9/11/01

For years I made it a point to NOT work a “real” job.  I needed to be available during the day for “I forgot my lunch” or “I forgot my report” or field trips or school graduation ceremonies, what have you.  I have worked as many as 3 part time jobs at a time but I never looked for a “real” job (aka: M-F 8-5).  Brother bear had tried, for years, to get me to apply for a job where  he worked.  I remember once, early, early on, entertaining the idea and realizing that I couldn’t do that and talking to the manager about part time and that just wasn’t an option.  Funny, while I was a full time waitress I had so many job offers from customers.  Never an option, I can’t even imagine what day care costs for 3 would have been.  As the years went by the job offers lessened…hmmm…makes one wonder if the offers came because of looks or service.  My goal was always to get the last child thru elementary school before taking on a full time/real job.  Part time jobs are so much more flexible.  No benefits excepting you get to work when it’s convenient.

When the last of the litter was ending her elementary school years a position became available where Brother bear works and he again pushed me to apply, that time I did.  It was the end of spring in 2001. So, I applied and nothing came of it.  Someone else was hired.  No biggie, I still had time to play with, Samantha was just ending her 2nd to last year of elementary school.  I had another year at least.

Fall was just starting when again, a position became available.  Again I applied, doesn’t hurt, right?  I was invited  to come in and sit and watch to see if this would  be something I’d be interested in and be able to do.  Okay, fine.  It was a Tuesday, I’d gotten my kids off to school and drove to the office and was sitting at the desk of my future manager when my future co-worker walked in the door and said “Hey, did you hear?  A plane just flew into the World Trade Center.”  It was just before 8am CST.  Me, I live in denial, I wrote it off to an accident.  Brother bear, he called it immediately…terrorist attack.  It must have been the radio that alerted us to the 2nd plane hitting the 2nd building.  At that point…there is no denial.

I stayed a few more hours.  Brother bear had taken a 1/2 day off and when he left I felt my oxygen line leave with him.  As soon as I could think of a reason to leave, I was outta there.  I was on my way home when the radio reported the plane going down in PA.  The radio station immediately made the “maybe” connection to the Trade Center, I shook my head and hoped they were wrong.  I got home and watched, repeatedly, the 2nd plane crashing into the other building.

The kids came home from school later, they’d been informed what was going on during the course of the day and Alex, this is too cute, Alex told me all about what he’d heard and said “think about it mom, look at history, who was it that was willing to kill themselves for their country?  Remember the Kamizes?  I think the Japanese did this!”  Again, how cute is that?  Alex was in Junior High and was going on historic events.  As the mom, I wasn’t any more informed on world news than my son was because I didn’t want to be.  I gave up CNN when Alex was a baby and as I was rocking him in my rocking chair, I thought about all the moms throughout history who rocked their baby boys and later learned  they were killed in war.  I shut myself out on purpose.  However, if  America was under attack  I couldn’t shut myself out anymore.  It was time for me to pay attention because I have a son.  Do the math, it was 2001…we’re going to go to war, no doubt there.  Alex would be up for the draft in 3 years and a month.  That’s the kind of math that my head works out automatically. I’m a mom. I was terrified.

I worked that night, at the restaurant, and it was entirely empty.  The few tables I did have were people who had come to the Mpls. area to catch a flight out but were unable to leave .  Two things happened that night, one: it was the 1st time I’d heard the name Osama Bin Laden and two:  I realized that anyone who worked in the service industry was not going to be able to support their families anymore.  Think about it, if there’s a war…..you don’t take your family out for dinner.  I also worked at B&N at the time,  it’s also a service industry and I was going to sink.   Apparently I had to make sure I got the job that I’d spent the morning at.

Nothing happened.  No call from the manager, nothing.  I asked the managers at B&N and the restaurant if they’d gotten any calls inquiring about me…nope, nothing.  Um….not good.  I had to support my family and my income was going down the drain before my eyes.  I had to support my family, war or no war.  It seemed like a long time but it probably wasn’t since I’m not a patient person,  before I called Bob’s manager.  He’d always told me that if I had any questions, feel free to call.  I was feeling a tad desperate knowing that my industry was going for a dive and suddenly it irritated me that he never even gave me a chance, never called to references  about me  and that sort.  I was mad when I made the call, most likely not a good thing to do when applying for a job but there it is.  I was mad and I called and in a nutshell said “you said to call if I ever had any questions and I have questions.  Why have you never checked out my references, why don’t y0u want to hire me?”  There was more in between but that was the gist.  Never used to be but the older I get, the more confrontational I can be.  Push my back against the wall, I’ll get in your face.  Ef w/my children, I’ll get in your face.  This was an “I need a job and you’re effin’ w/my kids” deal.  After all, they’re the ones who needed to be provided for. Wouldn’t have done it at 20 but I was 41 and had kids to support.  Nothing like children to give a person backbone, right?

