Won't You Be My Neighbor...

Fascinating thing happened today, or rather this evening. I was in the bedroom working on my writing, when the doorbell rang -- at 8:15 pm.

Now, who could that be?

I hear from the kitchen, "Oh, hi, Terry!" It was our next-door neighbor, come to pay us a visit. I've seen him maybe a handful of times in the four and a half years we've lived here, he's never come to the door, and honestly, I don't even know his last name. I think he works in health-care, but even that is sketchy.

Being the friendly neighbor, I go to greet him also. And there's something odd about neighbor Terry. Doesn't seem to have his balance, he doesn't. And he's flapping a paper around.

The rest is rather a blur.

He's yelling that the census workers had sent him over to find out information on me. The little paper was "from the census" with the "sorry we missed you" message across the top. Left at his house. He got 6 inches away from me and said I had to call the number right then, while he was there. The man smelled like he'd bathed in Jack Daniels, and his balance, as noted before, was rather off. "It's the LAW!" he screamed, like he was going to be carted off if he wasn't successful in this bizarre mission from God -- I mean the government.

I asked him why he was so angry. "I'M NOT!"

Really.

Next salvo? "YOU'RE ONE OF THOSE GODDAMN CONSERVATIVES!"

No, actually, I'm one of those goddamn women who won't put up with abusive drunks. Been there, done that, the teeshirts are way too expensive.

So he staggers on out the door.

A little backstory: I did indeed send in my form, after April 1, as sending it in before constituted perjury. Read the not-so-fine print, folks. And people show up to my door claiming to be census workers, telling me they'd not received anything. They were quick to admit that "things get lost." Too quick. With worn badges that were unreadable. I sent them on their way.

See, I know someone who works for the census. He said they change badges every month, or more often. And the "official gear" is easily attainable.

So on with the story.... I called the number on the paper and asked the man why he sent my neighbor over to get information. I'd certainly been home all day, except the two times I'd been outside enjoying the fine weather.

The man asserted he had not sent Terry over, that he "did it on his own." So where did the paper and the message allegedly targeted to me come from?

Oooo, silence. Then more assertions that he was not responsible for my neighbor coming over for the first time ever, drunk and abusive. And (you'll love this) the guy knew who I was even though I hadn't given my name, he had my phone number, and he knew exactly who I was talking about! I was calling from my cell phone, which shows a number with a different area code (family plan from my old hometown). He also stated that he had my information for the census. Hmmmm.

I informed him I would be going over to Terry's to sort this out, and tell him what the man said about his doing this on his own.

So I walk over to the neighbor, and he's lurching up his driveway, as though to meet me. A moment later, he is three inches away (he'd apparently fortified himself further with good ol' JD), and begins screaming at me, calling me a bitch, saying that "we'd always been good neighbors but THAT'S ALL OVER NOW, BITCH!" Again with the "conservative" and "law" shrieks.

Ya just gotta love drunks. No, not really.

So, tomorrow, being the bitch I am (oh, he really has no idea), I'm going to begin a campaign. Please reference my first post. I'm not really a nice person. First the census worker. I called him back and thanked him for sending a drunk to do his work. I got the number for his supervisor, though he wouldn't give a name as they are supposed to. I'll be calling there tomorrow. Next I'll be finding out Terry's full name, and doing a little research. Health care licenses are fragile things, especially if one abuses drugs and alcohol.

Oh, no, Terry, I'm not a bitch. I'm a Bitch. There is, as they say, a difference....

UPDATE: I've discovered that he has no health-care license of any kind, and neither does his wife. Strange, he told us she was a nurse when we first spoke. I also found out his drunkenness is the norm. At least he's always been a quiet drunk...until now.

The census office is unresponsive. What a surprise. What about the "call when the census worker is there if you want verification" spiel? The strangers showing up at one's door would have to wait a long time before continuing with their interrogation. Of course, they will probably just leave, tag you as a troublemaker, and send the next person. Our tax dollars at work...

And I'm not done yet. Oh, no, nowhere near done.