My Parking Lot Problems
When SHOULD I Call The Police?
The Sea Hag Luxury Apartments - A Few Weeks Ago
I’m a light sleeper. I need a fan and the sound of whale songs to fall asleep. I also need a sleep mask. All external stimuli must be erased so I can slip into unconsciousness.
The other night, at around 11:30 PM, I’d been attempting to fall asleep for a few minutes when suddenly a mechanical screeching disturbed my attempt at entering the void.
As I often do, I got up to see what the heck was going on outside! I’ve been known to yell at people from our window in the middle of the night like I’m a New Yorker in a tenement in 1894.
We live on the third floor of an apartment building called The Sea Hag Luxury Apartments1. It is tucked up into the Oregon Coastal Range forest. I have a view of just about everything up here: the ocean, the swamp, the forest, and the construction site for Phase III of The Sea Hag Luxury Apartments that they said would be done by now but still looks like an open-pit mine.
Then, there’s our apartment parking lot. The pièce de résistance of every apartment building.
This is all to say: I can really Rear Window the heck out of this place. And, being the generally curious person I am… I do.
I know who drives what car. I know whose dog is whose. I know who is cheating on whom with whom. And I DEFINITELY know if you stole the Pepcid out of my mailbox!
Usually, the only reason I’m awake at such an intensely late hour, 11:30 PM, is because I had a cup of green tea four hours earlier.
I’ve come to realize that I’m usually the only person who cares when shenanigans are going on at the apartment. AND we have three Oregon State Troopers who live at our complex.
Eau Claire, Wisconsin - Many, Many, Many, Many Years Ago
Many years ago we lived at the Half-Moon Lake Apartments in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. That was only a two-story apartment complex… but we did have another great view of that parking lot.
One night, at the Half-Moon Lake Apartments, I was woken from a deep sleep at 1 AM by the sound of a car door shutting. I know I don’t need to get up and look out the window each time I hear somebody shut a car door in the middle of the night, but often, I can’t resist the urge to look.
I peered out the window, and sure enough, there were three guys breaking into cars.
Typical. There went my night.
From the second floor of that apartment, I could see exactly where these car thieves, or more appropriately, thieves of stuff in people’s cars, were. (I looked up what they are actually called: Car Prowlers, which has a nicer ring to it, but honestly, I’ve never really heard this phrase before).
I called the police and stayed on the phone with dispatch until the cops were there a few moments later. I guided them in and pointed out where each car prowler was hiding. Behind a tree. Behind a car. And behind the garbage. They got all three of them.
After they’d been arrested and put in the back seats of the cop cars, I was asked to come down and identify them, which I did. Was this a great idea? Probably not.
Apparently, these guys had driven all the way down from St. Paul, Minnesota, to rifle through people’s cars in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Do they not have cars to break into in Minnesota?
Later I found out they were part of a car stuff theft ring and I had broken up their whole operation.
I was just like Batman—a scared, shaky Batman.
It didn’t help that my wife, K.L. Rockwell, told me that I probably shouldn’t have gone down to the parking lot and point out who the car prowlers were. They might come back to, “Get me!” out of revenge. For the next six months I looked over my shoulder but they never came back for their vengeance. The drive from Minnesota to Eau Claire was probably just too boring.
The police seemed pleased that I helped them break up the car thief ring. I was pleased with myself. I’m still pleased with myself. I’m a regular Charles Bronson with a landline phone.
Back At The Sea Hag Luxury Apartments
I flipped up my sleep mask onto my head like they were motorcycle goggles. I groped around for my glasses and was finally ready to investigate what the heck was going on down there!
Sure enough, there was a car that had just finished BACKING IN to two open spots. I generally don’t care if somebody backs into a parking spot, but it IS against regulations at The Sea Hag.
As a 1st Generation German-American, I just can’t abide when somebody doesn’t follow parking protocols. I mean, they were set up by trained professionals, right? Right?
This guy had backed in next to a retaining wall in the shadows so I was immediately suspicious… and not just because he backed in.
On the coast of Oregon, we get lots of different: car campers, #vanlifers, #SerialKillersInVans, older campers, newer campers, and everything in between. Sometimes they pull into our parking lot, sleep and slip out before dawn. That’s fine. Whatever. If the three cops and management that live here don’t care about it, why should I, right?
I watched the car for a moment. I couldn’t make out the license plate or even the model of the car. I’m no car guy, and that’s pretty hard for me to determine.
Strangely enough, my suspect looked like my nemesis who I believed had moved out a week earlier, which was shocking.
Here’s a link to a little story about my nemesis. Not my cat! Well, kind of about my cat:
I continued watching this guy proceed to rummage around in his hatchback. It was impossible to tell what he was doing. He could have been dismembering a human body for all I knew.
After his hatchback hijinks, he proceeded to swing open the driver’s side door… and then seemed to hide behind the car door. He watched the apartment building across the building from us. He stared at it. Intently.
