It was in the final weeks of my college career that I had one of the strangest experiences of my life.

I spend my senior year of college living in a very nice (and enticingly inexpensive) townhouse which was walking distance from campus but also as close to the Tallahassee ghetto as you could be without being an actual crackhead.  Our building was broken into two units, but everyone was pretty friendly and we traveled freely between the two apartments.  I lived in 529B West Carolina Street, and my friend Morloc Darkfucker lived in 529A.

Once upon a time, I was going through some old possessions in my room and came across a large broadsword and a set of throwing knives that I had stolen from J. Matt when he moved out and forgot to take them with him.  Excited about my discovery, I ran next door brandishing the shiny sharp objects I had found and encouraging my neighbors to go outside with me and throw them around.

As luck would have it, my neighbor Joe Green was in the process up upgrading his home entertainment system and making it more fully bitchin', so we had a plethora of large boxes and styrofoam packing materials to choose from.  We grabbed whatever we could carry and took it outside to see if we could possibly accidentally injure ourselves.

Tom and I playing a quick game of "swords and armor"

We did the sort of stuff that half-drunk idiot college guys do... hacked at each other with swords and tested our skill at throwing knives into cardboard boxes.  There may have been some jumping off the roof while impersonating the "down stab" from The Adventures of Link with a four foot longsword, but I don't think I'm prepared to admit that part just yet.  Either way, it was a fun way to waste a couple of hours and unlike some other instances nobody ended up having to go to the emergency room despite the fact that the phrase "ok, now hit me as hard as you can with that" was uttered on more than one occasion.

Now I should mention that a couple of weeks prior to this a very strange man had moved into the townhouse next door to ours.  His name was Jerry Cole and he was a crazy old guy with a large bushy gray beard, a penchant for being a fucking complete and total whackjob and exceptionally poor dental hygene.  He was very trailer trash hillbilly redneck looking and as a rule we generally tried to stay away from him, not because we particularly had anything against him, but rather that there was just something "not right" about him that we couldn't quite place.  We first thought things were awry when he left his moving truck parked on his lot for close to six straight days and would yell at us when we asked him if he needed any help.  However, we didn't really give it a whole lot of thought since we were the type of people who didn't really put our noses into other people's business.

Artist's rendering of Jerry Cole.

After our exiting afternoon of being dipshits, my friends and I were so pumped full of testosterone and awesomeness from throwing the knives around that we came straight inside to commence our manly celebration by eating red meat, drinking beer and playing Tony Hawk 3, completely forgetting that we had left all of the cardboard boxes and hacked-up styrofoam blocks lying in the yard between our townhouse and that of Mr. Jerry Cole.

The next afternoon when we all finally awoke from our alcohol-induced comas and pulled ourselves away from the Sunday morning reruns of "The A Team" and "Duck Tales" we noticed that the boxes we had been fucking up the day before were no longer present in the yard.  Being the rational individuals that we are, we concluded that one of three things had happened:

1. The wind had blown the boxes and styrofoam pieces out of our yard and possibly into someone else's yard.
2. The boxes had been carried off by large nesting birds.
3. Crackheads stole them.

The important thing was that since they were no longer there, they were no longer our problem.  We continued on with our daily rituals and didn't give it a second thought until one of the more productive members of our household came home from wherever she had been that afternoon.

"What is this note on you guys' door?" Jackie Hardin asked and she came in the front door of 529A.

"Close the door.  And let me see that."

Morloc took the note from her.  It was a piece of plain white copier paper with a handwritten note on it.  The note read something to the effect of, "Myself and three other people cleaned up the boxes that you left in our yard yesterday.  I expect a payment of $24 for our time", though there is a good chance that it was even more poorly written than that.

