Momnesia

Machete Man Murders Small Tree! News at 11!

AUGUSTA, GA. - Yes, it IS 2:30 in the morning. And I AM posting. That's because the police just left our house. At 1:45, our idiot neighbor, Michael Avery, decided to start hollering my husband's name repeatedly: "Eey, SCOTT! SCOTT!! SCOTT!"

That's how we know he's still alive. Because if he's breathing, he's asking for something. Can he use the telephone? Can we drop him off at the store? Can he bum a cigarette or a beer? A sandwich, or a kidney, or whatever? This man is 49 years old and works at a car wash. Yet, he doesn't own a car.

This would be the third time THIS WEEK that the fool has started hollering at us at oh-god-o'clock. The first time, I woke Scott. The second time, I told him to hold it down unless it was an emergency. This time, I'd had it. Scott is AT WORK from 5 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. six days a week. He doesn't need this crap. So I told him to shut his piehole. I'm going to relay his responses in plain English. But it was very difficult to understand him because he was bombed out of his mind. There was a lot of me repeating, "What?.... What?!" In fact, I'm just going to write him in an approximation of an English accent. Because he still sounds crazy - just imagine .

Me: "Michael, it is 1:45 in the morning. I told you: If it isn't an emergency, I don't want to hear from you after 10 p.m."

Michael (standing outside his front door in boxers and a tank top, waving a machete): "I say, old chum, did you, perchance, come to my house and chop down my bushes with this machete?"
 
Me: "Did I what? Is that a machete? Are you serious?"

Michael: "Yes, ma'am, I am serious. I desire to know if you perpetrated this grievous offense."
 
Me: "Michael, I don't chop down bushes with reckless abandon. Maybe one of the yard people left it by accident. But it is 1:45 in the morning, and these things can wait until daylight!"

Michael (pointing the machete at me): "Oh, I do not think so. Were you the individuals who called the rental agency and filed a complaint about me?"

Me: "No, I didn't call them. But I'm going to on Monday, just so there's no unwarranted suspicion. You can't keep waking your neighbors up every time you need something. Scott goes to work early, and he needs his sleep."

Michael (waving the machete and stomping around - really, he's doing a fantastic impression of a Maori welcome dance): "Aha! I thought so: You DID call the agency! I suspected it was you, and now I am certain of it!"

Me: "This is ridiculous! Do not wake us up again like this. My husband needs his sleep."

Michael: "I think you mean to say that you require YOUR nightly rest."

Me: "... Are you high?"

Michael: "Are you high?"

Me: "Absolutely not. Now shut the hell up and let everyone sleep!"

Michael (muttering): "Yes, female dog. You need YOUR sleep."

Me: "Don't you call me - look, don't come borrow our phone anymore. And we're not taking you anywhere in our car. Do not bother us. Don't talk to us. Don't ask to borrow things from us."

Michael (walking closer to me and chopping at a nearby tree with the machete) "Oh, you cross onto my property, and ruin MY bushes, and then you raise the subject of TELEPHONES? Why don't we discuss your husband. I see him. I know what he does. Let me raise this name, and, simultaneously, make an important point: Austin Rhodes."

Me: "What does he have to do with this?"

Michael: "I repeat: Austin Rhodes."

Me: "What about him?"

Michael: "Please, perchance that you did not hear my comment upon first utterance: Austin Rhodes."

Me: "... okay...?"

Michael: "He is a redneck."

Me: "Okay... And?"

Michael: "And so are you."

Me: "Fine. Whatever. But, for the last time, I didn't chop your stupid bushes. And if you can't be quiet, I'm going to call the police."

Michael (jumping and shouting and brandishing the machete menacingly): "By all means, call them! Be my guest! I shall cross onto your property, and enter your front door through a precise kick! I shall also cause serious damage to your vehicle so that when your husband is driving with your child..."

Me (interrupting, and dialing the telephone): "Okay, idiot. I'm calling the police and telling them that you threatened me, and that you're waving a machete."

Michael: "Oh, I say!"

As the 911 operator answers the line, Michael throws the machete across the yard and storms back inside his apartment, turning off his porch light. Momentarily, officers are on their way.

Two officers respond and bang on Michael's door. He has dressed himself in a polo and chinos. They see that he is intoxicated, they find the machete he tossed, and they question him about his activities. In his usual incoherent manner, he claims to work for E.G. Meybohm, for the Augusta National... I'm pretty sure the C.I.A. was next. Luckily, they didn't buy it, and they didn't care. That wasn't the point. They asked him about what happened, question me as to precise location and whether or not he touched me (is he still alive? Then, no).

He tries to tell them that I'm making things up. He insults me, my husband, our parentage, and the whole of the Austin Rhodes-listening free world, for all that has to do with anything. They run a warrant check, and it doesn't help him that he has priors - nothing serious, a DUI, small things. But they dress him down verbally, warn him not to talk to us again, tell him that he's their first suspect if any property damage occurs, and take the machete away. He goes back inside, but not before stopping to give me a long, menacing glare.

Me: "Nuh-uh, Michael. Not scared of you."
Officer: "Sir, go inside."
He does. Slowly.

They can do one of two things, they tell me. They can file this as an incident report, and keep an eye on the property. Or they can file it as a criminal complaint, and I can take a warrant out on him in the morning, for terroristic threats - although I won't be required to. But a criminal complaint is... more? Actually, I don't quite understand what the deal is. Isn't it just paperwork? Ah, well. They advise me that if they had seen him with the machete, it would be a different matter. But right now, it's a he-said/she-said situation.

I trust their judgment and go by their recommendation to file an incident report. I know they'll keep an eye on the property by driving by several times during the night, as they've assured me. They seem to be good officers. So as not to be accused of stealing the machete, they toss it back in the yard where he'll be able to find it in the daylight - but not at night. [Update: my husband totally found it the next morning and took it.]

Officer: "He could come in and claim that was a $500 machete and then this guy's face [jerks his thumb at his fellow officer] would be on the 6 o'clock news."

Me: "You guys have way more to worry about than just catching bad guys, huh?"

Officer: "You have no idea."

MONDAY UPDATE: It seems Meybohm has received so many complaints about him that they began eviction proceedings on Sunday, after hearing from Scott about the incident. We sent Emmie over to her grandparents' house last night, and I've stayed awake until 4 a.m. the last two nights, trying to make sure nothing unsafe happens. I don't know what we're going to do tonight, but I'm pretty freaked out.