Trapped
Okay, so another day, another set of problems. Eric called me and said he wants Tom out because "Tom's all over the place, man. He's just all over the place you know what I mean? Like he's... he's just-he's just-he's just all over the place." That doesn't even mean anything. More revelations have shown that Eric has hit Roman on the ear. Who the hell punches the ear? So far he's threatened me, Roman, and Tom, and has actually physically assaulted Roman. We've discovered that he is, in fact, paranoid schizophrenic, or possibly bipolar. What do I want to do now? I want to call the cops on Eric and kick his ass to a concrete cell and let Tom have the room to himself.
Yesterday, after Tom talked to me from my door, he put his affects in the room he was to share with Eric. In doing so, he noticed a little pill bottle labeled "Seroquel". From my end, it looked like Tom just went to his room, and came back three minutes later with his tablet PC indicating what exactly Seroquel was. Bipolar and Paranoid Schizophrenia medicine.
"OKAY," we both say, "We are royally screwed." I didn't realize how badly our plan would backfire until Chris came to take the cable and modem away. Here's a hint: we forgot about the pissed off Italian.
Yesterday, I helped Chris move everything into his car as well as take the modem and cable box away. One huge miscalculation on my part was that I thought the neighbors would let us use their wifi passwords. Turns out I was being idealistic, or my judgment was clouded by dealing with a terrible situation. Either way, we lost our internet completely, and Tina gave me hell for it. That night, I had to abandon my plans to leave San Diego at 7PM and drove to ---- where Tom works to pick up a modem. As soon as we got home, an argument was brewing.
In the middle of a jocular conversation about Italian culture and media (food, mobs, men, women) we get around to the topic of Tina being pissed off at me for shutting off the internet without giving her prior notice. Eric eventually got around to making the comment, "If she raised her voice at me I'd let her have it," to which Tom replied, "The last person I heard say that ended up with a broken back." Eric then dropped his nervous chuckle (which we now attribute to his Seroquel) and shouted, "You threatening me? Huh? You fuckin' threatening me? I'll tell you what I will fucking knock. You. OUT!" Throughout this whole tirade of F-bombs, bulging eyes, and spittle dribbling from the sides of Eric's mouth, Tom simply said in a quiet voice, "Eric sit down. Sit down Eric. Come on. Please sit down." Eric heard none of it, and just went on with his screaming threats, "I WILL FUCKING KNOCK YOUR TEETH OUT YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING THREATEN ME! EVER! FUCK YOU! YOU KNOW WHAT?! I HAVE ONLY BEEN KIND TO YOU AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME! FUCK YOU FOR EVER FUCKING STEPPING FOOT THROUGH THAT DOOR! Let's arrange a deal! I'll give you your FUCKING money back, and YOU can FUCKING get your things and get the FUCK out of here! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT? HUH? HOW ABOUT I KICK YOUR ASS FOR SHOWING ME ATTITUDE? YOU GOT PROBLEMS, YOU KNOW THAT? YOU-Y-Y-YOU GOT PROBLEMS! LOTS OF THEM!" For some reason or other, my memory of the event was a lot more precise this time than it was for previous incidents.
This is when the revelations occurred. At some point, Tom got up from the couch and approached Eric, hands up to show a desire not to confront him, and calmed him down. Afterward, Tom started getting woozy, and asked me if there were any places serving food still open. I let him know that McDonald's is open and that I could drive him there, and asked how his blood sugar level was doing, knowing he is a diabetic. He simply replied, "That's why I asked. Thanks for the help, dude." As Tom and i walked out the door, Roman came out with his phone, pretending to be taking a phone call in Russian. But as soon as the door closed, I noticed his phone didn't have any lights on and asked, "Hey Roman, you wanna go to McDonald's? And pointed at Tom." Good thing I'm rooming with a smart kid, because he caught on immediately and we hopped into my car to head out. I used that time to get gas before we went to McDonald's, but we all used that time getting gas to find out some more things about Eric. Aside from arguing with everybody in sight, it turns out, in Roman's words, "He hit me!" "The hell? When was that?"
