Anyone who’s been to my flat a few times should know the freak from downstairs. He’s the resident conspiracy theorist nutjob who regularly knocks on my door threatening to call the cops unless I stop “moving the chairs around”. This happens regardless of whether I am in fact moving chairs around.
To give you some background; this is a guy who told Joe at Futurex that he likes fishing trade shows because they give away hats, told Jean that “they (we don’t know who) are out to get him” and told Neil (in the lift) that he steals things from the flats of people who have moved out.
Needless to say, he’s not a fun guy to have at parties, and to be honest, perhaps even a little scary.
So today while I sat at the dinner table with some friends having a quiet dinner he knocks on the door…We open it. He has a hammer and tells me to “get a carpet or else”… perhaps he brought the hammer to help install a carpet? or perhaps the hammer was part of the “or else” option? However I don’t want a carpet. I like my wooden floors.
Anyway, I calmly told him to leave while encouraging him to follow through on his threat of phoning the police and reporting me for disturbing the peace. Did I mention that he was only wearing shorts? I had impressionable females in the the room and he’s half naked and wielding a hammer… and I’m disturbing the peace?
I tried to close the door but he pushed it back open and again threatened me. I have an amazing ability to stay calm in situations like this but to be honest I was a little scared since he was giving me the crazy eyes. However slightly deeper than my desire of self preservation was a small hope that he would in fact take a swing at me — “Claw Hammer Wound” is the journalistic equivalent of a Home Run. I eventually got the door closed and sat back down to try and enjoy the rest of my dinner.
After discussing it thoroughly with the dinnersphere we decided it would be best if I reported it to the police. He might be harmless… he might be a psychopath. So tomorrow I will take a drive and make a report… I’m not sure if it constitutes “assault” but it must come pretty damn close. I’d really just like it if he never knocked on my door again.
Until then: if I am discovered dead in my bed with head trauma caused by a blunt object, have a look in 404 Schoonmill, I think you’ll find a claw hammer with traces of of my DNA on it.