It would be a dull month if nothing happened at the motel, other than me blowing up at the landlord about my leaking toilet.
Two nights ago I headed out the door with a bag of 20 empty ginger ale cans (I usually give them to Old Wheezing Guy upstairs, but decided I could use 10 extra cents) and lo and behold! A police car in front of a neighbour's door! And a small group of people in earnest discussion, including landman and his wife.
The usual clutch of gossipers was sitting on the swing (you know, the kind of 4 person wood swing you generally see on the lawn at old folks' residences? We have one) and one of folks asked me where I was going.
This is what it's all about, around here... everyone has to know your slightest business. *sigh*
So I announced that I was going to the corner store for more ginger ale! I'm sure this was welcome news to all concerned. I jerked my head toward the police car behind us and whispered, "What's happening over there?"
Turns out one of the two dudes who lives in #19 flipped his lid. Turns out that both guys are schizophrenic and off their meds.
Not one, but too schizos! I can't spell that word, can I?
This is the second time the police have been called in for a disturbance at that apartment. It appears there was lots of noise during the night.
One of the guys in question I have had the dubious pleasure of meeting -- that time in the laundromat, when he got pissed at me for removing his clothes from the washing machine because his load was done.
I hope they get asked to move the hell out.