Roman's story:
Some time this week, Eric had come into the room to ask Roman if he could borrow a belt for some reason. Roman, thinking Eric a little weird but not completely exposed to America's harsh realities, found the only belt he had and lent it to him. It was a Russian leather belt that his mother had given him as a gift to wear in the States during his work-travel program. At that time, he had no idea that his vacation would soon turn into a run-in with the law despite our best efforts to keep it from happening. The next day, Eric "lost" the belt, but we all suspect that he's probably keeping it in in his room somewhere. Come to think of it, that was on Tuesday, June 28, right after I left the house. When I was playing possum in my bed, Eric came in and asked Roman how much that belt cost. Roman claimed he didn't know because it was a gift from his mother and came straight from Russia. Eric's exact words were, "Fuck it, let's go to Ross. Get cleaned up and I'll take you there. Let's go." That was when I waited for Eric to leave the room, washed up and changed, and went back into my room to pack my stuff. I've already detailed our argument, so that fits into the timeline. What happened after I left, however, was Roman's first taste of Eric's bipolar wrath. He didn't provide very many details, but what he did mention can probably be used in court to get that thing arrested. Eric drove Roman to Ross, where he picked out a three-dollar belt and said, "Oh, this is a good belt for three bucks. I'll just buy this one to replace yours." Roman saw that belt and thought, "What the hell? That belt is only three bucks and it's made of some cheap fake leather. My belt was a gift from my mother from Russia made of real leather." But what he said instead was, "No, it's okay, let's just go home." Eric stopped smiling and just brought Roman back. At home, Eric started yelling at Roman, and then hit him on the ear. Roman was shocked and scared by the punch, so he grabbed Eric's hair in response. Once Roman did that though, Eric put his hands up and started blubbering, "Okay, peace. Peace. Peace. We're okay, right? We're okay. Please. Sorry." Roman was confused by the gesture, so he just let go of Eric, who then used the opportunity to scream at him some more. He didn't detail what happened after that, except that he locked himself in our room so as to prevent any encounters for the day.
Anyway, this weekend has been pure hell so far. I haven't even been gone twenty-four hours and already he's gotten to yelling at and threatening every single member of the house, including the other original leaser, Ted, who wanted nothing to do with Eric from the beginning. Today, I was out to lunch when I got countless phone calls and texts from all members of the house, almost simultaneously, saying that they are afraid for their lives and afraid of Eric. On my way home, I got a phone call from his father, and I decided, "Fuck it. Enough with this shit. Time to start on a Plan B". We talked, and toward the end of our conversation, he asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to ask?" At this point, I was sick of Eric's bullshit and behavior, and I didn't care about the risk that he might obviously come after us for what I said next.
"Yes Mister Badgley, as a matter of fact, there IS something I would like to ask. Are you aware that your son has now threatened every single one of MY tenants? He has, in the last six days, proven himself to be a direct threat to our physical safety! I am removing him from the sublease. That IS my final answer, and there is nothing at this point that can convince me otherwise. I will call the police on your son if it comes to that. I just wanted to let you know ahead of time."
"Well, I'll be honest with you, he did say that he was having trouble getting along with all of you guys, but he also added that things were calming down now."
"That is a direct lie. If anything, these threats were made just minutes ago, and I got phone calls left and right from every single member of the house asking if he would leave because they are all TERRIFIED of Eric. They are afraid for their physical well-being and so am I, Mr. Badgley. Is there anything you'd like to know?"
"Well, he does have his mood swings, and he has them quite often. He's a very sensitive person, Victor. I don't know what to tell you, except that he does have anger issues that he's gotten help for."
