Pepper and Me
I recently put myself in the 4% of the population (making it 4.0001) by buying some canisters of pepper spray. (That figure may be a lot of malarkey, but my reasons for the purchase are not.)
The decision came after interfacing with a neighbor with a brain like a badly constructed do-it-yourself bookcase where the edges don’t quite match. We met when I was walking my dogs, two terrier mixes named Mookie Moo and Bitsy Boo, past his domicile a few blocks away from mine, and he thought they left their calling cards on his lawn. But alas, they are not those kind of dogs, and I am not that kind of owner. He spied us from his garage and began beating his chest and rumbling.
“You missed a spot,” he said.
“Where?” I said.
“I cleaned it up.”
“No you didn’t. There’s something there.”
He pointed a rusty shovel like a caveman with a javelin and came out to look. Not finding anything, he beat his chest and bounded back to his turf. For my part, I called the police, who later interviewed Cro-Magnon man and filed a report for disorderly conduct. After that, he couldn’t stay away from the three of us, a woman with a plastic bag and her two trusty companions. One time, he even drove in front of my house and uttered his opinion about me using words etched on the bathroom wall in a high school. I neither appreciated it nor agreed and called the police again.
“What’s his dysfunction?” the sergeant said.
“I don’t know,” I said going into a synopsis of what the neighbors had told me and about his brawls, his fights with his wife, his fist fights.
She promised to talk to him, but I have little idea how that turned out because she never got back to me. Either that, or something didn’t stick because his wife later got in the act about the proper disposal of the refuse as well.
Then the idea of pepper spray came to me, and I went out and bought some. Deciding to practice, I went outside, opened the latch and sprayed. But there’s a trick about pepper spray. It is better to practice when the wind isn’t blowing into your face, as you will get a snoot full. On the positive side, though, it really works.
But I never got to use it on him because he one day disappeared. I believe one of four things happened to him.
He joined the mafia.
He got an Italian kiss.
He’s still at the police station.
He’s wandering around the forest leaving a trail of pumpkin seeds eaten by raccoons and squirrels.
This goes to show where the adage that “Success is when preparation meets inspiration” is true because I soon had the chance to use the stuff and was prepared when that moment came with the Cro-magnum woman living nearby.