Hey, remember that post I wrote recently about what a sick Peeping Tom I am and how I find the Fake Sam Elliot Dude in our neighborhood both creepy and fascinating? And then the Immoral Matriarch was all, “But I LOVE Sam Elliott! He’s sex-ay!” and I was all, “Well you can HAVE the fake version, you monster ‘stache loving freak!” and she was all “I’ll kick your ass if you diss my Sammy!” and I was all, “Okay nevermind you’re absolutely right and I’m sorry” because we both know that she could TOTALLY kick my ass if she wanted.
But anyway, the point is — Remember that post? And creepy Fake Sam Elliott?
Well, the night before last, my husband ruined that guy’s life.
It was just a typical weeknight for us, in bed by 10, the Big Bean trying valiantly to sleep while I clicked away on my laptop and occasionally guffawed at The Daily Show. The windows were open because it’s finally NOT as hot as balls here anymore (goodbye, AC! We will miss you! NOT!), and I guess it’s a good thing because otherwise we would not have heard the crash from outside.
I knew immediately what it was. Once you hear the sound of one car crunching another, you pretty much never forget it. I hit the pause button (Tivo, how I love thee) and listened for more. The Big Bean turned over and listened with me. We heard a screeching of tires, then the sound of a car driving away, and then silence. I said out loud, “That was a wreck. And I think it was a hit and run.”
The Big Bean jumped out of bed like it was on fire. Still in his boxer shorts, he threw on some sandals and ran out the front door to see what had happened. I stayed in bed with The Daily Show and figured he’d report back. Which he did. With an almost-disturbing level of enthusiasm.
Apparently, when he got outside Fake Sam Elliott was coming around the corner in his clearly damaged truck. The Big Bean watched as he drove down the street and parked in front of his house, then started to pull his other car out of the garage, obviously making room to stash the evidence.
Just then our next door neighbor G came out, ready to leave for his night shift as a volunteer sheriff. He saw the Big Bean standing outside in his boxers and was understandably curious. When he asked what was going on, Big Bean told him breathlessly, “I think that guy just pulled a hit and run!”
G had heard the crash, too, but didn’t know what it was and had missed the whole screeching-tires-coming-around-the-corner thing. So he asked the Big Bean, “Are you SURE?” and the Big Bean cried, “YES!!” as he shook with exhilaration, tears of excitement agleam in his eyes – he was REPORTING A CRIME!
(Side note: This is MY interpretation of events. I did not witness them first-hand. But the Big Bean WAS awfully excited by all of this. It’s entirely possible that he was shaking and crying like a little girl.)
So anyway, G went running for Fake Sam Elliott’s house, using his cell to call in a potential hit and run. The Big Bean watched G go, then finally realized that he was standing outside in his underwear and sandals, so he came in to (a) put some clothes on and (b) report the news to me with an urgency I rarely see from him (except when he has to poop, but that is an entirely different post) (and, also, probably more information than you needed).
(Another side note: Every time he came back to the house to fill me in, he called Fake Sam Elliott “Sam.” Like that was really his name. It’s not. Until last night we really had no idea what his real name was. I don’t know why I find this so funny, but I do.)
Status report successfully delivered, boxers and bare chest covered with shorts and a tee, the Big Bean raced back out for more scoop and found three cop cars already parked in front of Fake Sam Elliott’s house, lights flashing. The culprit had been caught and was in the process of being “cuffed and stuffed.”
(Last side note: Until last night I had never heard the term “cuffed and stuffed.” This was how the scene was related to me by the Big Bean. It didn’t stop me, though, from Twittering about it like I use that term all the time. And if someone had asked me what it meant, I was ready to say, “You mean YOU DON’T KNOW what cuffed and stuffed means? DUH!!” But sadly, no one ever asked. I guess it IS pretty self-explanatory.)
According to the Big Bean’s animated news report, G got to Fake Sam Elliott’s house just as he was about to pull the damaged truck into the garage. G approached, badge out, and asked Fake Sam Elliott, “Did you just hit someone?” and Fake Sam Elliott, obviously drunk, knowing he was busted, said “Well, yeah.” And not long after that, G’s cop buddies showed up (serendipity: they were already just blocks away when the call came in), and the flashing lights-handcuffed neighbor scene played out right in front of the Big Bean, who knew that IT WAS ALL BECAUSE OF HIM.
While the Big Bean stood outside watching it all go down, silently patting himself on the back, another neighbor came out and asked him what had happened. The Big Bean couldn’t WAIT to share the news with someone else. “You know that guy with the Sam Elliott mustache?” “You mean Donald?” “I don’t know his name.” “Well Donald has a big mustache and white hair.” “Okay, well OLD DONALD just got busted for a DUI AND a hit-and-run! And I busted him!” ”You’re kidding! Oh, poor Donald!” (Completely missing the point that the Big Bean had just SAVED ALL OUR LIVES.)
Once Donald-slash-Sam was safely en route to jail, the Big Bean came back in. He was obviously still pumped from totally ratting out our creepy neighbor, but he also knew he needed to get some sleep, so he started to get back in bed. But then we heard what sounded like an ambulance siren, and suddenly it was possible that SOMETHING MIGHT BE GOING DOWN WITHOUT HIM. So he popped back up, hopped on his bike and rode to the scene of the accident to see what was going on.
Turned out, it wasn’t an ambulance at all, just another cop. The car hit by Donald-slash-Sam was unoccupied, parked on the side of the road when he plowed into it. The Big Bean was disappointed — not that someone hadn’t been hurt, I mean, just that there was nothing more exciting to observe.
The show was finally over.
He came home a little deflated. Back to boxers, he climbed into bed.
ME: Wow, that was all really exciting, huh?
BB: Yeah, that guy is in some SERIOUS SHIT now.
ME: And they would never have caught him if it hadn’t been for you.
BB: I know! And now he’s in jail, facing DUI AND hit and run charges! He’s fucked!
ME: Basically, it’s like you just ruined Fake Sam Elliott’s life! And all in a matter of minutes!
BB: I know! I don’t think I can sleep now. I feel like there’s more crime fighting to be done.
ME: You’re like a superhero!
BB: I should really be back out there on the streets now, looking for more unsavories.
ME: Sleep now, Superman. There will more crime to fight tomorrow.
So there are multiple points to this story:
- My husband now considers himself a crime-fighting SUPERHERO and will be hell to live with for many weeks now.
- It is ALWAYS a bad idea to drink and drive.
- You should NEVER flee the scene of an accident.
- You should ALWAYS be nice to me.
- The entire neighborhood now knows that the Big Bean is a boxers guy.
- I can tell one SERIOUSLY long, tedious, semi-embellished story.
- How do you like Fake Sam Elliott NOW, Ms. Immoral Matriarch? Not so hot anymore, huh? (If you still think he is, you’re absolutely right and I’m really very sorry. Please do not kick my ass.)
- It is entirely possible that I will soon be writing another post about how Fake Sam Elliott got out of jail and headed straight for our house to kill the Big Bean. You should definitely stay tuned.
And that is all.Stumble it!