I was home recently to help my mother move (finally the last time I'll have to do work on that property). To do some preliminary planning for a laundry room in my building, and to continue working on the apartment in my aunt's house. Everything I had planned to do took longer than I expected and was interrupted with a thousand things I didn't plan on doing, but it was a very successful weekend.
I was so busy all weekend that I got up at 5am each day and worked until 8pm every evening. That wouldn't be so bad, but for some reason I also forgot to eat each day. It wasn't by plan, I just was so into my work that I forgot. All three days I mostly only ate one meal around 3pm. So much was accomplished though. Got my $23k back from my cousin, retrieved my motorcycle, moved mom, worked on kitchen, resurfaced driveway, looked through scrap in basement, developed plan for laundry room, ran plumbing for aunts bathroom, almost died, and nearly got arrested.
I'm stressed for time today so I'll get straight to the juicy parts. I went to the bar out near the highway Saturday night to meet some friends. I don't like going out there, because now that I'm a downtown businessman I'd rather spend my money downtown and support the businesses around me, but headed out there. While I was there I ran into 3 anonymous folks nobody else in Geneva probably would even give a second glance. I sat for a second and chatted with Michael Johnson, Butch Reynolds, and Jeremy Wariner. Having 3 Olympic Champions and World Record holders sitting at a dive bar in my hometown and nobody noticing them is just amazing to me. This in a town that is supposedly trying to be THE location for Track & Field.
Anyways, I went over and tried to not allow my jaw to drag the floor and talk to them. I sat for a second and the entire encounter was ruined when a local 300+ pound local I went to school with, drunk as hell, came over took her shirt off and swung it around her head, and sat down with an almost tragic thud right down on my lap. The table nearly tipped and the crowd scattered before the bouncer came over and collected her. She yelled my name a few times, then Jeremy said something about anonymity in this town having it's advantages and they packed up and left. Opportunity missed, but hopefully I'll run into them again. Twice now I've met Michael Johnson and both times haven't gone so swift.
As you can imagine, after a full day of work, not enough sleep, and not enough food.....a few beers had me in rare sorts. We decided to head back into town and frequent some of the "finer" establishments Geneva has to offer. As we parked and were walking in some dipshit we know threw something down at us from the 3rd story window. It was a friend and we were pretending to be angry at each other. After a few more beers and a whole lot of storytelling some of my exploits as "the phantom shitter" came up and we all joked that if it'd been years ago I'd find a way to shit on that guys welcome mat or some other equally silly retaliation.
Well....after a few more beers it donned on me that I happened to have a ladder large enough to meet that fellows window just down the street. I'd bought it for my new building. A few beers later there I was friends watching from afar as I'm hanging from a ladder, ass to window shitting on some poor fellows window sill. Putting my fireman ladder training to "good" use I guess you could say. As I was carrying the ladder back, at nearly 1:30 in the morning to my friends yard (where I store it) along came a cop car behind me and flashed the lights. Not entirely sure how I'd explain myself carrying a ladder (my ladder) drunk in the middle of the night (after having shit on a friends window sill) my reaction was to toss the ladder and run like hell.
Now of course...my friends watching from their front porch thought the entire thing was hilarious, and I'm sure the legend of the phantom shitter is now secure. But I can't, at 37 years old, a downtown business owner, and all that....be still entertaining such behavior....but there you have it. I guess I can't help myself. I need a babysitter.
Couple of things I was thinking of as I dashed across the railroad tracks and headed for the woods.
Rules for fleeing the cops.
1) Always have a plan. Constantly pay attention to what you're doing and where you'll go.
2) Make the cop get out of the car as fast as possible. Don't run yourself silly just to have him pull up fresh and run you down.
3) don't be a rabbit, keep your escape options open but pick one and get on with it. Zig Zagging only allows him/her to cut the tangents and catch you.
4) remove yourself from their sight line as often as possible, every time they have to decide which way you went or use caution slows them down.
5) run at 80% until you absolutely have to....and then burst to 100% Demoralizes them into giving up and doesn't leave you exhausted if you need some extra speed.
6) remember that back yards have changed a little bit since 1990. Running full speed in the dark......Those fucking fences hurt.
So I got away, and my friends have another shitter story. My buddy will open his window tomorrow to smoke a cigarette and find a pile of shit in his way....
The next morning I told mom the ladder was missing and to call and report it stolen. She arrived home from the police station all happy. Seems they already had found the ladder. That's good mom, damn criminals. She recommended that we chain it to the fence from now on. Good idea mom :-) Never know what sort of weirdo's roam this town at night.