For weeks whenever I’ve encountered the Music Man he’s made a point to mention that someone is stealing his internet. As many of you remind me over and over again, there is no reasoning with crazy, so I’ve nodded my head and continued on my merry way. Because really, what else is there to do? I’ve been instructed to keep my distance and so I am. Gladly.
The other night just as I was finishing dinner and catching up on some TV (a much-needed and coveted slice of down time), I heard a very loud knock on my door. Two guesses who it was. Oh yes indeedy! Our resident whackado.*
He stands there disheveled, shirt soiled down the front with what appears to be coffee, and in his socks which seem to have been hit by the same spill as what got his shirt. His eyes jut back and forth. He’s holding what looks like some sort of modem with cables and cords trailing behind him.
This ought to be good.
Frantically he dives in- someone broke into his apartment. He’s certain of it. And they stole, of all things, the battery to his modem box. He’s saying it’s the people who have been stealing his internet. They’ve taken it. They must have come in while he was at the pet store. They’ve rendered his internet useless!
Now, I’m no detective but I’d think that if someone were hypothetically stealing your internet why would they hypothetically break in and take the battery that allows the hypothetically stolen internet to actually work? Hypothetically, of course.
So I stand there with a sympathetic look on my face listening to his whirling tale of stolen battery, internet and such and he proclaims, I AM GOING TO CALL THE COPS! I’m like, sounds like a plan, you go ahead. But! He can’t because his phone is digital and hooks up to the device he’s got in his hands. The one that doesn’t have a battery, you know, because it was stolen.
I realize that there is some of this that technically I am not grasping. How and what plugs into where and why none of it works. Huh? It’s beyond my scope of understanding and, frankly, caring. He borrows my phone and I get to stand there while he rambles to the 911 operator.
Oh yes, he dialed 911.
From what I overheard, he’d visited a precinct to file complaints twice over the weekend about this alleged internet stealing plus to say that someone has been throwing things at his window and trying to cause damage to his cable box. I’m sure they loooooove him down at the station. I counted three times him saying to the operator after regaling her with a particularly confusing bit of his tall tale, “I’m as sober as a judge.”
She probably does not believe him. Would you?
Hypothetically, I mean.
*Mr. Darcy is fond of saying “whackado” which is a new term to me.