First, I haven’t posted any blogs in a while because I’ve been working on the web site for my Planetside outfit, the Outlanders. You’ll see a link to that site on the right-hand side. It uses the same technology as Barnson.org to drive it (Drupal), but it’s a newer version. Once that new version graduates from “release candidate” to “release”, I’ll be updating Barnson.org as well.
Second: My life used to be pretty boring to all appearances. Yeah, I’m always excited about my work, technology, and music, but outside of those arenas, we didn’t have much in the way of interpersonal conflict with neighbors or any other strangeness to be worried about. I mean, it seems like there are people who thrive on disasters. For a really great treastise on this subject in an easy-to-read fiction form, try The Losers, by David Eddings. It’s an engrossing read by a popular fantasy author, but it’s not fantasy. It’s a modern-day urban good vs. evil morality play, and really worth the time to read. It’s not very long, either.
Unfortunately, I found my life closely resembling The Losers last night…
Anyway, our life was pretty routine until our neighbor (I’ll call him Jim) married a Russian bride he found through an agency (I’ll call her Nona). My wife and his new wife became friends, and kept in touch even after this neighbor and his kids moved up to Canada. They started having some marital problems I won’t go into, which culminated in her arranging to come back down to the U.S. and then go into hiding with her children. Obviously, her husband was upset and suspected us of complicity in her decision to run from him. We know little more than he does about her whereabouts, other than that she’s found a safe place to stay. But that was just the beginning of the excitement.
Before I go on, allow me to caveat that we are nosy neighbors. No ifs, ands, or buts about it, we want to know what’s happening in our neighborhood, particularly if it involves those we know and care about. Part of our development is “twin homes” (townhomes that only share a single wall), so we live pretty close to a lot of people. More so than larger acreage Suburbia. We’ve known these neighbors having marital problems for years now, and consider them both friends, although the husband seems a bit psycho at the moment.
So it was with great distress my wife peered out the window and noticed several men in white t-shirts hauling stuff out of Jim’s kitchen, and handing it over the fence to other waiting men on their side of the house. In general, this activity resembled one called “burglary”.
I did a dumb thing, I guess. I hopped on my bicycle, rode around the corner (I figured my bike was a safe bet if I had to get home in a hurry, I was about to confront at least 3 fully-grown men and accuse them of burglary), and parked it in the street in front of their house. I must admit it. I was scared. Scared enough, and with enough adrenaline pumping through my veins, that my hands and knees were shaking. I just hoped that the men I was confronting wouldn’t sense my fear confronting them. I’m really a wimp, a very non-confrontational person that would rather talk my way out of any problem than fight my way out.
“Excuse me,” I began as I approached the front steps where the men and two women were hanging out, “I have a concern.” I walked closer to the steps and stopped about five feet away. “A few minutes ago, my wife noticed you guys taking items from your neighbor’s house here and handing them over the fence. I’m friends with Jim, and would appreciate it if you put them back. The police are on their way now.” I added that last part because my wife had dialed 911 to report the burglary, and the look on the face of these men, particularly the chubby blonde one to my left, were murderous.
I received a moment of stunned silence in return.
“What do you think you’re doing, riding your bike over here and accusing us of stealing?” shouted the blonde. From his slightly slurred speech, I guessed he’d been drinking.
The goateed, brown-haired guy in a wife-beater t-shirt (you know the type I’m talking about, mesh tank-top undershirt) seemed to take a more moderate approach. “Hang on a second. We’re just hanging out here, having a few drinks. What are you talking about?”
I reiterated what my wife had seens almost verbatim from the first time, but this time he caught on.
“Oh, man, that’s not it at all!” replied Goatee. “You see, Jim’s my friend too,” (I consider this unlikely, since Jim had been living in Canada until the day before since these new neighbors had lived there, but I digress,) “and he asked us to keep an eye on his house. His wife showed up in a big gray van with two other women today and hauled like twenty things out of the house. We were afraid she was going to take the rest, so we brought the TV and stuff over here. I mean, there’s like nothing in there, man, it’s pretty bare. We were even thinking about buying their house.”
