It’s true, I for whatever reason attract the weirdos.
In 1985 I was enjoying high school, getting into mischief with my friends, fun band trips and awesome night shifts at Waffle House with my fabulous crew. It was a time of freedom, fun and limited responsibilities. Early one morning a wackadoodles named Jerry Roggerson came into the restaurant and sat at the low counter, far end away from all the noise. He was mid to late 50’s, short, balding with black glasses, white shirt and black starched pants. He carried a Bible everywhere he went and always looked like he was constipated. That morning he was just a customer in someone else’s section, and I really paid him no attention until he screamed at the waitress until she begged me to go and serve him is usual coffee and waffle because he demanded that only I wait on him. I had never seen him before and did because that customer is right crap is a service rule. I had no idea what Jerry was.
I had applied for several jobs at other locations before landing this particular one and Jerry had entered one of those offices just as I was leaving. The hiring manager had excused himself “just for a moment” and Jerry had snagged my application from the man’s desk, that application was later found pinned to the corkboard in Jerry’s home office. Jerry also made calls weekly to get my schedule at the restaurant, he followed me to school, to events, parked outside my house, ran into me at the movies, at the beach, at the salon, in the mall, and everywhere I went for almost 7 months. He left me little Bible scripture notes under his plates instead of tips and was convinced that I was “promised” to him by God. Jerry also carried a 6-inch dagger in his Bible that had a long straight shank, and a snake twisted around the silver handle, in his back pocket he carried a 38 Smith & Wesson.
My Police friends watched him with great intent. Jerry was stopped so often that he would just shut his little Datsun B210 off, get out, raise his hands, and lay across the hood without being asked. They beat the crap out of him several times first just a few punches to get a point across then later they put him in the hospital, they impounded his car, and made his life miserable but Jerry never got the message, instead he intensified his stalking. Waffle House got restraining orders, but he just parked across the street in the Red Roof Motel Parking lot and watched from afar, when the Red Roof got a restraining order, he parked in the highway median. My friends watched him, my parents watched him, the police watched him, teachers watched him, and nothing bothered him.
February of 1986 at 1 am after a Mardi Gras Ball a fun group of girls stopped in to eat a free breakfast all dressed up and silly. We were laughing, just having a great time teasing Joey, the fun, flaming gay cook on shift, and not paying attention. As we stood up to leave, I hit the floor. I remember screams, I remember blood, I remember the feeling of fire on my skin as it tore, and the sound of a weapon firing, 2 shots into metal (the last time I visited in 2007 those holes were still there). It was the night I lost a front tooth, gained scars, and learned to never turn my back on people. Joey was my knight in shining Waffle House attire, he flew across the counter and over seats and beat the shit out of Jerry with a frying pan and fists until he stopped moving. The night was bloody, violent, and cold. When the call was made, over a dozen police officers responded and within minutes my sweet friends were on site, and I was wrapped in someone’s coat.
Jerry a short little insurance salesman who reminded me of that repulsive character, George on Seinfield, was arrested on multiple charges. He was beaten so badly that his mug shot was barely recognizable. Two days before his arraignment, he hung himself in his cell, it was a shitty thing to do.
You would think that I would be happy that my stalker was gone, yes in a way I was, but I also wanted to know why. Why target me? I was neither nice nor mean to him, I never gave him any attention, I had zero interest in him, and I could never figure out what the attraction was all about. But I did learn a lot. You will rarely ever see me with my back to someone and you will never see me without some sort of weapon. I constantly watch people, even those I know, and I always have an out.
