The Craziest Person I Ever Met

It seems a shame to waste my first blog in just over a week on this -- but I'm going to anyway. Brace yourself, kids, it's gonna be a long one.

A few years ago, I became inadvertently entangled with a crazy person. The story is below. For the sake of literary flow, I won't interrupt the telling with details on how I obtained certain pieces of information, so you should know that once I could see this was turning into a real mess, I visited the police station and obtained some public records -- notably a tape and reports of some 911 phone calls that were made. These records, plus voice recordings and transcripts of said voice recordings, were part of the evidence that we collected that the judge refused to look at ... but I'll get to that later.

So. One day D and I were hanging out with our friend "Todd." Todd was living with this guy, "Caleb," and Caleb's wife, "Penelope." Todd was complaining about life with Caleb and Penelope -- mostly Caleb. Caleb is a very controlling man. He created a list of daily chores for Todd and would call Todd when Todd was out and say things like, "You need to come home and do the dishes right now or I'm kicking you out of the house." He was one of those people who does that kind of thing: Threaten people with the most extreme punishment you can think of for petty, stupid things. He gave Todd the room with a broken window, in the wintertime, and then bitched that Todd hadn't fixed the window. He would also call Todd's mom and tell her that Todd was partying way too hard and that he, Caleb, was worried about Todd. Very manipulative guy. Caleb is also from Evergreen, oddly enough (although several years older than myself), and Caleb claims to have been a professional snowboarder.

(This is a total aside. Todd still believes that Caleb was once a pro rider -- despite copious evidence that Caleb is a liar -- but I don't believe a word of it. 1) Because Evergreen isn't that big, and 2) because I know some professional snowboarders -- REAL pro riders -- from Evergreen, and 3) because they have never even heard of Caleb. Also because the only proof he offers is that he's a good snowboarder and he has a bunch of boards from this one company -- which he easily could have bought or been given as a gift, as it's a local company. He had these pictures he tore out from magazines and would say things like, "This is me doing a jump, but I got like twice that high, the photographer just didn't get that." (He didn't say these things to me, I only was physically in proximity to Mr. Crazy thrice.) And there would be no label on the magazine picture ... and let's not forget that sports photographers have cameras that can take, like, fifty shots a second. Liar, liar, pants on fire!)

So Todd is telling us all this, and eventually D and I are like, "Dude, why are you putting up with this? You're not on a lease. You don't HAVE to live there. If he is making your life that miserable, just move out!" Todd had a vehicle at the time, but no license, so we agreed to help him move out.

That went like this: Thursday night, Caleb calls Todd to bitch at him about something and says, "You need to get over here right now or you're kicked out." Todd says, "Actually, I don't even want to live with you anymore, so I'll come get my stuff." Caleb swears at Todd a little bit, threatens him some more, and we go over there with Todd and pack up some of his stuff. When we get there, Caleb says, "Sorry I freaked out on you, man, this is probably for the best," so we think everything is cool and we get a bunch of Todd's stuff, but we can't fit it all in his vehicle and my vehicle. So we ask if it's okay to come back later and get the rest of his stuff, and Caleb says that's fine.

Friday afternoon Caleb calls Todd. He tells Todd that it's his and Penelope's anniversary, so can he wait until tomorrow to come get the rest of his stuff. Todd says no problem.

Saturday rolls around. D and I are at work all day. We leave around 5 to find a very distressed Todd. Caleb has been calling his phone all day -- which Todd has not been answering, because it was in my car -- saying progressively crazier things like, "Hey man, you need to come get your shit out of my house and you need to come get it NOW, or I'm gonna get it out of my house for you, and you're not gonna like the way I get it out of my house. I need this room. I need this room NOW. Come get your shit."

So we go over there and pack up the rest of Todd's things. Caleb is stomping around moodily -- he must have just realized he wouldn't be getting rent from Todd anymore. Or something. I don't know what his deal was. He's being a big baby, is the point. We get everything loaded up and start driving back into Columbia. (Caleb and Penelope and Todd lived about fifteen minutes outside of Columbia -- this is pertinent, I promise.) So we're driving home and it's about to ice storm. Not good weather to be out in. We're almost back in town when Caleb calls Todd's cell phone and tells him we need to turn around RIGHT NOW and give him back the mailbox key. Todd tells D to turn around. D asks why and Todd tells him. D says, "screw that, the weather is horrible and there's no mail on Sunday anyway, he can wait until you see him in school on Monday and you can give him the key then." Todd (who is kind of a pansy) is too scared to tell Caleb this, so he asks D to call and tell him.

D calls Caleb and reiterates: No mail on Sunday, it's ice storming, you can wait until Monday to bring the key back. Caleb says, "You need to turn around right fucking now and give me back my key." D is not happy with this. He says, "We're not turning around, you can wait until Monday, it's not going to kill you, and the way you're acting, you're lucky nobody's beat your ass yet." Hangs up the phone.

At this point, Caleb calls the sheriff's office and tells them that D and Todd stole his HOUSE key, they're driving a so-and-so year and make and model, pull them over if you see them. Lie #1 that I could prove.

