(Long Island, NY) Only a certified maniac would wake me up at three in the morning to tell me about what he calls ‘the Panty Bomber’. Apparently, Nassau County police have arrested a thirty-something man for sending a series naughty letters to women over the course of a year and a half. For some reason, I had to hear about all this instead of finishing the best part of a fabulous dream about sunny skies, a Hawaiian beach, and an army of well-trained massage therapists.
“Good lord, George,” I said, “Why are you bothering me in the middle of the night over some sick freak who sends underwear through the mail? He hasn’t even been convicted yet, and you’re already getting his segment ready for America’s Funniest Criminal Arraignments.”
George told me that the alleged creep had been busted for this behavior before. “So what, Georgie? Some nutjob mails Victoria’s Secret to his fantasy girlfriends. If the ladies are pressing charges, let him hang by his thumbs from the highest yardarm. If they let him go, he’s another loose screw out on the streets. Why are you bothering me at THREE AM?”
He stammered for a moment. Something was up, and even me in my sleep-deprived state could tell he felt backed into a corner.
“Spill it, George. Is this a case of mistaken identity? If you’re the real undie-bomber, you better speak up now. If I find out in six months on the early news that it was you, I’ll have your head on a plate, just as soon as I quit laughing.”
But no. My dear friend George is NOT the panty-mailing fiend. He did, however, have an equally serious problem. He mailed his girlfriend a nice assortment of sexy underthings for her birthday. A sort-of surprise in anticipation of a birthday getaway weekend they were planning in the wine country. Now poor George suspects that not only will his girlfriend not get her gift package, but that his vacation will be cancelled when he gets called in by the cops because they intercepted the mail.
“Listen, buddy,” he said in a low, desperate voice, “Do you know what happens to guys who go to jail on pervert charges? Forget about a bucket of electric eels, we’re talking about the FULL MONTY.”
“George, are you nuts? Your mail and the Nassau cops arresting this other doofus have nothing in common. Except for the fact that you, too, are a doofus. Why do you think they’d look at YOUR mail?”
George was not to be reasoned with. He is convinced that the cops have been x-raying all the mail in a frenzied search for the man who sends panties. Never mind all the illegal contraband that comes through the post office-the stuff US Customs and Border Protection agents usually catch before it hits the streets. George was gripped with evil visions. He envisioned scenes of rabid police officers with crazy lights in their eyes, ripping open every parcel and package in search of lacy underalls. George said he could practically hear the low maniacal laughter rumbling out of the mail-room as they set aside mountains of “evidence”. George was going off the deep end. I could HEAR him sweating the way crazy people do right before they snap and start smashing all the televisions at the local shopping mall.
A thought occurred to me.
“George…have you been drinking?”
Dead silence. Haven’t we played this game before? “Look. Don’t call me for at least forty-eight hours. Drink some coffee, sober up and take some vitamin B. And if you every mention this again, I will make a citizen’s arrest and drag you screaming to the police station by your hair. I’ll tell them you’ve been sending me triple extra-large sized football player underwear and that you are a menace to pet stores all over Long Island.”
Click.
After getting some more shuteye, I woke up and checked the internet news services. It was true that somebody got arrested for allegedly mailing out women’s underwear. I certainly hope the women he harassed will press charges, appear in court, testify, whatever. If they don’t put him away now, he’ll probably wind up selling underthings on Ebay or hiring himself out as a stalker-for-hire to jilted boyfriends and bitter ex-husbands. Ladies, please do whatever it takes. We can’t afford to have this guy profiting off the patently illegal practice of harassment via US Mail.
As for George, now there’s a bigger problem for me personally. I have to either get him into a 12-step meeting, or have his phone disconnected. One or the other, as long as I can get a good night’s sleep.
