Apparently there is a Persian living on my street who has declared a jihad against a very crazy old woman.
Friday morning, I was packing my car to go to Moab. Tent and sleeping bag in the trunk, bike on the roof, gun under the seat. NBD. As I am about to close the trunk, a woman comes shuffling towards me up the street. She is wearing a faded bathrobe, slippers, and looks moments away from dropping dead in the middle of the asphalt. Her hair was stringy, with a multitude of baby blue and pink plastic-foam curlers dangling at various lengths around her skull. A lost cause for sure.
She approached me and said, "Do you live here?" She was pointing at the house next door to mine.
"No. Not here. But I live there," pointing to the cat lady's house. Which is also my house.
"My house got broke into last night. I can't even call the cops cuz they will lock me up in a crazy house."
"You know what, it's that damn per-zee-an, he's the ringleader you know." Apparently, there is a man with a dark complexion, whom she has determined is a Persian. She, being an obvious imbecile/redneck, pronounces it 'per-zee-an,' with a rather healthy twang at 'an' part. Typically attached to an expletive.
"I just needa find someone to come look, so I got proof. They're comin in through the ceiling and stealing my water. I know they was, their door was open all night."
At this point she was doing a lot of pointing, and was also talking rather loudly, which had me worried that if this so-called per-zee-an did indeed exist, and was in fact sneaking in through the ceiling, stealing this (maybe not crazy) old woman's water, I certainly didn't want to be seen associating with her, thus possibly incurring a jihad through association.
"Maybe you should call the police?"
"I cant! Do you know what the cops'll do to old ladies? They'll lock me up, cuz they think I'm crazy."
"Uh huh." I think throughout, I pretty much had the same look on my face--half squinty eyes, mouth slightly ajar, trying very hard not to laugh/semi nervously looking about.
"I have great water you know, good pipes and all. They just wanna scare me outta here so they can get my good water. I have great flow."
"Wait. Why do they want to get your water? Why don't they have their own water?"
"You don't know about this? Bout whats goin on round here? They got them Hebrews all up in here (pointing at some apartments, apparently infested with 'Hebrews')that damn per-zee-an, stealin my water, bathin them Hebrews!"
I wondered what in the hell that could possibly mean.
"What in the hell does that even mean?"
"They are stealin my goddamned water!"
"You better keep an eye on your car, this seems like a nice neighborhood. Well it's not! That damn per-zee-an is the ringleader, they got teasers standin out here all night long, I took down their license plates and everything."
"I think maybe you should probably call the police. I'm going to Moab in 15 minutes. I'm sort of useless as a vigilante at the moment."
At that point, I immediately regretted telling her I was leaving for Moab for the weekend, lest somehow that damn per-zee-an find out, and maybe steal my 12 boxes of soy milk, since my tap water isn't worth a damn, and they are apparently in the business of stealing liquids.
Once she realized that I was useless to her cause, she shuffled back down the road, muttering all the way. Part of me mostly regrets not going into her house to see the "evidence" of the water jihad. However, the other part of me really just wanted to go to Moab. Also, I feel like that may have simply been an elaborate plot on her part to get me in her house in order to murder me. I mean let's be honest, weighed against anything besides Moab, I'd have been in her house in a second. So as far as murder plots go, she had a pretty compelling story.
Sometimes I think I'd be way to easy to lure into a ridiculous situation, resulting in murder.