"Anger issues is one thing, sir. What your son does and how he just... EXPLODES on the rest of my housemates is like... he has the exact symptoms of bipolar disorder, Mister Badgley. He has made two of them feel so threatened that they are already planning to move out! What am I supposed to do about him other than kick him out? Which, by the way, I will do no matter what anyone says at this point. And did I mention that he actually physically punched the Russian foreign exchange student in the ear?"
"Yeah, he said that he had an argument with the foreign exchange student, but he said that it calmed down."
"Did he ever mention hitting him?"
"No."
"Well then, he clearly lied to you again. Are you also aware that he was drinking a six-pack of twenty-ounce beers a day."
"Now THAT is new." He sighed on the other line, but I decided not to give him a break. The pressure was back on, even if our 4-phase plan was no longer in motion. At least not directly.
"I have absolutely decided to remove your son from our property, and with police force if necessary."
"Well, I hate to say this, but if you really do feel that he is making you feel like your life is in danger, I think the best thing for you to do, and I hate saying this because I'm his father, is for you to call the cops on him."
"Can I quote you on that?"
"You would have to, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. I'll quote you on that if he asks anything then."
Leverage. I fucking love leverage now. The rest of the day was basically phone calls from Eric and his father figuring out solutions to get Eric THE FUCK OUT of our house. Personally, I want him out in the next twenty-four seconds.
But talking to his father made me realize that Eric wouldn't move out if he didn't have another place to stay. Ted then texted me with the exact same idea, which gave me the green light to go with the plan to find Eric a new group to mooch off of.
But things took a turn for the worse as soon as I got home tonight. I couldn't even completely enjoy a day at the beach because I kept getting calls from that thing and its dad all day. It turns out that once Eric found out I was talking to his father, he went ballistic and took it out on everyone in the apartment. Hence Tina leaving the house for the day, yet again, and calling me in a panic saying, "This guy is SO weird! He just comes up and talks and screams and YELLS at me! And--" she turned to the door, "Shut. The FUCK. UUUUP!" I heard knocking on her door on my end of the phone. Part of me was hoping she was the one doing the knocking. "He is moving out yes? Please tell me he will not stay long." At this point, I just couldn't feel any worse for poor Tina. She's been nothing but mistreated by my own stupid mistakes as "landlord" ever since she made that phone call to come down and check out the apartment. Yeah, she got pissed at me because she felt mistreated, but that's because I didn't introduce her to the rules of the house beforehand. Yes, she went apeshit on me after Chris and I canceled the internet, but I made the idiot mistake of forgetting to tell her that we were planning to get rid of the internet so that she could've prepared some solution beforehand. I solved that issue the next morning, and the internet is going to be restored soon enough anyway, but I should've known better than that. All I could say to her was, "We're planning to kick him out tomorrow. If you feel like you're in danger, call the police. PLEASE call the police, Tina! Alright?"
"Yes, yes I understand. But I no need to call them now, I can deal with him myself. But please be quick with getting him out."
"Trust me, I've been trying to get him out as of yesterday."
"Okay that's good. I go now. Bye bye."
Almost immediately after I set foot in my own home after coming back from the beach, I got a call from Tom saying that we have a situation in the house: Roman has locked himself in our room (again) because Eric has been yelling at everybody he could upstairs. I let him know that yeah, Tina had already told me that. This was bad though. It actually sounded like Tom was panicking. Tom, 6'3", 325 pounds. Out of ideas? Well, not really, but it didn't sound good. Later on, he got Roman to go to the grocery store with him and put me on speaker phone so that we could pick and choose what our next action would be. The obvious answer was to just call the cops on him.
And that's what we're doing. Eric Badgley has proven far too dangerous an individual with his mental condition and drug abuse issues to be around us. As of Sunday morning, we are calling the San Diego County Sheriff's Department and requesting an Emergency Restraining Order. I'm calling it Plan C, because Plan A, the 4-phase option, had clearly failed, and Plan B, the option of finding a new place for him, also proved to take too long and put everyone else in harm's way in the worst way possible, since it would mean living in fear for the next twelve days. When Tom told me that we should call the Sheriff's Department the next morning, I had a religious speaking experience for the first time ever. I say religious this time, because when I said that last line before hanging up tonight, I actually meant it for the first time ever. "God be with you."
