To set the stage: my mom and I live on a dead end road in a rural setting, up on a hillside. There are six houses on the lower section, each one pretty close to the road and highly visible. There are a few more houses further up the hill in the trees. Our road tees off of a road that parallels the interstate. There's no reason to be on this road unless you live here or are coming to visit someone. Or are delivering the mail or lost or trying to talk to us about Jesus.
My mom's house sits right next to the road, and the road to my place is just up the hill. I was on my way into town, and had stopped at my mom's to check in with her. While sitting and chatting with her and her caregiver, I glanced out the window and saw that some dude in a Subaru wagon had backed into my driveway, unloaded a cooler and a backpack, and was rummaging through the contents of his car. Hmm, I thought. Something's wrong with this picture. Surely he doesn't intend to stay there any longer than it takes me to load the 12 gauge, does he? But, being the mellow, kind-hearted person I am, I merely kept watching him through the window. He appeared to be in his mid twenties, fairly clean-cut. Late model, shiny red car, Washington license plates. There's no reason to immediately be too suspicious.
He kept rummaging around, moved some stuff from the back to the front, then leaned up against his car and appeared to trim his nails. Odd. Then he stepped forward and... what the...? No.Way. Is he...? He's getting ready to take a piss! Seriously? Dude, there's a house down here with three women in it, all of us looking out the window by now. All gobsmacked by your lack of couth.
OK, that's it. I charged out the front door and across the driveway, hoping to embarass him. As soon as he saw me he yelled "Sorry!" and turned around. Now mind you, this whole thing is effing bizarre, because there's no cover up there. No shrubbery, no bushes. He's facing a walnut tree that's about 10" in diameter and about six feet from the road. NOT adequate cover. Homeslice doesn't even have the sense to stand behind his car. Nope, he's just taking a leak and enjoying the view.
He covers up his goods, turns back around, and tells me he's sorry, he just needed to stop and "rearrange some stuff in his car." He's on his way from California back to Washington, his "homeland," where he has to take care of a bunch of traffic citations and court business. Hello, did I ask? All I had said was, "can I help you with something?" Which is polite country-speak for "get the hell off my damned property before I put some lead in your ass."
He told me he'd be gone in a few minutes, and I said OK, that's fine. As I turned to walk back down to the house, he calls out "My name's Levi!" My response was, "OK, good luck to you." Really, we're not going to become friends, buddy. You're going to pack your shit up and git on down the road.
Back in the house I go, and relate our conversation, after locking the front door. This guy is very strange and has set off my crazy-meter. We spend a few pleasant minutes concocting theories as to what's up with him - it's a stolen car, he's on the lam and hiding from the cops, he's just stupid, he's an escaped psychopath. More than a few minutes go by, and I remember that my purse is sitting out in my truck with the windows rolled down. Which is normally just fine, but not today. He's still up there rummaging through the shit that's piled in and on his car, and when he hears me hollers down "Just a few more minutes and I'll be out of here." I yell back "OK" and go back in the house.
Next thing I know, Mr. Clueless is up there changing his pants. WTF? Do you not see that house down there? Or the one across the road? At least he kept his chonies on, but still. At this point I've had e-frigging-nough and I call the sheriff. They ask me to call back if he leaves, so when he finally buttons everything up and starts the car, I call them and am told they're fairly close. We've been able to get his license number, so I figure at least someone can stop him and have a chat about personal boundaries. But lo! what do I see coming up the road? The sheriff!
OK, this is where it all gets boring. Deputy talks to him, another deputy shows up (which is hella exciting in this neighborhood). One of them calls me to ask if I want to press charges for trespassing. I say no, I just thought he was acting really strange and wanted you to check and see if he was hiding from the cops or high or whathaveyou. They let him go, so evidently there weren't any warrants for his arrest. Dammit. He went on his way and I hope to never hear of him again.
So Levi, wherever you are, here's a tip for you: next time you want to pull of the road and "rearrange" things, try a rest stop. Us country girls are pretty picky about who's taking a piss on our lawns.
