On Saturday, Joe The Plumber and I worked on reinstalling the security light that had once existed above my bedroom window, but had fallen into disrepair about ten years ago.
I was on top of a ladder, 12 feet above the ground, using Kilz to prepare the eaves for painting after the light was installed, when Joe caught my attention. Joe pointed at a homeless man going through the recycle bins in the alley and said: "Is that the guy?" (Referring to the homeless guy who punched me in the face last week.)
Indeed, that was the guy!
Joe asked: "Do you want me to drop him?" I shook my head no, but Joe decided to talk with him anyway. Afterwards, Joe returned.
"What did you say? What did he say?" I asked. "The guy's afraid," Joe said. "He tried pulling some of that 'Indian crap' on me, but he's no Indian: some kind of Peckerwood, or Mexican, or something. But one thing I know - the guy's a punk." (Presumably the fellow tried to ingratiate himself with Native-American Joe, but Joe wasn't playing along - 'Peckerwood' likely referring to Southern Scots-Irish).
Apparently what Joe said to the fellow (in reference to me) was: "I'm this guy's partner. You hit my partner, and I'll hit you, until you stop moving."
Joe then had a second thought, and drove off down the alley, where he had a second conversation with the fellow. My understanding of Joe's message was: "Don't take dumps on this guy's property. He's worked hard for what he has." Joe waved off the fellow's protests that those weren't his turds. (Which is exactly the message I wanted to convey: namely, I don't care whose turds they belong to; he's going to take the blame for every one of them).
So, whatever else might happen, at least we have a clear understanding of where we stand.
And the security light works too. Needs some weatherproofing, but it's functioning, at last.
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