I'm no longer afraid for my own physical safety. Now I'm afraid for theirs.
Yesterday, after Tom talked to me from my door, he put his affects in the room he was to share with Eric. In doing so, he noticed a little pill bottle labeled "Seroquel". From my end, it looked like Tom just went to his room, and came back three minutes later with his tablet PC indicating what exactly Seroquel was. Bipolar and Paranoid Schizophrenia medicine.
"OKAY," we both say, "We are royally screwed." I didn't realize how badly our plan would backfire until Chris came to take the cable and modem away. Here's a hint: we forgot about the pissed off Italian.
Yesterday, I helped Chris move everything into his car as well as take the modem and cable box away. One huge miscalculation on my part was that I thought the neighbors would let us use their wifi passwords. Turns out I was being idealistic, or my judgment was clouded by dealing with a terrible situation. Either way, we lost our internet completely, and Tina gave me hell for it. That night, I had to abandon my plans to leave San Diego at 7PM and drove to ---- where Tom works to pick up a modem. As soon as we got home, an argument was brewing.
In the middle of a jocular conversation about Italian culture and media (food, mobs, men, women) we get around to the topic of Tina being pissed off at me for shutting off the internet without giving her prior notice. Eric eventually got around to making the comment, "If she raised her voice at me I'd let her have it," to which Tom replied, "The last person I heard say that ended up with a broken back." Eric then dropped his nervous chuckle (which we now attribute to his Seroquel) and shouted, "You threatening me? Huh? You fuckin' threatening me? I'll tell you what I will fucking knock. You. OUT!" Throughout this whole tirade of F-bombs, bulging eyes, and spittle dribbling from the sides of Eric's mouth, Tom simply said in a quiet voice, "Eric sit down. Sit down Eric. Come on. Please sit down." Eric heard none of it, and just went on with his screaming threats, "I WILL FUCKING KNOCK YOUR TEETH OUT YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH! DON'T YOU EVER FUCKING THREATEN ME! EVER! FUCK YOU! YOU KNOW WHAT?! I HAVE ONLY BEEN KIND TO YOU AND THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME! FUCK YOU FOR EVER FUCKING STEPPING FOOT THROUGH THAT DOOR! Let's arrange a deal! I'll give you your FUCKING money back, and YOU can FUCKING get your things and get the FUCK out of here! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT? HUH? HOW ABOUT I KICK YOUR ASS FOR SHOWING ME ATTITUDE? YOU GOT PROBLEMS, YOU KNOW THAT? YOU-Y-Y-YOU GOT PROBLEMS! LOTS OF THEM!" For some reason or other, my memory of the event was a lot more precise this time than it was for previous incidents.
This is when the revelations occurred. At some point, Tom got up from the couch and approached Eric, hands up to show a desire not to confront him, and calmed him down. Afterward, Tom started getting woozy, and asked me if there were any places serving food still open. I let him know that McDonald's is open and that I could drive him there, and asked how his blood sugar level was doing, knowing he is a diabetic. He simply replied, "That's why I asked. Thanks for the help, dude." As Tom and i walked out the door, Roman came out with his phone, pretending to be taking a phone call in Russian. But as soon as the door closed, I noticed his phone didn't have any lights on and asked, "Hey Roman, you wanna go to McDonald's? And pointed at Tom." Good thing I'm rooming with a smart kid, because he caught on immediately and we hopped into my car to head out. I used that time to get gas before we went to McDonald's, but we all used that time getting gas to find out some more things about Eric. Aside from arguing with everybody in sight, it turns out, in Roman's words, "He hit me!" "The hell? When was that?"
