On Why I Should Never Be A Field Detective
I have a connection in law enforcement who told me that if I could get the Pizza Stalker’s license plate number, he’d run it and see if the guy had any sort of official record of crazy stalker-like and/or pervert killer behavior. Of course, he cautioned me that if Pizza Stalker’s plates come back clean, that doesn’t guarantee that Pizza Stalker isn’t a crazy stalker-like pervert killer, but if he has a record and is doing this, they can take some action. My connection also agreed that the lock on the patio gate was a good idea, so I need to get that taken care of as soon as I can.
I wondered how I was going to figure out which car was Pizza Stalker’s without having to go into the store or anything. The pizza place is right on my way home from work, so the last few times I’ve driven by there, I’ve looked over to see if I could see him inside the store or anything, and I wasn’t able to get any information.
But last night, I glanced over toward the lot as I passed, and Pizza Stalker was at that very moment getting out of his car. I screeched down the next side street and took a loop street around through a neighborhood that comes out right next to the pizza place. I had the bright idea that I’d zip through the lot and get his plate number and be back on the main road before he even came back out of the store.
Except that when I pulled into the lot, he was on his way out of the store right then.
I very casually looked over on my way by and noted the plate number and began repeating it to myself as I turned back to get on the main road. And of course, the main road was FULL of traffic. Fuck.
I was convinced that Pizza Stalker was going to catch me stalking him before I was able to get out of the parking lot, and I completely freaked out. I sat there twitching like a crazy woman until the traffic cleared up a bit, and just as I got ready to zip out of the parking lot, a damn city bus pulled up out of nowhere and stopped RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, blocking me in the lot.
So I had to sit there and wait for the bus to drop off its passengers and pick up its new ones, and all the while I had no idea if Pizza Stalker was right behind me or what. I have a rather distinctive-looking car with a big fat Tim Kaine sticker plastered across the back, and I park it in the numbered lot across from the back patio where Pizza Stalker likes to show up unannounced, so if he was behind me and paying any attention at all, he had to have noticed.
Finally the bus left and I peeled out like my car was on fire.
So much for my stealth plan.
I have this secret plan to start a girl detective agency one day, but when I do, I’m going to have to be the investigator who does a lot of the behind-the-scenes work – background checks and research and such. I’m very, very good at that part. When it comes to field work and stealthy behavior, though, I’m totally Inspector Clouseau.
In all seriousness, though, I’ve realized that I’m more uncomfortable with this situation than I thought. I’ve been really uneasy at home in the evenings, and when I go to bed at night, it seems like every crunch of the leaves or rattle of the neighbors’ gates is a sign that someone’s going to break in to my house. I’ll feel much better with the patio gate locked from the inside, but I still want to be sure that Pizza Stalker won’t come back.
So we’ll see what the check turns up.
7 Replies to “On Why I Should Never Be A Field Detective”
You are stalking the pizza stalker.
I was afraid that in the midst of your departing the scene you might have forgotten the plate number. Glad you didn’t, and I can’t wait to see what comes up.
i am really glad you are doing this.
also, i want to know about Plush! or maybe trade cd’s for a copy.
I’m not glad you’re doing this; this is silly. Be direct with the man and tell him he is not to come by any more. Better yet, just call his workplace already and inform them of what he’s done; explain that you were trying to be gracious and return what seemed to be kindness with appreciation but that, since the random visits, you’ve become uncomfortable in your own home and thought they should 1. know about it and 2. guarantee that he won’t be sent to deliver to your home again.
You could have created an accident or run someone over by acting like a twitchy crazy lady. It’s almost as bad as having your own weapon used against you. You’re stressing out now because you aren’t dealing with the situation directly. Of course, you’re become uncomfortable.
Whether or not the records check comes back “clean” you’ve become unnerved and the way to deal with it is just to deal with it head on – call the pizza place and just explain, to a manager, what has transpired and that, no matter how nice the man may be or well-intended his actions, it has, nonetheless, freaked you out.
I’m sorry I’m not following blog etiquette by being cutsie about it but, really, freaking out behind the wheel of a car and peeling out of parking lots just isn’t acceptable. You could hurt someone.
hugs and kisses,
i’m sure she wasn’t quite as tweaky and freaked out as she puts on… in case you might have not noticed… we girls tend to exaggerate sometimes… it’s how we do.
Ooh! Girl detective agency! Can I join up?
I know all about “petechial haemorrhaging” (which I didn’t know how to spell until I looked it up) and “seven alelles in common” and all that jazz from all the oh-so-informative TV I watch.
And also? I can totally be stealthy.
Dude, that uncomfortable-in-your-own-home feeling is the WORST! I was fine in this place until I met Crazy Jim Upstairs, he of the crucifixes and computers. Something about that weirded me out so much that for the next week when I took my trash out I did wind sprints then spent the next five minutes jumping up and down with my hands shaking. Thank GOD I got over that, or else my ass would be moved now.