I can only guess that I took future boss by surprise.  He agreed that he hadn’t checked references and whatnot and told me that he didn’t think I’d be right for the job since I ran around for a living and I’d be stuck at a desk.  He also offered me a job.  That irritated the shit out of me.  As angry as I was I had to accept it.  I had to.  I had children.  Honestly can’t tell you if he offered the job during that same phone call or if he called me back.  I do know that I was angry that I HAD to accept it.  Also don’t know if I accepted right away or got back to him.  I do know that there were a few rough years in the beginning where I hated my job.  Part because I pressured the boss into giving it to me and part because no one…NO ONE (including my cousin, Skip) wanted me there except for Bob.  That’s a horrible feeling,  knowing no one wants you there.  That’s also another story.

Anyway, look…it’s now 10 years later.  Osama Bin Laden is dead…and that took WAY too much time, there are children who were born after their fathers died and there have been no more terrorist attacks on our homeland.  Okay, that last one is a good point because we seem to be more than able to ef ourselves from the inside so incredibly well.  God help us all. Right, I need not discuss politics.


News story: September 14th, 1957 3

“Minneapolis police patrolman Robert H. Fossum, 31, married and the father of three, lay dead in the middle of 39th Street from a bullet wound to the head. His partner, Ward Canfield, writhed in pain next to him, critically injured from a bullet that hit his pelvis. He’d been dragged and then run over by the getaway car driven by his assailants, three South Minneapolis brothers in their early 20s.”

The end of that story was chases, hostages and a shootout that left 2 of the 3 O’Kasick brothers and a hostage dead.  The 3rd brother shot himself after his brothers were killed in the shootout.  He lived, was imprisoned and managed to commit suicide in prison.

In 2004 I read the story of the O’Kasick brothers in a badly titled book called Greed, Rage and Love Gone Wrong; Murder in Minnesota.  There were somewhere around 10 stories in the book, not all of them interesting and personally, I hate it when someone tells me a true story but the ending or the culprit is still a mystery.  There were a few of those.  The only story that stuck with me was the story of the O’Kasick brothers.  The youngest O’Kasick, James, was only 2o years old when he killed himself.  He wasn’t the leader of the pack, he was just a follower sticking to his brothers, when they were dead he was alone and had to atone for everything the others had done.  The eerie thing about him killing himself is that he stabbed himself 3 times in the stomach.  Who could do that?   How unhappy does a person have to be to actually stab them self in the stomach to begin with, but to do that 3 times?  That is simply unimaginable to me.  That’s what entirely creeped me out about that story, why it stayed on my mind.

I remember having lunch with Leon shortly after reading that story because I asked him if he remembered anything about the crime spree the O’Kasick brothers went on that led up to the night the police officer was murdered and everything following.  I know the media followed them and Leon is the oldest person I know.   Leon remembered the brothers and filled me in on what he remembered.  That conversation satiated me and my interests went on to something new.

My mom’s biological father died when my mom was 4 or 5, her mother remarried and mom’s step-dad was, in my mom’s eyes, her dad.  He was the only dad my mom remembers having and she adored him.  His name was Claude Brewer and he was a Minneapolis police officer.   Claude Brewer died in November, 1959 of pancreatic cancer.  I was born in March of 1960 so I never met him.  I have, however, heard many wonderful stories about him and am sorry that I missed ever meeting him.   He was sick for a few years before he died.  His fellow officers used to help cover for him during his illness.  Some nights while he was on duty he’d be laying in agony in the back of the squad car while his partner drove around.  After all, if he didn’t work, he didn’t get paid and he had a family to support.  Buddies are a very good thing to have.

