Giant Bed Bug that does Walkie, Walkie, Walkie.

Posted: March 26, 2012 in Uncategorized

So I know most of you have been following my twitter feed or Facebook on the drama surrounding my neighbor C-Bob and I. In case you haven’t, here is a fun little recap. I left for Monessen, PA on March 15 and was away until Tuesday, March 20. No sooner had I arrived home and settled in with Matt, that my neighbor downstairs came up to my apartment banging on the door and screaming at me. Now, I will admit, under normal circumstances I would not have opened the door. C-Bob has increasingly gotten more hostile towards me and I no longer felt safe speaking with him face to face. But Matt was there so I had extra courage. I opened the door and all hell broke lose. He was in my face screaming at me. This guy is 6’4″ and weighs 180 pounds. I am 5’4″ and weigh 95 pounds. Hmm….  Anyway, the situation escalated rather quickly when I used the word “harassment.” This really set him off and that is when Matt stepped out of the bathroom. I don’t think C-Bob realized I wasn’t alone. I heard things like “You are fucking crazy.” “You are a goddamn freak.” and of course the classic, “Go fuck yourself” about a dozen times. All in all the situation ended with me finally disengaging long enough to shut the door. I called the landlord and woke his ass up while C-Bob stood outside in the hallway continuing to tell me to “fuck myself”.  The landlord once again apologized profusely but it never fixes the situation. He said he wasn’t going to call Bob that night as it would make things worse. That he would talk to him tomorrow and also bring me an area rug to put down on the floor.

A rug? Seriously? That is going to solve the problem? I think not. Matt wanted to call the police and in hindsight, I should have. I think I was just so afraid that the police would not take me seriously. That they would see my tattoos and nothing more. In any case,  I woke up first thing in the morning and called the landlord. I wanted to know if he had spoken to Bob. He had  not. He told me to put in to writing everything that had happened and to specifically mention that my “right to quiet enjoyment” had been compromised. I said that it had been compromised since day one. I also said that I was afraid of Bob. My landlord said there was nothing to worry about. But that is a matter of perspective. My landlord is not a 95 pound female who lives alone with her cat. He has no right to tell me who I can and cannot be afraid of. The mere fact that I am afraid of Bob speaks volumes and the landlord has to take that seriously.

Anyway, the rug arrives. It’s a nice rug but it’s not a magical carpet or anything. Unless it creates a sound proof room, it is nothing more than a nice place for Izzy to sharpen his claws. The landlord and I have a lengthy conversation about Bob and how he is slipping mentally at a quicker rate. The landlord asked if Bob had been drinking because he tends to get out of control when he drinks. I said I had no idea but that he was irrational and on the verge of violence. I said that I felt if Matt had not been there, he would have forced himself into my apartment and caused me bodily harm. The landlord said he told Bob to NEVER come to my door again. That if he had an issue with me, to call him instead. Whatever. If Bob is losing his mind or suffering from dementia (which honestly I think he is) then he won’t remember the conversation. I speak from personal experience when it comes to people with dementia. My grandfather had it, bad. And he beat the holy crap out of my grandmother and my father with a hammer. This was a guy who had been a minister, who had never hurt anyone ever. But dementia made him violent and he didn’t know or understand that he was being so. So while I understand the disease and can sympathize, that does NOT mean I want to be subjected to it.

In the meantime, I go to the Wellesley Police station and speak with an officer L. Hughes. He runs Bob’s name and comes back with a stack of papers. He says, “Well, he has issues. Which you already know. Stay away from him. Do not open the door to him anymore. If he comes to your door banging and screaming, call us. You also need to go to the Dedham courthouse and file a harassment protection order.” Great, how the hell do I stay away from someone who lives in my freaking building?

So I decide to file the harassment paperwork the next day.

Well, court in Massachusetts is a bit different than in Indiana. In Indiana you go, you fill out paperwork, you leave. At some point someone lets you know when you will go to court but it is not that day. Well, in Massachusetts, it is that day. That VERY day. I didn’t know this and was not dressed for court. My tattoos were showing which I know might work against me. Plus, I want to have time to review what I will say to the judge. First impressions are everything and I only have one shot at it. Also, the court room is packed and we might not even see the judge at all. So we decided to wait. Which in the end, I am glad I did because we had two more incidences to report AFTER the rug arrived.

