Adventures with Bums: Crackhead Bum

So last August Justin and I were looking around at places for me (hah!) to live, and I made an appointment to check out this double that was close to a park. We were in the area early so we got some coffee, bought some books, and decided to hang out in the park until it was closer to our appointment. It was a beautiful day, we were in a good mood, all happy and shit.

I was sort of paying attention, sort of not, but I hear some guy talking really loudly on a cell phone, walking towards us sort of (on a path). It kept getting louder until I realized that the man was very close and I look up to see a bum, crawling towards me on his hands and knees, diseased finger extended towards me, with one eye looking at me and the other pointing the opposite direction. Turns out it was not a gentleman talking on his cell phone, it was a crazy fucking crack head talking to himself. And now he was talking to us.

This picture does not do him justice

“WHUT KINDA PEOPLE ARE YEEEEEEEEEEW?”

This seems like a threat. Using my catlike reflexes, I sit there and stare stupidly at him. Justin looks up a moment later, just in time for crack head to repeat his question.

“WHUT KINDA PEOPLE ARE YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE???”

Justin: “Uh, excuse me?”

Crack head: “Are yew good pee-pole?”

Justin: “Yeah man… we’re good people.”

Me: Continues to stare like a deer in headlights.

Conversation in which MC Crack head questions us about who we are, what our names are, where we’re from, and whether or not we read the bible ensues. He then proceeds to tell us about how he knows everyone in German Village, then points to random people and tells us their names and whether they’re nice or not. He tells us about his rich brother. He tells us about how he already smoked a crack rock today and drank two forties (it’s approximately 3:00pm), and “God willing, I’ma smoke another crack rock and drink two mah forties!”

You say crack??

Then things start to get interesting. Mind you – this crackhead is still on his hands and knees, eye level, close enough for us to smell the malt liquor and the inside of White Castle’s dumpster.

Crackhead: “Hey Justin?”

Justin: “Yeah?”

Crackhead: “Are you rich Justin?”

Justin: *laughs* “No man, I’m not -”

Crackhead: “CAUSE IF YER RICH MAN, GIMME MON-EH!!”

Neither of us have cash. I seriously would have given him two bucks and a stick of gum to get him to go away. At this point he’s been hovering for approximately 10 minutes. That’s a long fucking time to be pondering how a man whose eyes are looking in different directions will strangle you.

Now things are starting to get ugly. He tells us about how he just got arrested. He had been harassing people at a nearby bar and when cops arrived to ask him to leave he threw his forty up in the air so it smashed on the sidewalk. He told us this himself, I am not making this shit up. He’s starting to get pissed.

He then starts telling us that all the people here are assholes. He starts looking around screaming things like, “Fuckers! They’re fuckers!” and “Fucking assholes! Goddamn fucking assholes!” and “Motherfucking assholes!”

He finally gets up and wanders away, still while screaming obscenities. We sit there staring after him, and then stare at each other, totally mind-fucked after 20 minutes of this. I somehow release the blanket I have sucked up with my rectum.

We both feel oddly sick.

The fun and games don’t end here though. Fast forward three weeks. We signed a lease on a house and were moving in less than a week. I oh-so-intelligently think to look up the sex offender listings for the area. Yes, AFTER signing a lease. I am shocked to see that there are 9 sex offenders within a 0.5 mile radius. I am even MORE shocked when I expand the radius to two miles and three more offenders pop up. Guess who made the list???

Yep. The fucking crackhead. A Tier III sexual offender, no less, and his address is listed as Schiller Park. I spent most of the morning today pouring over the website trying to find this guy’s picture. I am heartbroken to admit that I scanned through 1,308 sex offender pictures (registered in Columbus alone, ladies!) and did not find him. He’s either dead or he was shipped out of Columbus.

After I sharted my pants and showed Justin he looked up his court records and I shit you not – our friend had been arrested on the day we met him in the park for attempted battery. This crazy fuck probably wandered away from us, pissed as hell, and assaulted someone else.

About two months into our lease Justin saw him getting arrested and put into the back of a car by a gas station. We haven’t seen him since. Lord knows though, he will be missed.