Four years after I’d read and left behind the story of the O’Kasick brothers I got a call from my mom one evening.  She recently had joined a rather large bookclub, as far as bookclubs go and their club had just read and discussed the book The Pact written by Walter J. Roers and she’d called me after getting home from the meeting.  She sounded a little off kilter.   I told her that’d I’d read that book years before and I’d met the author and that I had an autographed copy inscribed to “Goddess Jacque”.   Yep, in my 1st few years working at B&N that was my fun thing to do.  I have around a dozen or so autographed copies of various books, some I haven’t even read,  addressed to me in the same manner.  My only defense is that I must have needed ego boosting at that point in my life.  Anyway the story in The Pact is a story about a couple boys that grew up in south Minneapolis and that’s where my mom grew up.  As she was telling me that she liked and appreciated the book because of her memories in those very same places the author had told about and the conversation that the women had had  about the book she sounded on edge.  I just shut up and listened as she spoke.  She said that another woman, that she wasn’t familiar with had spoken up and said that she’d also grown up in south Minneapolis.

After relating that part of her bookclub meeting to me my mom told me the story of the O’Kasick brothers.  It had been 4 or so years since I’d read the story and had picked Leon’s brain about it  so was not at the forefront of my memory.  As my mom spoke it came all came back and I let her know that I was familiar with the story.  As she spoke her voice seemed to quicken and I wasn’t sure what the stories had in relation to each other or why she has switched gears so I just shut up and listened.

My mom then went back to the bookclub meeting and the woman who also grew up in south Minneapolis.  They spoke after the meeting and it turned out that both of their dads were policemen in Minneapolis during the time of the story of Roer’s book.  One of them asked which prescient and it turned out that their dads both worked for the same prescient.   My mom asked the woman what her dad’s name was and then went through a wave of emotions once the woman told her.  The woman’s dad was Robert Fossum.  It was this woman’s father who was murdered, actually in what I’ve read the real term is “executed” by Michael O’Kasick.

That’s where this all ties together and where it gets bizarre.   The night of September 14th, 1957 my mom’s dad was scheduled to work.  He was far too sick to do so and called the prescient to let them know that he just could not make it in that evening.  Robert Fossum, this woman’s dad, replaced my mom’s dad for that particular shift and was executed.  If I were my mom that night my heart would have dropped into my stomach.  Well kind of, for a little bit that night, my heart did drop into my stomach.

According to my mom, her dad never forgave himself for not working that night.  He shouldn’t have been so hard on himself and he died only 2 years and 2 months later and he suffered plenty.  Let’s talk variables, Claude Brewer was not Robert Fossum.  Had Claude worked that night the chances of the squad car being in some other location than it was in when it got the call to chase the O’Kasicks would, most likely have made it not the closest squad car, therefore the not the 1st to arrive. Maybe it still would have been but history is history and none of us has the ability to change it.  I just think my mom shouldn’t have to go through the rest of her life feeling guilty about something she had no control over.  My heart goes out to the family of Robert Fossum and from what I’ve heard they’ve never blamed my mom’s dad.  I just thought it was an odd story so I thought I’d share it.


Raise your hand if you’ve ever had a stalker

When I was 19, before I went away to college, I worked 2 jobs.  The 1st was at a restaurant (still had the 1st job I’d gotten when I was 16).  I worked there Monday thru Friday, days.  The 2nd job was at a department store,  no set schedule just random nights and weekends.  One day, at the restaurant I had a table that had a single male at it…okay, that happened a lot,  I worked the lunch shift and this was a no brainer.  I waited on him, that was it.  There was nothing out of the ordinary about this table until I gave the guy his bill.  As I gave him his tab he handed me a note. That’s when it fell outside of the ordinary.   It took me a second to register in my brain that this guy had just given me a note, A NOTE…are you kidding? That is so not part of the routine of waiting on tables, it stopped me in my tracks for a second,  just a second, then I walked away to tend to my other tables.  I shoved the note in one of my apron pockets as I walked away.  The restaurant had a cash register for people to pay at.  My last contact with any patron was always presenting them with their tab, then they’d leave the table, pay at the register and leave the restaurant.  This guy didn’t leave. That was bad on two counts, how am I going to make dollars if I can’t turn and burn the table and the whole OMG-is-he-really-waiting-for-me-to-respond-to-this-damn note thing. While noticing that he wasn’t leaving I also noticed that his eyes were on me every second I was on the floor.  That was pretty creepy and waitresses do NOT have time for junior high drama crap.

In passing, I told a co-worker about the situation and she immediately asked me if he was cute and asked me what the note said. I told her that I didn’t know if he was cute or not, he was a patron, not a potential date and that I hadn’t read the note, didn’t want to, I just wanted him to leave.  She then asked me which table, I told her, she checked him out the next time she went onto the floor and came back to me with “read the note”.   I read the note, it started with “I don’t normally do this….” and ended with him asking me out, with a lot of flattery in between.   Okay then…really?   Note-guy was obviously much older than I was (and at that point in my life “much older” meant he was probably in his mid to late twenties) and had asked me out by way of a note.  A note.  I think the last time I’d been asked out via note was in 7th grade.   Hey, what’s not alluring about being asked out by way of a note,  right?  Right, there was no chance of me ever going out with this guy.

