| What are we doing?
February 29th, 2004 Being dumbfounded. 
On Saturday night, following the celebration of Raymond de Gisser's birthday in a Haarlem bar, too many people stayed over at my place, to be able to return there in 1 taxi. So, with that taxi, I first took gentlemen X and Y to my home, and then I used that taxi to return to the bar, in order to pick up Raymond, his acquaintance from Utrecht (can't remember what his name was) and Henk. When we arrived back at my place, the couch had gone from my living, and there was no trace of X and Y. I concluded they must have taken the couch to my new living quarters, atop the stairs. I thought this to be utterly unmannered, because there had been no prior consultation, but I would have gladly forgiven this, had I heard a 'sorry'. This was not to arrive, for, it turned out a few minutes later, X and Y were hiding under the stairs to my new home. They only reappeared when I had already found out that the door handle had gone from the door to my new residence, and that door could therefore no longer be opened. I increasingly felt this joke to be unmannered, but still assumed they were in my new rooms with the couch, and that it would all end with a cynical gibe on my part. "Nicely done, boyos", or something like that. When they reappeared, I merely asked where the doorhandle was, but simply received no answer. I also got no answer to my question as to why they'd dragged that couch upwards. What I did get was the remark that there was nothing to worry about and that we would spend the night elsewhere than in my new home (but the old one only has room for three, not five, besides me). And so I felt there was something to worry about, moreover I would not let the admission to my own home be denied to me. I therefore threatened to kick down my own door, and then made good on the threat. Nothing cooperative, meanwhile, emanated from the two gentlemen, meanwhile. My kicking down the door proved unsuccessful: sturdy door. I then told the gentlemen that, should they not open the door, I would file charges against them for trespassing. When I still got no response, I phoned the police. Thereupon, both gentlemen angrily left the building. I followed them, because I still wanted to know where my doorhandle was. At that moment X attacked and hit me. Y, meanhwile, undertook an attempt to restrain him. I retreated within my home, heavily bleeding from an otherwise fairly small headwound. X, however, also had made a sizable scrape across the left side of my face with his watch. As I awaited the police, Raymond helped me stem the bleeding. I was then driven out to the outpatients' clinic by the police, and there it luckily ended without stitches. Once home, one cabride later, my good neighbour turned out to have been able to open the door to my new home with a loose handle he had laying about somewhere. The missing half of the original handle we found, this afternoon, lodged in the frame of the couch that was in my new quarters. |
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