In 1990 I was on a train to E. Berlin for class and was minding my own business when a stranger sat in the seat next to me. He was Romanian and spoke just a little English and not enough German. He was carrying a cloth bag of food that he had picked up at the platz and was talking to the bag and kept asking me questions that I didn’t understand, and I kept shaking my head to let him know it. This little guy persisted for a good 15 stops then followed me as I exited the train. When we walked to the checkpoint where you had to show your ID to cross into E. Berlin, they let me through and pushed him backwards. I have no idea why, I wasn’t the checkpoint guy, I was just a random traveler going to class. This little guy screamed the entire time I walked through the gate and threw potatoes at me as I walked past him. He was hurling what I also assumed were cuss words and managed to get a few hits in with his potatoes and onions before the check point guy pinned him to the ground. A tall, blond Russian carrying a machine gun grunted at me to “go” “go” “go” so I went.
In 1997 I helped a friend who was short staffed at a box office at the local coliseum for a few months to earn some cash for a trip. I had a great time, met so many people and celebrities, and often got off late in the mornings after everything was done. It was common for me to leave at 2 or 3 am. June made these nights a thing to remember, she was funny, had a thing for jokes in poor taste, filled the office with all sorts of crap from the snack bars and cussed like a sailor.
One fun night of working during the WWE where I met the Rock and Chyna, while showing them to dressing rooms, (they were a hoot lol) I finished my shift after closing, it was 2:30 am and I was approached by a sheriff who always walked me out and I was told to “sit tight, we have a situation with your truck”. I immediately had that “wtf now” moment. Some nutjob was under my ride, arms wrapped around an axle, refusing to come out. I had to wait 2 hours while law enforcement drug the guy out from under my ride and waited for EOD to clear my vehicle. My then boyfriend received the wtf call from me letting him know why I didn’t come home on time; he knew my history with weirdos, and just shook his head and waited.
Turns out the guy was homeless and had mental issues. He was spooked by the caravans of vehicles leaving the venue and needed to find “a safe spot to hide” and my Isuzu Trooper was just the right place with the right height to crawl under.
In 1999 while living in Georgia our neighbor who owned a nursery noticed that I enjoyed flowers and flower gardening. We were living in a rental on 3 acres, and he lived next door far enough away that we really couldn’t see what he did in his yard. Tom seemed like a nice guy, his girlfriend was ok, both had stopped while driving by and introduced themselves. They were polite, welcoming and DRESSED on the few occasions that we spoke. One day while I was in my little flower garden planting bulbs, I looked up and here was a naked Tom in flip flops delivering lilies for my little garden. It became a usual thing to see Tom and Linda au natural in their backyard, something we hadn’t noticed before because we weren’t looking before. Thankfully Tom was in decent shape but there are things you don’t expect to see in sunlight when you look up as your neighbor says hello!
In 2004 I was shopping in Wally World minding my business. My hair was a deep red, down to my waist long and my curls were happy. Everyone was focused on the ongoing war in the middle east and attitudes toward people from that region weren’t the best. I wasn’t thinking about middle eastern people, I was thinking about pizza. As I walked down the isle to grab a frozen pizza, a little man wearing a shemagh grabbed my hair and made a very odd grunting noise and I quickly shoved him backwards. I’d had enough experiences with weirdos and wanted distance. This guy followed me isle to isle and when I finally turned and yelled at the top of my lungs for him to back off or get arrested. Within seconds this extremely tall, muscular GI had the little guy pinned, kissing the floor. I went back to shopping, he let him go and that was that until I hit the other side of the store, and here was the floor kisser with a big smile pointing at my hair offering me money and mumbling. After another yell, another guy in uniform, a huge black guy with dimples and big arms shoved the little guy backwards, hurled some I will tear you apart lines at him while his buddy took my cart and me and escorted us to a register, then out the door and stood guard at my truck until I left.
They seem to be everywhere I go, the lookers, the oddballs, the weirdos and the wackadoodles and many have become my people. Some are fun, some are scary, some are unexplainable. I get random messages, photos I don’t want, gifts, and I find myself constantly on guard. Where do they come from? Do they target everyone, or do I have some sort of hidden marking on my forehead only they can see? Or am I the wackadoodle?
The wackadoodle thing doesn’t just extend to humans, in 1992 I had an unfortunate incident involving a monkey in the Philippines, I’ll tell you about that later.
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