We make it home without incident and Todd calls the Columbia police non-emergency line. He tells them what happened and explains that his ex-roommate is a little unhinged and he's not sure what to do. The dispatcher tells him not to take the key back, to just wait until Monday and give it back to him in a public place.

Sunday. All day, Todd's voicemail is blowing up with Crazy's messages. "Give me back my key, man, or else. I'm gonna do something you won't like, don't make me do it." Penelope even weighs in at one point: "Please give Crazy -- I mean, Caleb -- the mailbox key back and it will all be over. He's going to do something stupid if you don't."

Monday. A sheriff's deputy shows up at D's work with an ex-parte -- a temporary restraining order. On it, Caleb says that D threatened to "kick his ass and kill him," that D is a drug trafficker and that Caleb fears for "my life, my wife and my property." (Those were Lies #2, #3 and #4, in case you were keeping track.) D tells the deputy it's total BS, and the deputy says, "Well, you'd better get it taken care of, otherwise it will become a full restraining order and if you two run into each other at Wal-Mart, you can be arrested for violation."

We go to court a couple of weeks later. We have the aforementioned evidence that Caleb flat-out lied to the police. Caleb's evidence looks like this: Some pictures of D and Todd blowing up action figures with fireworks one summer (not illegal), and a letter from someone in Colorado claiming that "things happen" to people who have disagreements with Todd. D tries to show the judge our evidence (police records, phone recordings), and the judge says, "I'm not looking at that, if you have evidence you want me to look at, you need to file a restraining order against Mr. Crazy here."

Then the judge says, "You two just leave each other alone for the next six weeks and we'll drop this whole thing. Okay?"

THE VERY NEXT DAY, I'm dropping Todd off at school. He calls me about twenty seconds after he leaves the car and says, "Guess what I just saw?"

"What?"

"Caleb was lurking behind the bushes so he could memorize your license plate number."

That is it. That is the last straw for me. I go to the Columbia police, then to campus police when they won't help me, because I want it on record that this guy memorized my license plate number, so when he calls and says, "Um, yeah, someone threw a brick through my front window and I just saw a 1999 Subaru Outback with plate # so-and-so drive away," they know he's full of it. I find a detective willing to listen to me at campus police. I tell him my story and show him the evidence. D tells him the story. I drag Todd into the station and bully him into telling the story, too, because he's the one who got us into this mess -- he was being a baby about it, too. "We're going to work in the same field, I don't want any trouble with him." Little late for that.

The detective finishes listening to all of this, expresses amazement that the judge refused to look at our evidence, notes that Crazy Boy has perjured himself and could thus land himself in jail, and finally says, "Do you want me to talk to him?" "YES!" I tell him, in tears at this point. "I don't even know this guy. I just want him to leave me alone."

Six weeks later at the second ex-parte hearing, guess who doesn't show up? The judge dismissed the order, and Crazy Boy had to pay all the court fees. Ha ha.

Fast forward to a couple of years later. I'm in Colorado starting an internship when Todd calls me. "Hey, remember when Caleb memorized your license plate number?" Yes, I remember. "Well I asked him why he did that and he said he wanted to do a background check on you so he could show you were an unreliable witness."

Two problems with this story: 1) I never talked to the judge. In fact, my involvement was limited to procuring public-record documents until that jackass decided to involve me and my car on his own time. I was not a witness to anything. 2) You can't get information on a person using a license plate number. You can find out if the car is stolen or has been involved in any crimes, and to whom it's registered, IF you have access to a police database.

"Anyway, he had his friend in the CIA look up your plates and you have a warrant out for your arrest in Denver." For what? "Parking tickets."

I'm sure you can see the holes in this story without me having to point them out. I'll just say this: I'd been pulled over two weeks before for having a tail light out, and didn't get arrested. No warrant. But to make sure, I called the city and asked if there was a warrant out for my arrest. There was not. I asked if I had any outstanding parking tickets. I did not. I called Todd back, told him that Crazy was full of it and recommended that he not believe anything else Crazy told him.

This all came back to me because last night I was hanging out with Todd and he mentioned that he'd been taught to snowboard by Crazy. I said, "I can't believe you still talk to him," and he said (finally!) that he doesn't talk to Crazy anymore, but that Crazy and Penelope have a kid. "That poor child," was all I could say.

Then I said, "You know, what a crock of shit. That guy was such a liar. 'Ooh, I have a friend in the CIA who's going to risk his job to look up something because of a pointless vendetta I have against this girl I've never even been properly introduced to. She has a warrant out for her arrest.' What a crazy, crazy liar. What, you have nothing better to do with your time than make things like that up? Seriously. Get a life, loser."

And finally, Todd agrees with me.

But I don't know if that's the end of the story. I hope it is. I get this feeling sometimes, though, that I'm not rid of Crazy yet. I hope he's learned his lesson: Don't lie to the police, especially not when someone who's been trained as an investigative journalist is involved, because she'll send a detective to your grad-school class to pull you out and warn you that you're headed for jail time and probation if you don't quit being crazy.

I think it just kills him that he didn't do anything to us -- he was crazy, he had to pay court fees for being crazy, nothing happened to us. We "won." I hope he's not looking for a rematch.

Moral of the story: Stay far away from crazy liars.