The short story? Three cops just chased a man completely and intentionally covered in purple paint through my parking lot.
The long story? I’m glad you asked.
I had an appointment this afternoon very close to my apartment, so one of my managers let me work the rest of the afternoon from home. I went outside just now with Riley the Wonderdog, because I figure it’s no different than a smoke break, right?
As I walked out of the lobby, I notice two cop cars parked in the fire zone and one of Eagan’s finest yelling something up to the second floor balcony. Considering it’s the guy that sometimes paints himself half blue and half red, I didn’t really think too much about it.
Riley and I headed over to the grass so he could pee on something besides a policeman, and about the time two officers come out of the side door of my building with a guy who I thought was black. Oh wait, no, he’s not black at all; the mother fucker is purple. This man has painted himself dark purple. I can only assume it’s the same guy that lives with the half Smurf/half Red Hot guy in room 208.
The next thing I know, my dog is popping a squat on the curb (because sometimes he forgets he’s a boy when he pees) and The Purple People Eater (who’s wearing no shoes) takes off running through my parking lot, crossing the street, and continuing on like an outlaw through the park across from my complex. Three of the policemen started chasing after him on foot and once they passed the warming house that sits in the middle of the park, I lost track of them.
But never fear, because another cop driving by takes off driving through the park in heavy pursuit. A few minutes passed (and by this time, the leasing lady from the front office is doing something and just noticing there’s something of absolutely ridiculous nature going on) and the cop car that’s mowed down some small city-planted bushes returns to my lot, followed by the two cops that were on trying to run after my neighbor, Barney.
My assumption? They failed to catch the painted perp in their 400 meter dash through luxurious Eagan. The sad thing? I’m pretty sure I could have caught up with him. I mean, why didn’t they shoot him in the leg, or at least throw something heavy in his general direction? Don’t suburban cops carry throwing stars like ninjas?
Now, technically, I was still on the clock, so I brought Riley back inside and worked until 5:30. Because my last name started with a B and ends with an ERRY, I had some investigating to do. Or as well in the family call it – nosin’ around. I can’t help it; it’s in my genes and it’s what we do. Grandpa Chuck has taught us well.
As it turns out, there was a domestic dispute in apartment 208, and from what I can see from the outside, it involved throwing things like mattresses, bicycles, and large furniture against the sliding door leading out to their balcony. There also appears to be either something filled with a creme filling or some other white substance that was thrown from the parking lot, up two stories, and onto their screen door.
According to the lady that was riding up the elevator with the cops, there may have also been a cat involved, but nobody knows the whereabout of this cat. The accompanying police officers didn’t really seem to care either.
I could only roam around my building so many times before looking suspicious and getting dragged into the middle of the Dutch Boy Family Feud, so I called it a day in my detective work.
Tomorrow? I think I’ll call the Eagan Police Department and see if there are any leads in The Case of the Painted Man. I mean, they sure as hell weren’t all that helpful when my car (and over a half dozen others from my parking garage) got broken into, so the least they can do is entertain me for a couple of days.