Roman's story:
Some time this week, Eric had come into the room to ask Roman if he could borrow a belt for some reason. Roman, thinking Eric a little weird but not completely exposed to America's harsh realities, found the only belt he had and lent it to him. It was a Russian leather belt that his mother had given him as a gift to wear in the States during his work-travel program. At that time, he had no idea that his vacation would soon turn into a run-in with the law despite our best efforts to keep it from happening. The next day, Eric "lost" the belt, but we all suspect that he's probably keeping it in in his room somewhere. Come to think of it, that was on Tuesday, June 28, right after I left the house. When I was playing possum in my bed, Eric came in and asked Roman how much that belt cost. Roman claimed he didn't know because it was a gift from his mother and came straight from Russia. Eric's exact words were, "Fuck it, let's go to Ross. Get cleaned up and I'll take you there. Let's go." That was when I waited for Eric to leave the room, washed up and changed, and went back into my room to pack my stuff. I've already detailed our argument, so that fits into the timeline. What happened after I left, however, was Roman's first taste of Eric's bipolar wrath. He didn't provide very many details, but what he did mention can probably be used in court to get that thing arrested. Eric drove Roman to Ross, where he picked out a three-dollar belt and said, "Oh, this is a good belt for three bucks. I'll just buy this one to replace yours." Roman saw that belt and thought, "What the hell? That belt is only three bucks and it's made of some cheap fake leather. My belt was a gift from my mother from Russia made of real leather." But what he said instead was, "No, it's okay, let's just go home." Eric stopped smiling and just brought Roman back. At home, Eric started yelling at Roman, and then hit him on the ear. Roman was shocked and scared by the punch, so he grabbed Eric's hair in response. Once Roman did that though, Eric put his hands up and started blubbering, "Okay, peace. Peace. Peace. We're okay, right? We're okay. Please. Sorry." Roman was confused by the gesture, so he just let go of Eric, who then used the opportunity to scream at him some more. He didn't detail what happened after that, except that he locked himself in our room so as to prevent any encounters for the day.
Anyway, this weekend has been pure hell so far. I haven't even been gone twenty-four hours and already he's gotten to yelling at and threatening every single member of the house, including the other original leaser, Ted, who wanted nothing to do with Eric from the beginning. Today, I was out to lunch when I got countless phone calls and texts from all members of the house, almost simultaneously, saying that they are afraid for their lives and afraid of Eric. On my way home, I got a phone call from his father, and I decided, "Fuck it. Enough with this shit. Time to start on a Plan B". We talked, and toward the end of our conversation, he asked, "Is there anything else you'd like to ask?" At this point, I was sick of Eric's bullshit and behavior, and I didn't care about the risk that he might obviously come after us for what I said next.
"Yes Mister Badgley, as a matter of fact, there IS something I would like to ask. Are you aware that your son has now threatened every single one of MY tenants? He has, in the last six days, proven himself to be a direct threat to our physical safety! I am removing him from the sublease. That IS my final answer, and there is nothing at this point that can convince me otherwise. I will call the police on your son if it comes to that. I just wanted to let you know ahead of time."
"Well, I'll be honest with you, he did say that he was having trouble getting along with all of you guys, but he also added that things were calming down now."
"That is a direct lie. If anything, these threats were made just minutes ago, and I got phone calls left and right from every single member of the house asking if he would leave because they are all TERRIFIED of Eric. They are afraid for their physical well-being and so am I, Mr. Badgley. Is there anything you'd like to know?"
"Well, he does have his mood swings, and he has them quite often. He's a very sensitive person, Victor. I don't know what to tell you, except that he does have anger issues that he's gotten help for."
"Anger issues is one thing, sir. What your son does and how he just... EXPLODES on the rest of my housemates is like... he has the exact symptoms of bipolar disorder, Mister Badgley. He has made two of them feel so threatened that they are already planning to move out! What am I supposed to do about him other than kick him out? Which, by the way, I will do no matter what anyone says at this point. And did I mention that he actually physically punched the Russian foreign exchange student in the ear?"