Generally when someone asked me out, they would ask me for a certain night.  Next Friday, a week from Tuesday, didn’t matter because it was easy to just say “rats, can’t, I have plans for that night”.   After a few times of being asked and “having plans” they’d take the hint.  I couldn’t do that in this situation…wasn’t asked for a date on a certain night, he had asked me if I’d go out with him “sometime”.   When someone asks you if you will go out with them sometime…it really means “ever”.   Will you EVER go out with me?  Okay, I had also been asked that before but that was always by guys that I was friends with and because of that I had the opportunity to let them know that I never wanted anything to ruin our friendship and could tell them I’d go, but as a friend. I didn’t have the opportunity to use that plan either because I didn’t know the guy.  I couldn’t think of another out.  I had to go back out there and inform this guy that I would never go out with him or , I was afraid, he’d never leave. I used to be a much nicer person, I used to care about other people’s feelings.  I was young and naive and it was hard for me to blatantly hit the reject button.   Had this occurrence taken place in my 30’s I could have looked him in the eye and said “not if I were dead”.   I was only 19 tough, hadn’t enough experience behind me or nerve enough to feel good about turning someone down without an excuse.  Still had to do it though as he wasn’t apparently going to leave until I answered his note.  Stupid note, stupid guy, he should have gone to Perkins for lunch.

I didn’t have a plan as I was walking out to the table to reject him and was wondering why he was asking me out in the 1st place so that’s what came out of my mouth when  I reached his table.  I let him know that although I was flattered (I wasn’t, I was irritated but was trying to be polite),  he didn’t know me at all and that I was wondering why he’d asked me out.  His response was something on the line of him agreeing with me that he didn’t know me but that he could tell by my personality that he’d like to get to know me.  Back to waiting on this table was nothing out of the ordinary.  I certainly didn’t flirt with note-boy or even crack jokes…what exactly could he know about my personality by being a patron today?  I asked him that, I really don’t remember what his response was but it wasn’t an understanding that I was turning him down so I informed him that I had dating rules for myself.  One of those rules was that I didn’t date anyone who wasn’t a friend of at least one of my friends.  I didn’t know him, I had no one who could tell me if he were a good or bad guy, I wasn’t going to go out with him.  He said he was sorry to hear that and finally left.  Big whew came out of me.  Problem solved, continue with life.

I lived at my parent’s house at the time and way back then there were no wireless phones, no caller ID, no cell phones, the stationary phone rang.  Every house had a hub and phones were generally in the hub area.  The one in my parent’s home was between the stairs (that lead into the living room) and the kitchen.  That’s where most people in the house hung out.  The phone rang, there were a few of us in the hub and someone answered it and handed the phone to me.  Anticipating that it was someone I knew that was calling me, my “hello” was genuinely friendly.  In return I was asked by an unfamiliar voice how I was and what was I doing on Friday night.  I do the “cover my ass” thing by instinct and let the caller know that I was fine and that I had plans on Friday and then asked who was calling.  Apparently the others in the hub had noticed the tad confused look in my eyes and heard my question because all eyes were on me.  In answer to my question I was given a name that I couldn’t associate with anything.  I need to stop the story here and say that one my goals in life has always been to NOT worry my parents. This makes me a bit hypocritical because I want my children to come to me with any issues they come across.   My expression and my question lead the others to look at me in a quizzical manner.  As stated,  I was given a name and although I didn’t recognize it I spouted out “oh yeah!  how are you?”  That took the eyes off me and I pulled the phone cord as far as I could to get away from everyone to tell this person “I don’t know who you are”.  The person on the other end of the phone told me that he was the one who handed me a note at the restaurant.  Apparently  I hadn’t cared enough to take in his name.  He started out as note-boy and ended up as stalker-guy and I can’t, to this day tell you what his name is. Not that I didn’t end up knowing it at the time, I just don’t care enough to remember.  Of course I was shocked and asked him where he’d gotten my phone #.   He didn’t tell me where he’d gotten my number and asked me how I would ever get to know anyone if I didn’t go out with them.  How could I ever get to know someone if I never gave them the time of day, the  chance to get to know them.   While he was asking me his questions I was still doing the math trying to figure out where he’d gotten my phone number from. The fact that note-boy had called me at home creeped me out.  I’d already written him off as a done deal.

