Random Local Nutter is kinda creepy

Anyone who knows me knows I run my own company. I won't bore you with the name here, since I generally keep my personal and business life separate. One of the side effects of running your own company is that one always has an ear to the ground for new work.

Sometimes, work comes from strange places. I've dealt with a handful of customers who are downright different. Usually, I complete the work for them, and I move on. Those first few phone calls are usually interesting and worthy of some eye-rolls, though. You're going to create a mashup of menards.com and twitter? Great. What actual _work_ do you want me to do? Also, please pardon me if I don't hold my breath regarding the actual business viability of your idea.

Tonight, though, I got the all time cake-taker.

I've been involved in the community of late, trying to stop a completely unnecessary re-routing of freight traffic through my neighborhood. Last week, I got a call out of the blue from a man who identified himself as Random Local Nutter, of the same city in which I live. I talked to him for a while, and he struck me as the classic "mildly different" potential customer. He wanted to meet and have coffee and discuss some business ideas. He had liked the effort I was putting into trying to stop the freight rail. The conversation was about 45 minutes, and in retrospect I can see plenty of paranoid tidbits. At the time, though, I figured he seemed harmless, and I scheduled a meeting with him at M&T's Munchies for the next Monday.

Well, I went and came down with a terrible cold. Bad enough that I even went to the doctor and complained. The doctor called me a delicate doily, said to come back in two weeks if it wasn't better. Over the next couple of days, my sinuses decided to start draining through my tear ducts. Yarg! Nothing like having to use your hands to pry your eyes open in the morning.

So I called Mr. Nutter, and rescheduled our coffee meeting for the subsequent Monday. It was just as well, really. While I was feeling run down, my main customer wanted a bunch of stuff done ASAP, so I worked on that.

Everything's fine, right? Hardly. First, I got a call around 6 pm tonight, and Mr. Nutter explained that he hadn't been able to find M&T's Munchies. It's not hard to find -- it's right by the high school. The only high school in St Louis Park. From the age that Mr. Nutter gave me when we talked the first time, he would have attended that same high school if he grew up in town, which I do believe he said he had.

I gave him the new address, and went back to watching a parkour youtube video with my boys. Well, about 8:45 tonight, I get another call from him. So I called him back. I hadn't listened to the message on the machine -- it's a character flaw of mine. I hate answering machines. I'll usually just call you back using caller ID.

He rambled on for probably 20 minutes, vaguely non-accusing me of being in some sort of conspiracy -- all the while declaring that he wasn't accusing me. I get the feeling he thinks I'm some kind of a spook. Whatever. As this call went on, and as I tried to soothe and calm him, I came to realize: this guy is genuinely bent. Bent enough, that I'm not interested in having anything to do with him. At this point, I finally said: "I'm not sure why you called me. Is there a point to this conversation?"

Bear in mind that by this point, he had claimed a background in SIGINT, claimed access to canonical callerID information (ha!), claimed that Apple Computer was calling him from US Government 1-800 numbers, and accused me of having multiple identities.

Okay, he's got me on the multiple identities. I have two profiles I use when playing Battlefield: Bad Company 2. One that I started with, and then a new one which has much better stats because I finally learned how to play the damn game. But I digress.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that there was no money to be made off this man. That alone isn't worth terminating a conversation -- I mean, every human deserves a chance, right? But, I was becoming increasingly agitated. My bloodsugar was still hella low -- only up to 48 after a low of 43. I was supposed to be fitting Thorwald with a new infusion set after his shower. Then there's the rest of night-night routine with which I was supposed to be helping.

About the time he got around to telling me that he wasn't comfortable meeting with me, I'd had enough. Unable to get him to stop yammering at me, I had to raise my voice to speak over him, and I said: "look, I'm pretty damn convinced that you've lost your mind. I don't want you calling this number ever again. You will have no further contact in anyway with me, this phone number, or any member of my family. Am I clear?"

I could've been more polite. I could've waited to hang up. But as soon as he said, "Oh we are most certainly..." I cut the connection. I've had enough of paranoids. I've left out vast quantities of detail from the conversation, too -- the paranoic rambling was...well, typical paranoic rambling. It's bewildering, it's nonsensical, and it all tries to make the paranoid far more important than they really are.

So now, this lengthy screed is here because I'm burning off aggravation. Mr. Random Local Nutter, I do believe, is a paranoid schizophrenic. I know he upset my bride quite greatly. She's genuinely concerned that he's going to come over to the house and do something irrational. I'm not afraid of a 50-year old epileptic. While the doctor may have called me a delicate doily, I suspect Mr. Nutter is quite a bit more of a delicate doily than I am. From the sound of his voice, I rather expect the most frightening thing he could manage is a strongly worded letter to the editor. In all seriousness, Tony Randall sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger next to this guy.

His internet presence isn't particularly heavy. He's got a twitter account, he's made a few comments on some neurobiology sites, and he likes to follow AboveTopSecret on twitter. Conspiracies are the last thing you need, Mr. Nutter. I think, perhaps, a more solid grasp of reality should be a higher priority. Those municipal workers walking by your house? They're actually municipal workers. When the FBI, CIA or DIA actually wants something from you, they pick your ass up with an arrest warrant, and put you in a cell until you talk. If you REALLY piss them off, maybe you'll go to Gitmo.

I debated, for several minutes, whether I should put his whole name on here or not. I wanted to, because he scared my wife, but I don't feel like getting nailed with a libel suit. Random Local Nutter isn't his real name, but I do have his real name, and phone numbers, and home address. Screw you, man. Don't do creepy shit, okay? It's creepy. Don't call my number any more.