He looked like he was laying in wait. I’ve heard that term on Law & Order before, and it’s never a good thing. The actors who play the corpses on Law & Order episodes can attest to that.
At first I thought, “Maybe he’s just waiting for somebody?” But then the minutes began to tick by. He hunched there behind the car door watching the building, as stealthily as an elderly ninja, for almost twenty minutes! I kept my eye on him the whole time.
K.L. Rockwell and I discussed what he might be doing. Was he changing his tire? No. Was he fixing the side of his car door? No. Getting ready to go to sleep? No. Attempting to snatch somebody and serial kill them? Possibly.
Here’s a bad picture I took with my cellphone:
After some back and forth discussion about the matter, we decided, yes, it was quite suspicious. Plus, there was a chance it was My Nemesis who had come to exact his revenge on me, even though My Nemesis drives a pickup truck.
So, I did what I hate doing more than anything else in the world. I called the police.
The following is a re-creation of my sleep-deprived conversation with 911 to the best of my recollection, *it’s mostly an approximation so don’t quote me on this😸:
911: “911. What’s your emergency?”
Me: “Oh, hi, yeah, I thought I called the non-emergency.”
911: “What’s your emergency, sir?”
Me: “Umm, well, you see, there’s this guy who… pulled up into our apartment and he’s crouching there behind his car door, staring at the apartment like he’s going to… I don’t know… jump out and grab somebody?”
911: “I see. Is he still there?”
Me: “Yes. He’s still crouching there.”
911: “What is the make and model of his vehicle? What color is it.”
(I don’t know anything about cars.)
Me: “It looks kinda’ like an older Subaru Forester. Green?’
(It wasn’t a Subaru Forester)
911: “And his license plate?”
Me: “I can’t see it.”
911: <sighs> “Have you seen him do anything illegal?”
(I had to think about this, she kinda’ put me on the spot)
Me: “He’s not supposed to be backing in?”
911: <another sigh> “Anything else.”
Me: “Umm… he’s just staring at the building, crouching there. It’s pretty weird.”
911: “I’m sending a car. He’ll check it out.”
Me: “Thanks.”
I gave her my phone number and then waited. I assumed that Mr. Subaru (it wasn’t a Subaru) would be gone once the cruiser got there, but he just kept hiding there, if you can call that hiding.
And then, after only five minutes, the cop pulled in.
I was going to be hailed as a hero, having caught a serial killer who was waiting for his prey. Or whatever.
The police officer put the light on him and asked him, “What are you doing there?”
The creeper said, “Oh, hello good sir, I am just waiting for somebody.”
Waiting for somebody!! I bet he was!!
His answer, however, seemed to immediately placate the police officer.
The police officer pulled out a cell phone and dialed. My phone rang. He had called me! I answered.
Here’s how that conversation between me and the policeman went, to the best of my recollection. *It’s just an approximation, don’t quote me on it😸:
Policeman: “You the guy who called this guy in?”
Me: “Umm, yes.”
(He seemed annoyed)
Policeman: "Sir, have you seen this gentleman doing anything illegal?”
(I had to think about this again)
Me: “Umm, define illegal.”
Policeman: “Sir, he told me he’s just waiting for somebody.”
Me: “Oh,” I said.
(this is what I’d been worried about… that he’d been WAITING for somebody!)
Policeman: “I gotta’ go, he’s not doing anything illegal.” <seemed angry>
Me: “Okay, thanks, sorry,” I said. APOLOGIZING!!
APOLOGIZING!!
The cop drove away in what I can only assume was in a huff.
I know this officer-of-the-law had to drive the four minutes from downtown to get here, but by the time he left I felt like I was the CRIMINAL for calling! Listen, there could’ve been an important bank heist à la HEAT going on downtown; I have no idea.
Thirty seconds after the cop left, my serial killer suspect started up his car and disappeared into the night WITHOUT picking anybody up (what?? I know…) .
Say what you will, but when I’m waiting for somebody I typically just sit in my car. Not crouched menacingly behind my open car door.
I wanted to talk to the cop’s manager!
BUT, K.L. Rockwell told me I got my result. I ran him off.
It’s these times I start to question my sanity. As usual. I mean, according to the police, that guy wasn’t doing anything wrong.
This guy was crouched there like an old, broken-down serial killer, ready to strike and put a dead body in his hatchback.
What was I going to do, go all vigilante? I’m too twitchy to become a vigilante. Honestly, I don’t know how Batman or any of the superheroes do it. It seems stressful and exhausting.
But… if anybody knows who this is, please ask him not to do this again, even if he is just picking somebody up.
Which he isn’t.
Or is he??
The End!
Name changed so you don’t dox me!
What a great story, but my question is can they really be called luxury apartments with a name like Sea Hag.
To be fair, the guy did park over the line.