After that he kept calling me.  Not just at my parent’s house.  He called me wherever I was.  I’d go out with my co-workers and I’d get a call at the bar or restaurant we were at.  I managed a softball team at the time, the players were my co-workers.  I’d post games, dates, times and where we’d go after the games.  I’d get phone calls at the places we went after the games.  Post, at the time meant I’d put something up on the bulletin board at work.   Someone would have a party and post the time, date, address and phone # and we’d all show up.  I’d get phone calls there.  Someone would have something to celebrate and post “let’s all meet at” and we’d all show up and I’d get phone calls there.  I’d work my 2nd job and get phone calls there.  As stated in previous blogs, I am attention deficit.  That worked in my favor for a while,  I could blow it off and not think about it because my focus was always elsewhere, until it got to be too much.   He only called me at home when I WAS home so apparently he knew when I was home and then add the calls EVERY effin place I was at…trust me, it became a focus.  I got scared. For different reasons most of the people I grew up confiding in were scattered.  I realized that this had become an issue and I did have to pay attention but didn’t have anyone I was close to, that I could bounce this off of at the time so for a while I didn’t tell anyone.  I just got scared.

Ef me for always, always trying to be polite and brush him of in a nice manner.  He always asked me about my family and mentioned them by name.  That’s not normal, how the hell would he know my family members?  He was also always all about the how are you ever going to get to know me if you don’t go out with me thing and so he’d tell me about himself.  I never paid much attention to whatever he was saying (because I was always trying to think of a way to politely get off the phone)  but I did hear him say once  he’d been in Viet Nam.  Another time I heard him say that he owned land up north so I asked him if he was a hunter.  I was thinking that if his response was positive I could tell him that I never dated hunters, not true but how would he know? His answer, and this still sends willies down my spine, was “………well……no……not…not…not since the war”.   My head had always told me to stay away, that statement made my head scream HANG UP!  MOVE TO FOREIGN COUNTRY! At that point I decided that he had to be one of the guys that came back deranged and that’s why he wanted to go out with me. Most of the Viet Nam vets that I’ve met have been fabulous people. I had read about a few that have been a tad off kilter and I really should have understood and been sympathetic to his hesitation to hunt since being in Viet Nam but instead it threw my creeped out status into overdrive. But really, com’on, he was stalking me…of course I took it the wrong way.  It was at that point that I decided that I needed to talk to someone about this stalker-guy.  It had gone farther than I could deal with on my own.

I had a friend, that I worked with and had gone to hs with,  named Jeff, I trusted him.  One night when he and I went out  I laid this whole story on the table.  I’ve never been a male, Jeff was obviously a male, I was hoping to get a little insight.  He thought it was weird that the guy called me where ever I was,  he thought it was odd that the guy knew the names of my family members, he didn’t think the hunting story was creepy and he thought I should be nice and go out with stalker-boy, even if just once,  just so I could give him a chance and reject him afterward.  He felt bad for him. Retrospectively, one of the reasons I don’t consider male opinions in my options any more.

Jeff told me not to worry so I tried not to.  He said I should just be nice and so I tried.  This was a scary situation for me and the only one I was trusting to help me through it was apparently a dumb ass.  He was looking at the situation from the male rejection point of view, not from my point of view of I’M AFRAID!  HELP ME!  Jerk.  A week or so after our initial conversation about stalker-guy, I went over  to Jeff’s apartment and while waiting (outside in the dark) for the door to buzz me in someone jumped out of the bushes at me.  SCREAMED!  Wait, I’ve down played that a tad… I SCREAMED and SCREAMED and SCREAMED and SCREAMED!  It was Jeff and his friend, Steve.  Jeff said that he’d thought it would be funny.  Um, not so much when a very questionable Vietnam vet knows too much about me and can call me wherever I am.  Color me stupid in three areas:  for not telling my parents, for not calling the police and for trusting my friend, Jeff.  In the end, after multiple conversations with Jeff and his assurances that all I had to do to get rid of stalker-guy forever was to date him once, I agreed.  I agreed but only if Jeff and Steve would be at the same place at the same time at a different table and rescue me if needed.

