Desperately trying to define “emergency”

One evening a while ago, I was driving home and saw my neighbor. I’ve seen my neighbor twice in four years of living here and one of those times was this one– his face aghast, backlit by the porch light, hanging from a column as he watched something run past his house towards mine. Our car’s headlights landed on the moving form and lit up with some degree of clarity the features of a heavy man in his mid 20’s, jogging. Naked. Clutching his crotch and plodding along at a brisk pace, considering he had no shoes and was clearly not a habitual jogger.

Instead of parking the car, I sidled the car up alongside him and rolled the window down, planning on making small talk for a moment before asking him where he left his pants. We were about 4 feet apart, he and I, so as I rolled down the window I heard him muttering under his breath. Not to me. Nothing identifiable. Just muttering to the sidewalk in front of him.

BATH SALTS!(?)  This was right after the Miami Cannibal Drug Face Eating incident.

I rolled up my window and called 911. Then the doubt set in; after two rings I hung up. 911 is for emergencies, and this was just a naked guy jogging. Is there a law against that? Specifically? Maybe he wasn’t on bath salts. It was a nice night, after all. Maybe he was just out for a jaunt? I didn’t have much time to try and justify his behavior because the 911 operator called my cell. “We had a call from this number. What is your emergency?” a competent sounding female asked.

“Well, I don’t guess it’s an emergency.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a naked guy jogging down the street.”

“I’ll patch you through to your local police department,” the woman said exasperatedly.

The line rang and another female voice answered, this one friendlier sounding. I explained that I was sorry to call, but there was a naked guy jogging down the street. After a moment I added, “Well, and he is talking to himself.”

“Can you see him now?”

“Yes.” He’d made steady progress down the street.

“Ok, would you track him and tell us where he goes?”

So I did. Two officers pulled up beside him and spoke to him for a moment before handcuffing him and putting him in the back of their squad car, which he did not resist. They shook their heads and chuckled. I can only imagine how their conversation went:

“Hey guy. Nice night. Out for a stroll? Incidentally, where are your pants?”

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This entry was posted in cannibalism, humor, indiana, killing, observations, summer, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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