"Yeah, he said that he had an argument with the foreign exchange student, but he said that it calmed down."
"Did he ever mention hitting him?"
"No."
"Well then, he clearly lied to you again. Are you also aware that he was drinking a six-pack of twenty-ounce beers a day."
"Now THAT is new." He sighed on the other line, but I decided not to give him a break. The pressure was back on, even if our 4-phase plan was no longer in motion. At least not directly.
"I have absolutely decided to remove your son from our property, and with police force if necessary."
"Well, I hate to say this, but if you really do feel that he is making you feel like your life is in danger, I think the best thing for you to do, and I hate saying this because I'm his father, is for you to call the cops on him."
"Can I quote you on that?"
"You would have to, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. I'll quote you on that if he asks anything then."
Leverage. I fucking love leverage now. The rest of the day was basically phone calls from Eric and his father figuring out solutions to get Eric THE FUCK OUT of our house. Personally, I want him out in the next twenty-four seconds.
But talking to his father made me realize that Eric wouldn't move out if he didn't have another place to stay. Ted then texted me with the exact same idea, which gave me the green light to go with the plan to find Eric a new group to mooch off of.
But things took a turn for the worse as soon as I got home tonight. I couldn't even completely enjoy a day at the beach because I kept getting calls from that thing and its dad all day. It turns out that once Eric found out I was talking to his father, he went ballistic and took it out on everyone in the apartment. Hence Tina leaving the house for the day, yet again, and calling me in a panic saying, "This guy is SO weird! He just comes up and talks and screams and YELLS at me! And--" she turned to the door, "Shut. The FUCK. UUUUP!" I heard knocking on her door on my end of the phone. Part of me was hoping she was the one doing the knocking. "He is moving out yes? Please tell me he will not stay long." At this point, I just couldn't feel any worse for poor Tina. She's been nothing but mistreated by my own stupid mistakes as "landlord" ever since she made that phone call to come down and check out the apartment. Yeah, she got pissed at me because she felt mistreated, but that's because I didn't introduce her to the rules of the house beforehand. Yes, she went apeshit on me after Chris and I canceled the internet, but I made the idiot mistake of forgetting to tell her that we were planning to get rid of the internet so that she could've prepared some solution beforehand. I solved that issue the next morning, and the internet is going to be restored soon enough anyway, but I should've known better than that. All I could say to her was, "We're planning to kick him out tomorrow. If you feel like you're in danger, call the police. PLEASE call the police, Tina! Alright?"
"Yes, yes I understand. But I no need to call them now, I can deal with him myself. But please be quick with getting him out."
"Trust me, I've been trying to get him out as of yesterday."
"Okay that's good. I go now. Bye bye."
Almost immediately after I set foot in my own home after coming back from the beach, I got a call from Tom saying that we have a situation in the house: Roman has locked himself in our room (again) because Eric has been yelling at everybody he could upstairs. I let him know that yeah, Tina had already told me that. This was bad though. It actually sounded like Tom was panicking. Tom, 6'3", 325 pounds. Out of ideas? Well, not really, but it didn't sound good. Later on, he got Roman to go to the grocery store with him and put me on speaker phone so that we could pick and choose what our next action would be. The obvious answer was to just call the cops on him.
And that's what we're doing. Eric Badgley has proven far too dangerous an individual with his mental condition and drug abuse issues to be around us. As of Sunday morning, we are calling the San Diego County Sheriff's Department and requesting an Emergency Restraining Order. I'm calling it Plan C, because Plan A, the 4-phase option, had clearly failed, and Plan B, the option of finding a new place for him, also proved to take too long and put everyone else in harm's way in the worst way possible, since it would mean living in fear for the next twelve days. When Tom told me that we should call the Sheriff's Department the next morning, I had a religious speaking experience for the first time ever. I say religious this time, because when I said that last line before hanging up tonight, I actually meant it for the first time ever. "God be with you."
I'm no longer afraid for my own physical safety. Now I'm afraid for theirs.