I’m a firm believer in going with your gut feeling.  The night came that I was supposed to date stalker-guy and  I couldn’t do it.  I was completely frightened.  I was at my 2nd job and knew that I just couldn’t go ahead with things as planned.  Stalker-boy was supposed  to pick me up from work. Doom and gloom seeped into my entire being.  I called Jeff from work and told him “no, no, no, no, no….I can’t do this, pick me up”.   That’s when Jeff caught on the fact that this might not be a good thing for me.  I don’t know if it was the fear in my voice or what that finally got him to think that hey, maybe this just wasn’t something that would be in my best interest. As soon as I hung up the phone, both he and Steve left Jeff’s apartment and I informed my supervisor that I had to leave work immediately.  They were 5 minutes away.  I left work 30 minutes early.  Jeff and Steve walked into the store and escorted me to Steve’s car and drove me to my parents house where they walked me to the door and didn’t leave until I was locked inside.  It’s just not a fun thing to be frightened.   After that night stalker-guy didn’t call me again.  I learned to breathe a little more every day that passed that he didn’t call.

A few months passed and still there were no calls from stalker-guy.  Life was normal again.  I was at work one day and the lunch rush slowing down and I got another table with a single male at it.  When I approached the table his face was hidden by the menu.  I assumed that he wasn’t someone who didn’t know what he wanted right away so I asked if he had any questions about the menu.  He put the menu down and looked at me….and looked at me….and looked at me.  My original thought was one of irritation.  I had things to do and he was wasting my time.  I asked him again if he had any questions about the menu and while continuing his stare he informed me that he only had one question, of course I asked him what it was.  He asked me “Why did you do that?”   Insert a moment of incomprehension followed quickly by that awful, sinking knowledge of understanding.  I’m pretty sure that my eyes got very large while playing catch up.   I was completely taken off guard.  I’d only seen him once before and didn’t recognize him.  While still stunned, I answered his question being brutally honest.  He had scared the shit out of me!  How was it that he could know wherever I was whenever?  Why did he keep calling me knowing that I didn’t want him to?  How did he know the names of my family members and where my second job was?  Where did he get my home phone number?  Who the hell wouldn’t be frightened and what will it take for him to leave me alone?

My little outburst was followed by stalker-guy’s eyes getting very large while he got to play catch up.  I had asked these questions before, I had just never yelled them.  He didn’t pay attention to my questions until he saw the fear in my eyes as I was yelling them.  Do you know what happens when a server yells at a patron in a restaurant during the lunch shift?  The server gets ushered off the floor by their manager.

I was utterly shaken by the reappearance of stalker-guy and my manager swept me away to his office and I spouted everything.  My manager listened to me as I told him about the phone calls and knowing where I was all the time and knowing the names of my family members and the date that didn’t happen and by the end of my story I could see the wheels turning in his head.   He looked at me and said “I wonder if that’s the guy Dorothy has been telling me about”.   Dorothy was a sweet older woman who worked from 10pm to 6am.  I never worked with her but we frequently would stop in the restaurant late at night and I’d had many conversations with her.   I asked my manager if she was being stalked as well.  “No, no” he told me as he shook his head back and forth.  I told him that I didn’t understand the connection and that’s when he told me about the guy Dorothy had been telling him about.

Months prior and for a couple months running Dorothy had a repeat customer almost every night and always around 3 o’clock in the morning.  He was very friendly and polite and had a few pleasant conversations with her under his belt before he mentioned that he’d been in for lunch one day and though his waitress was just so very nice and that he would love to take her out sometime.  Dorothy had asked him if he knew who this waitress was and guess what?  It was me.  I know, hard to believe.  Dorothy thought we would make a great match and did everything she could to help him on his quest.

Everything included giving him my phone #, reading the bulletin board posts and relaying to him all of the various activities that were going on and where and when they’d be.  She told him about my 2nd job, about my family  and she encouraged him a great deal.  I know I described her as  sweet older woman but now that I think about it, I’m probably as old now as she was then and the stupid wench should have known better.

That solved all the mysteries.  I was glad to know where stalker-guy had gotten all his information from.  That in itself made the whole thing a little less scary, retrospectively.  Dorothy had a stern talking-to by our manager and I never heard from stalker-guy again.   I’d like to say that I was never stalked again either but there was that weekend Frankenstein and his twin brother followed me all around Bemidji and the Jesse Lee guy that kept calling and sending flowers when I was in my 30’s but those are stories for another day and they just don’t compare to the fear I felt with the original stalker-guy.

Retrospectively it turned out that the day I initially waited on stalker-guy was an entire fluke that our schedules matched up.  He lived entirely different hours than I did and the one, chance meeting that our hours coincided he (according to him) became so enamored with me that he started to frequent my work place