While trying to disengage, she changed the subject and demanded to know why I didn’t open the door last night (meaning that morning) and give her any beer.

“What!?” I demanded, thinking the tone of my voice should straighten her out. “That was you banging on my door? At four o’clock in the morning?”

“Yes,” she said, brightly smiling. “Why didn’t you give me any?”

“I don’t open the door at that hour,” I said and walked away. She laughed and called after me, asking me if I had any beer for her now. Note – this was still before 9:00 AM. I shouted “No!” over my shoulder and left.

Fortunately I haven’t heard from her since Saturday, but no doubt she’ll show up at my door again the next time she gets drunk or stoned and wants money or beer or a ride to get money or beer. The next time she asks me for anything I’ll have to leave all subtlety out and tell her the Quickie-Mart is closed forever, including the all night ATM and taxi stand. She’ll probably act hurt, like all bums do when rebuffed, but I don’t care as long as she gets out of my life and stays there.

Note – I’ve lived in the same building as this woman for over two years without incident. I wonder what happened to break down the invisible barrier between us. Did word get out about the time I helped my newest redneck neighbor? Maybe I’m just being cynical, but I can imagine one bum trying to beg from another and in the process being told who’s the real chump in that neighborhood.

Question #3 – how should I handle it if she continues to bug me? What I’d like to do is hurl a Molotov through her window (if she didn’t live in the same building as me) or slap her across her nose with a tire iron, but she’s not worth the potential legal troubles. That only leaves calling the police to report a disturbance, which I hate, or reporting her to the office to let them make a pathetic attempt to resolve the issue (usually done by sending the offenders a letter stating they need to be more considerate of their neighbors).

Anyway, I’ve finally decided to alter my charity policy: no more donations that can be tracked back to me. That means no help to anyone who lives in my apartment complex and no help to anyone who can or will track me to my home or work. The Salvation Army is still okay, but the Humane Society is out. Last year I sent them a hundred dollars and was bombarded with two hundred dollars worth of letters asking for a handout.

I have to say, having a group of stalkers isn’t as much fun as I had hoped. Of course, I wanted a bunch of Asian schoolgirls who were in awe of my literary skills, not my neighbors / mother who fancy me because I have a job.

***** UPDATE *****

I just got home and she (in her bathrobe) intercepted me on the way to my apartment. She gave me back my $10, said she had been gone since Saturday and apologized for taking so long, and told me it wouldn't happen again. I'm not sure I believe her, but I think she's at least earned a polite refusal the next time, which I seriously hope never happens.