So the first night was fine with the rug. No issues. We went about our business watching television and eating popcorn. The next day we spent it in Salem and returned about 9:00p that night. We made some popcorn, laid down the futon, and Matt got up to go the bathroom. Well, apparently that was too much noise to be handled. Bob started banging and pounding on the ceiling screaming, “Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up!” Over and over and over again. This went on for about ten solid minutes whereby I call the landlord. He then calls Bob. We can hear Bob screaming at the landlord via telephone. Bob’s rants included, “I have a low threshold.” “She is below the standards for this building and you know it! She does not belong here.” “She is like a giant bed bug, all walkie, walkie, walkie.” “She would walk all day long if they would her.” “She never sits still. She is always moving and it is driving me crazy. I cannot take it anymore.”

The landlord calls me back and said he threatened to call the police on him if he didn’t stop. He said that if Bob did it again to call him. At this point I have had enough of this bullshit. The landlord is not doing enough to fix the situation. If anything he is trying to pacify me by telling me he said this or that to Bob but none of it ever seems to matter. The issue always continues and now it is more volatile than before.

Yesterday (Sunday) Matt is heading home. We pack up his car and leave the outermost door open so that it is easier for us to carry things out of the building. This outermost door locks so if you don’t have your key,  you are not getting in. As we are loading up the car, Bob comes out of his apartment, sees us standing there, slams the door shut, stares us down and then goes back into his apartment. The door being open is NOT bothering him in any way. He just shut it because he knew I needed it open.

Matt drives me to the college so that I can type out my affidavit for court on Monday. He then decides to stay and go to court with me. I can’t tell you how amazing it was to hear that. I already had a fabulous colleague, Becca, who was going to not only go with me but drive me so I was never going to court alone but with Matt there with me, I would have a witness. Plus, Matt gives me confidence. I mean, I stood up to Bob because Matt was there and I knew Matt would not let anything happen to me. I knew with Matt with me in the courtroom I could go before the judge and be brave. I could also talk to the landlord without being manipulated by him.

So we spent the next 2 hours working on my detailed affidavit and his testimony in case it was needed. My affidavit was SIX pages long and included everything from since my move-in day. I also mention Bob opening my mail. I also took pictures of my broken door and lock. Yes, people, at some point my door was kicked in. Kicked in and then glued back together…badly. So badly that you can see light through the door. Then jam is busted as well so the only thing I have to lock my door is a crappy deadbolt that is barely hanging on and cheap ass chain. I didn’t really think much of it when I moved in because I had been assured this was a “safe place to live where everyone looks out for everyone else.” Well, now I am wondering if Bob did the damage. Well, I took pictures and put them with my affidavit so that the judge could see that the only thing standing between Bob and I is this damaged door.

Bob didn’t complain last night. Mainly because Matt and I did several shots of tequila and passed out around 9:00p. I woke up at 4:30a in a freaking panic and could not go back to sleep. I just kept playing everything over and over again in my mind. Now, contrary to what most people might think about me, I am a pacifist. I dislike confrontation and will avoid it if I can. Well, this is when I start to tell myself that perhaps I am overreacting. That the situation is not as bad as I make it out to be. Maybe I am being too sensitive. Well, that is where Matt comes in and reassures me that he was there and witnessed Bob’s insanity. We go to court.

I go before the judge. The judge schedules a two-party hearing for next Monday at 9a whereby Bob will have to be present. Great. This is going to piss him off and now I am afraid of what he might do when the sheriff serves him. We go out to the car and I call the landlord. After I explain to him that I talked with the police and told him their recommendations, I tell him that I just went to court and that we have a court hearing next Monday at 9a. He offers to go with me. He then says, “Listen, would you like to just break your lease?” In the midst of the conversation I learn quite a bit. For instance, Bob has never worked a day in his life. He served in some war, got disabled (mentally probably) and is on disability. He has literally laid around in his apartment with no friends or family for almost 30 years. The landlord has loyalties to Bob because they are friends and he knows that Bob is slipping mentally. He also admits that he should have never rented the apartment to me since Bob harassed the woman who lived there before me! So there is a history here with Bob and the tenants who live above him. Is this how my door got broken?? I tell the landlord that the only thing that would make Bob happy would be for the apartment to be vacant or if he rents to an invalid. He says he doesn’t mean to sound sexist but that he will rent the apartment to a guy from now on. Later I tell Matt this and he responds with, “Well, the landlord is going to have the same problem only this guy might actually push Bob down the stairs.”