Apparently Jerry Cole, being the unemployed drunken abusive redneck that he was, thought that a large pile of cardboard in our yard meant that he had an opportunity to make a quick buck, possibly by holding the cardboard for ransom or something equally as fucking insane.  He had put together an elite crew of box picker-uppers to do all the difficult work of "carrying that shit to the trashcan" and "throwing it in the trashcan".  We should be so lucky to get such a good deal on work like that!  I mean, it took me and Morloc five whole minutes to pick the boxes up and walk outside with them, and now we had the luxury of being able to pay someone to throw them away for us!  This insane-o extortion scheme was like the fucking suburban equivalent of the guy who cleans your windshield at a red light when you don't ask him to and then expects you to throw some change at him to get him to leave you alone.  Needless to say, we all had a good laugh over it and then promptly balled up the note and threw it into the trash.  We did not, however, bill Jerry Cole for the act of throwing away the note he had given us.

The rest of the day continued without incident.  However, the following Monday morning we were all sitting around skipping class, drinking Joe's beer and watching him play Metal Gear Solid 2 on his new entertainment system while eating two different flavors of potato chips at the same time when suddenly there was a loud knock on the door.  Morloc was the closest to the door, so he decided to check it out.

Morloc:  Hello?
Jerry Cole:  Did you get my note?
Morloc:  Yes.
Jerry Cole:  Where's my money?
Morloc:  Look, I'm really sorry that you had to clean up our mess.  However, I don't feel as though we should have to pay your for doing so.  We never asked you to do it, and your price is far too much for the amount of work you put into it.
Jerry Cole:  You gonna give me my fucking money or not?!
Morloc:  No.  Now I would appreciate it if you did not swear at me or bother anyone in this house ever again.

Morloc calmly closes/slams the front door in the face of a protesting Jerry Cole.

Jerry Cole walked back to his house, apparently agitated but utterly unable to exact any sort of revenge.  Morloc was the hero of the morning, and we toasted him over beer and barbeque potato chips long into the afternoon.

The rest of the day proceeded as any normal Monday would... we went to class, we came home, we watched TV or played the Playstation 2.  However, as I sat on the couch in 529B around 5pm I casually glanced out the front window and noticed a most peculiar thing.

There were police cars all up and down Carolina Street, and crouched behind them were street cops and members of the Tallahassee Tactical Apprehension and Control Team (TAC).  All the officers had their weapons drawn and pointed in the general vicinity of Jerry Cole's home.  I rubbed my eyes to make sure I hadn't just been watching too much Metal Gear before alerting my roommates to the fact that a shotgun-wielding police officer was crouch-walking up the driveway towards our front door.  They took notice when there was a knock on the door.

Amazing Ben:  Uh, hello?
Shotgun Cop:  Sir, we're going to have to ask that you evacuate this building immediately.
Amazing Ben:  Uh, ok.  Why?
Shotgun Cop:  There's a bit of a situation.  We need you to leave immediately.
Amazing Ben:  Is this about Jerry Cole?
Shotgun Cop:  Get out of here.

Well of course we weren't going to miss any of the action!  Myself, Morloc, John and a couple of other roommates went out to the grassy field just behind our townhouse and sat on a hill to watch what was going to happen.  The weather was nice, the sun was setting, and the time was right for some Jerry Cole centered police brutality.  We knew somehow that they were heading for him, but we were as of yet uncertain what exactly he did to piss off the Tallahassee Police Department.

When it looked like things weren't going to get started for a while, Morloc and John and I went down the street to make two pre-show stops; first at Mike's Beer Barn for a twelve pack of Budweiser and then at Chubby's Fried Chicken to pick up a "Chubby Box", which consisted of a good-sized portion of deliciously greasy fried chicken and a side of fries.  With food and beer, we were ready for action!

As the sun continued to set, things started to get more and more crazy.  First we were approached by the media, who interviewed Morloc and informed him that Jerry Cole had actually been fucking crazy and shot a gun at some random kid who was riding his bike in the neighborhood.  After that, a lot of the students in our area who had been similarly displaced came by and we had a big drunken backyard police-party.  It was awesome.

