Finally, after two months of effort to get an internet stalker served with a temporary protection order, during which my attorney would not let me give it up as hopeless, the stalker has been served.
Fist pump! It’s a temporary protection order, a TPO, and I’ll hie myself to court before thirty days is up to ask for an extended protection order.
He lives in one city, works in another, and managed to evade every effort to be served with any papers, either the notice of the hearing, or the TPO itself. He and his wife never answer their door, unless it’s for pizza.
He sent back all the envelopes with Hate-O-Grams all over them, as Mr. Jennings so elegantly put it. Hate-O-Grams. Snort. He even sent the one back from the Las Vegas Sheriff’s department. He’d written Stop Lying in bold black letters on the back of it, besides scrawling stupid crap all over the front of it.
One of his last messages to me was, “I’ll save you a place in hell, only it’ll be in the handicapped section.” Classy, huh? Since I have trouble walking. His friend, Kelley Spartiatis, asked him in a comment thread why ‘The witch doesn’t die, already.”
A friend found that comment thread and reported it to the moderators as hate speech. But really, why shouldn’t people just die because you’re ticked at them? Why not? Who cares if they’re parents, or spouses, or valuable to their family or community or friends or even employees, if they run a business?
They should just die because Ms. Spartiatis and Mr. Klugman don’t like them.
Back to the Hate-O-Grams. Did he suppose the postal workers would read his messages written on the US Mail, and side with him? Did he think that by accusing me of lying on the envelopes and emails, I’d go, “Oh, yeah, this whole thing is made up. That’s just what the judge thought, too.”
Maybe he was trying to convince himself, I don’t know.
I’m not sure why he was so all-fired set against getting any of these papers. The hearing proceeded without him, anyway. As for the protection order, it began when he was served.
I thought his envelope from the Las Vegas sheriff, unopened by me, was sufficient notice, but apparently not. So, when the Bucks County sheriff had no luck serving the TPO, not having gone to his house with a hot pizza, I had the bright idea to send the paperwork to the Cumberland County sheriff’s office, the county in which he’s employed.
Now, this department doesn’t give up until the TPO is served. Since my counsel used to be a sheriff, he told me sheriffs hate to make more than one trip. So the deputy sheriff probably went to Carlisle Carrier Corp in Mechanicsburg, PA and demanded his phone number, since he was on an ‘extended vacation, and had no plans to return to work any time soon.’
His employer probably tried to fool the shuruff about his whereabouts. Shuruffs don’t like to be fooled. So, the deputy got his phone number, which she kindly included in her report, and read the terms of the TPO to him. He appeared to have no problem with the terms, and the call ended amicably.
Now, I don’t know if it’s related, but two days ago, someone left an unused condom on the outdoor table next to my wooden rocking chair.
Who left it? What is the message here? Is it a metaphorical F**k you? It makes sense, much more sense than if it had been a used one. A used one is no good anymore.
And if it was just a gift, who was it from and why are they giving away good condoms? Goodness knows, I don’t need them anymore. If you have a condom in your pocket, I suggest you keep it there until you need it. Don’t go giving them away.
Or, having been left by the rocking chair, a really nice one, by the way, did the Gift Giver have ideas about a rocker, someone in his lap, and the rocker’s natural motion? Did this perp sit down, get ready to don said jacket, and then fall asleep because of the rocking? And when he awoke from his innocent slumbers, he just got up, left and forgot his little jacket.
I’ll never know, I guess. But it all happens on the street where I live.