In my mind, I thought about the surroundings. They had been handing items over the back fence, when they could have easily used the front yard and the nice, large front doors. All the lights were off in their house, when you’d think they’d at least want the kitchen light on so they didn’t trip over the stuff they were supposedly safeguarding from Jim’s wife. They had been whispering to each other very quietly as they moved the items over. I smelled bull manure being thrown my way, here.
“For some reason, I doubt,” I began, but Blondie interrupted again.
“Look, this is ridiculous. He left his door unlocked and asked us to watch his house. You’re accusing us of stealing his stuff. Why don’t you keep the TV at your house if you’re so concerned about it?”
I was, for a moment, completely thunderstruck by the leap of illogic. Was he actually implying that he thought they could make this right by giving me my neighbor’s stolen goods? Apparently so.
“I have no desire to keep Jim’s television,” I replied. “I think it should stay in his house where it belongs. For some reason, I doubt Jim asked you to take his stuff out of his house to protect it.”
“Wait a second, dude,” Goatee said as he backed into his house. I wasn’t sure what he was up to, and I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to find out. In his absence, the quiet Tall Guy in the corner, the two women sitting on the front porch, and Blondie all began trying to explain what was up, and how they were actually just concerned neighbors trying to guard Jim’s goods from his “bitch” wife. I nearly laughed, because I know Nona, and that would be the last word I’d use to describe her mildly hyperactive yet affable demeanor.
In a few moments, Goatee popped out of his house, a twenty-one inch television in his arms. “Here, dude,” he said, “take the television. Keep it at your house. We’re just trying to be good neighbors.”
I backed away and held up my hands. “No, thank you, I don’t wish to touch it.” In the back of my mind I was thinking because I’d really rather not have my fingerprints on your stolen goods. “I’d just like for you to return it to his house, and lock the house on the way out.”
I could sense their mood gone from initial shock and outrage, to planning. I didn’t want to stick around to see what they’d planned, so I said my goodbyes, hopped on my bike, and rode back home. My wife and I had a discussion for a few minutes about the incident. She reminded me that these same neighbors had stolen the dog run out of Jim’s back yard several months earlier, and only returned it when confronted. In her opinion, these people were of the opinion that if nobody lived there, then nobody wanted the house or its goods.
A few minutes later, two city cops arrived. They had us explain the situation, immediately went over next door to speak to the perps, and then returned with some forms for us to fill out. The lady cop informed us that the police could not enter Jim’s home without a search warrant or Jim’s permission, and that she did not see any out-of-place items at Goatee’s home that appeared to be stolen goods upon being invited in to investigate. They also couldn’t prosecute without the homeowner filing charges. I think I’ll call Jim today to let him know what happened. Anyway, we gave her contact information for Jim, then bid goodnight.
There was a lot of movement in Goatee’s house later that night. Lots of moving around, lights turning on and off; they were up later than we’re used to them being up. I had some insomnia, mainly due to stupid worries about what these irrational neighbors might do in retaliation for us turning them in.
I guess to sum it all up, either these neighbors were colossally stupid in the execution of their Good-Samaritan ideals, or they were trying to cover their burglary by justifying the crime. I suspect the latter, given the total illogic of waiting until midnight to hand things over a backyard fence with all the lights off. But hey, maybe Jim will give them the benefit of the doubt. Given that he’s back in Canada, though, I think there’s not much he can do, so I suspect these would-be thieves will get away scot-free or be able to explain their way out of prosecution.
UPDATE 11 June 2003: Those of you following the story might be interested to know that I called Jim, and he informed me that he asked those neighbors only to watch and call him if Nona showed up at the house. Definitely burglary, and he wants to press charges. I’ll keep this entry updated as news progresses.