The landlord says I can move out at any time, to give him as much notice as I can. I say I want to be gone by May 1st. He is going to start showing the apartment. I say I don’t care. He says he will not penalize me and will also give me back my security deposit. I think he agrees to this so easily because he knows he is the wrong and that if we were to go to court, I would win and he would owe me back rent because I have never been able to enjoy my apartment since the day I moved in and he knows it. He also should have TOLD ME about the nutter downstairs. The fact that he pretended like it was no big deal is total crap. I complained to the landlord the SECOND day I lived there over Bob’s rantings and the fact that he locked me out twice while I was moving in my stuff. The landlord acted like it was an anomaly which was not true in the slightest.

We still have court on Monday. The landlord will be there with us and I will tell the judge that I am moving out but that I want the protective order to stand until I vacate the premise. I think that’s fair. Besides Bob may tell the judge to go “fuck himself” like he does me all the time. Maybe he will get thrown in jail, who knows.

The landlord did suggest that he call Bob and let him know that I went to the courthouse and filed a harassment charge so that he doesn’t ” flip out” too much when the sheriff arrives to serve him. I said that was fine if he thought I could avoid a confrontation because that is a big fear of mine. That he will be served and then come after me. If he comes to my door, I will simply call the police. End of story. But if he confronts me when I come into the building (his apartment is right there as I walk in) I won’t be able to avoid him. Since he has no life and never leaves the premise, he knows my comings and goings. He knows what time to expect me home or when I leave for work. In fact, he has started coming out of his apartment when I come home in the evenings just to stare at me. I think this is his way of intimidating me. FML.

I don’t care. I won. I’m getting out of that shithole situation. And that is all I care about.

So, what have I learned? Well, I have learned quite a few things and here they are:

1.  Damon, who works for us, has a phrase that is fitting to Bob. “Bag of dicks.” This indicates a person who is beyond one dick level. So in essence, “Bob is a giant bag of dicks.” I didn’t say this to the judge or include it in my affidavit.

2.  I love tequila. I love tequila so much that Matt bought me a bottle before he left today. I plan on doing a few shots and going to bed. At least this giant bed bug won’t be on the move tonight. (Is that sad that I have to drink so I won’t make noise?)

3.  If there is to be a nutter in Wellesley, I will live above him. Somehow I am a magnet for the crazies. (Who did I piss off in a past life???)

4.  I know what hives look like because I broke out in them for three days.

5.  When you file in court in Massachusetts, you go before the judge that very day so dress appropriately and practice your speech in your mind.

6.  I now have some great stories to write about.

7.  You can not buy mace/pepper spray in Massachusetts without a license. WTF? An all female school and no mace?

8.   I now have a reason to carry this very cool knife that my friend George gave me back in 1995. He didn’t like the idea of me walking IU campus alone at night. Matt sharpened the hell out of this knife last night. I hope I don’t accidentally stab myself. I am not good with sharp objects. Once I stabbed myself while cutting open a bagel.

That about sums things up. I hope that I don’t have to stick Bob with my knife but if I do, I am aiming for his balls. Plus, I kinda have to considering how freaking tall he is. Unless he waits for me to climb the steps and get some leverage in which case, I could slash higher. But the balls seem like a good area to target. Unless they are full of dust then it might be pointless.

I really hope I don’t have to worry about actually knifing someone. Christ on a cracker, where do I live? Is this really my life at this moment? Thoughts of stabbing and mace, protective orders, and bag of dicks?

I hope that the landlord called Bob and told him to leave me the hell alone. If he confronts me, all Bob is doing to making my case even stronger and probably causing me another hive outbreak.

Until next time, I wish Janie lived next to me and I could borrow her gun.


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