Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Another reason to stay in bed

I came into work fairly late. It seems that fourteen hours of sleep just doesn't do it for me. At approximately 10:00 am, I heard a knocking at my door. I acknowledged it for a moment then drifted off to slumber. An hour later, due more to a lack of gastral constraint than anything else, I woke up and called mom at the shop. She seemed genuinely upset, I feared the worst: she had run out of cigarettes. Low and behold something much worse had happened, mom shared the following harrowing story: a crazed auction consignor, actually the boyfriend of said consignor, stormed into the store and threatened my mother and father. He bellowed, "I will get me...I will get even. You will regret fucking me out of money." This was troubling but my sleep-addled senses failed to recognize the true horror, this crazy fucker knew where we--in particular me--lived. What if he was the one knocking at my door? Also, it bears mentioning that I am paranoid about home assassination in general, so this turn of events only fed my usually unreasonable fears.

I showered with the curtain open, water spilled all over the floor. My hair remained unwashed; I couldn't risk closing my eyes, not even for a single second. So, yea, I overreacted a bit. Thus far the only thing I knew was that an unknown auction consignor was extremely dissatisfied with their check and decided to vocalize their displeasure. Cursing does not necessarily mean homicide. I put on my brave face and drove to the store.

Let it be said that paranoia has some benefits, most notably being the fact that once in a while it turns out to be justified. My mom was nearly in tears, I could hear the terror in her voice--this from a woman who fought men in bars and thought her labor pains were a mild bout of gas, she is/or-at-least-was one tough bitch. The police were taking her statement when I being to quiz my father as to what happened. He said that a crazed middle-aged man, who happened to be sporting a mohawk, threatened each of them and stood within an inch of his face. It wasn't exactly the vague threats that scared them--yes, even my dad was scared--instead it was his deranged behavior and inability to stop shaking. Complicating matters further was his reason for being insanely angry: I auctioned off an item two months ago, it brought several hundred dollars, his girlfriend--the actual consignor--expressed disappointment in the amount but didn't seem overly upset after we explained that several dozen people inspected and were present at the sale, it brought fair market value. We haven't heard anything since, at least not until earlier today. So he was spouting off threats and shaking like Michael J. Fox over something that happened to be settled two months prior. He claimed the item in question was worth $1,400.00, which was unsubstanited conjecture, or as I like to call it--BULLSHIT. The piece did sell cheaper than expected, I know the actual buyer and he eventually sold it for $700.00 on EBay, however that is fairly common in an absolute auction; some items bring less while others bring more, it is the nature of the beast. My father stated he tried to reason with him but it was to no avail, in order to prevent further escalation and keep my sixty-five year old father out of a physical altercation, she called the police.

Later, after the police had left, my mom shared some interesting tid-bits about the man; she had been close friends with his sister and knew of him, which I later remarked would have been helpful to know as we wouldn't have dealt with the crazy bastard or his girlfriend. One former friend affectionately referred to him as "Charlie Manson," another associate had told mom a story involving her sons and "Charlie" chasing them down with a wooden chair, apparently he wanted to test how many headshots it took to get to the center of the cranium. Another neat factoid about Charlie: he had once kicked a man to death but escaped jail time by allowing his older brother, who had blacked out, to take the fall--this story came directly from his sister who happened to witness his human soccer hijinks.

My dad was actually caring a loaded pistol in the store, which didn't alleviate my fears; all I could picture was him shooting off his big toe or accidentally winging me as he mistook the pistol for his cell phone. I convinced him that it was unwise to carry a loaded weapon, especially while operating a motor vehicle. I sort of lied about our local conceal and carry gun laws, though I am sure the NRA wouldn't mind, not this one time.

Anyway, long story short: It appears that a homicidal lunatic is angry with my family, most likely this includes me since I actually auctioned the item in question; furthermore, I am probably going to be murdered in my sleep, assuming I ever rest again. Who knew that auctioning antiques could be so dangerous? I bet they don't share stories like this on the Antiques Road Show.

Go To Hell