After a while, the TAC van pulled up and we were approached by a full-on balls-out police sniper who looked very similar to the guy in the middle of this picture:

The sniper (in full camo face paint and everything) was like, "Who lives in 529B?".  Morloc was there and was like, "that's us.  What do you need?".  The sniper asked us if he could use our house to set up.  Knowing that this meant there was potential for Jerry Cole to get capped in the head, Morloc allowed him to use our apartment.  Note that Morloc did not actually live in 529B; he lived in 529A.

John:  Dude!  What the fuck did you do that for?
Morloc:  What?  What the hell is your problem?
John:  Dude, my fucking bong is sitting right on my desk!
Morloc:  John, he's a fucking police sniper!  He's not going to give a shit about your bong!
John:  Dude, he's going to fucking steal my stash!  I left it right on my bed!
Morloc:  The cop is not going to steal your fucking stash, you bungler!  Why did you even leave it out anyways?
John:  In case I wanted it later!  Dude, I'm so fucked.
Morloc:  You're an idiot.

A couple of minutes later, we noticed the SWAT/TAC team assembling at the back door to 529B.  The assembled crowd cheered, and I exclaimed to John, "Dude, the fucking SWAT team is right outside our laundry room!".  It was like I was watching a live-action version of Rainbow Six or something as they all grouped together and waited for night to set in.  The police negotiators had been trying to talk to Jerry Cole through their megaphones all afternoon, but now it was time to get down to business.

"Dude, don't touch my stash!

The sun set and the police assault team became more and more difficult to make out through the night sky.  We never saw the TAC team leave their positions at the back of 529B; All we heard was the explosion of a flash-bang grenade and it was over.  The TAC team had swung around the townhouse and thrown a concussion grenade through the window of Jerry Cole's home before busting in and arresting him as he sat in his Laz-E-Boy holding a loaded revolver in his lap.  The assembled college students cheered and we were allowed to return home.

Check out the newspaper article below for the full story.

"Give us your bong or we'll blast you!"

Tallahassee Democrat (FL)
April 8, 2002
Section: B
Edition: TD
Page: B1

MAN ARRESTED AFTER STANDOFF
SUSPECT CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER
John Fleming, DEMOCRAT STAFF WRITER

Tallahassee police Sunday night ended a tense standoff on West Carolina Street by storming into an apartment to capture a man thought to have been involved in an earlier attempted shooting.

At 8:40 p.m., members of the police Tactical Apprehension & Control team, wearing black helmets and bulletproof vests, fired a loud explosive charge and broke down the door at 523-B W. Carolina St.  They arrested Jerry Lloyd Cole, 62, and charged him with attempted murder.

Darnell Scott, 33, was walking or riding his bike along Macomb Street when he attempted to pass Cole, who was standing and talking with another man, said police Sgt. Leroy Peck.

Cole became "enraged" when Scott attempted to pass by, Peck said, and threatened Scott with a revolver, Peck said.  Cole, who is white, also directed racial slurs at Scott, who is black, Peck said.

Cole pulled a revolver and threatened Scott, who closed his eyes, fearing for his life. Scott heard a shot and then ran.  Witnesses saw Cole go into his apartment, Peck said.

Four others who were in the apartment with Cole --- one woman and three men --- were not charged, Peck said.  Police were still searching for the revolver Sunday night.

Police closed several blocks of Carolina Street shortly before 7 p.m. and evacuated residents from nearby homes and apartments while they moved into position around the townhouse.

Eric Gustafson, property manager of the two-story townhouse, said Cole and his wife had lived in the apartment for about two weeks.  The tenants of the apartments are mostly university students.

"We ran a credit check. Everything was clear," Gustafson said. He said some of the neighbors had recently reported that Cole had been socializing with homeless people from the nearby shelter.

Morloc Darkfucker, a Florida State University student who lives nearby, said he'd seen Cole at 4 p.m. Sunday when Cole came to his apartment.

Darkfucker said Cole had cleaned up some cardboard boxes from his yard without being asked to and then left him a note saying he wanted $20 for the work.  Cole came by Sunday in an attempt to collect the money, Darkfucker said.

He didn't get paid.