Once upon a time I filed a PFS against my stalker. Funny thing though, apparently a PFS has to be served before anything can be done, and apparently the person being served can refuse to be served…

So last time I wrote to y’all it was the eve of my court date, and I was ready to put the whole thing to bed. Whelp, that’s not exactly how it went. First of all, when you go to the court date, the defendant can show up as well. This seems normal enough - until you realize this means you have to stand in the same area as him/her until your docket is called, and possibly even right by each other. D did not show up, and thankfully my brother was with me, but what if he wasn’t? I would have just parked in a parking garage (which my stalker would have known about since he’s invited too), by myself, walked to the courthouse, by myself, and then stood in a hallway surrounded by stalkers - including my own - until it was time to see the judge, and then walk back to the parking garage, by myself. This does not seem like a good system.

Once my docket was called and I was given an assigned seat, I waited for them to call my case. Except when they did, they told me to raise my hand for an alias packet. A woman walked over to me with a clipboard and told me to fill out the paperwork. I asked her what it was and she said it was required since the defendant hadn’t been served yet. “Um…” I rifled through the papers, “…but I already filled all this out.” “Yes, you have to do it again so we can try to serve him again.” “…And then what?” “And then you get a new court date and come do this again.” “But he refuses to be served. The cops have tried 4 times. They literally said they know he’s in his house when they’re there, but since he refuses to answer they door they can’t do anything. So what if he just refuses to answer again next time?” “Then you come back on your next court date and fill this out again.” “…so I just keep missing a day of work once a month to come fill out the same documents over and over again with nothing happening?” “Yes.” And then she walked off.

I immediately burst into tears and filled out the paperwork as my mask filled with snot since I had no Kleenex and wasn’t allowed to leave my seat. When I finished I raised my hand, the woman took the papers, and then I had to wait until they called my name again. They handed me a new packet, I grabbed it in a tearful rage, and stormed out of the courthouse, not saying a word to my waiting brother as I slammed through the door and then started screaming expletives as I ripped my mask off and wiped the snot off my face.

After some venting and general feelings of helplessness, my brother and I got lunch, and then he drove me home. We bought our grandpa’s RV a few months ago and are going to build a shed to house it on my property, so my brother told me he was gonna get out real quick and pace off the property to start designing. So we walked around my backyard a bit, then walked back towards his car, talking the whole time. At one point I glanced back to my backyard again and something caught my eye. Thrown over a fence post was a cardboard sign with D’s signature homemade wire hanger. I looked at Cameron, “Um…that wasn’t there a minute ago, right?” Cameron glanced at the fence, then back to me, and started walking towards the fence. I followed, but stopped when I realized D was standing on the other side because I caught a glimpse of him through the crack. I saw that the sign said “Talk to me through the fence.” and turned to tell Cameron we should just go inside when D said, “Who’s that with you?” Cameron and I didn’t say a word just turned and walked up my porch and into my house.

I think my brother was more shaken than me because one, he’s not used to this creepiness like I am, and two, he didn’t realize how sneaky D was - we were both standing a just a few feet from where he hung the sign but neither of us actually saw it happen. “Eerie” was the word my brother used. I think he felt bad leaving me, but I knew I’d be fine, and he had to go take care of his kids.

After he left, I got my phone to respond to a voice message a friend left me. I was giving her the rundown of the worthless morning in court, and suddenly I heard D start his car and drive away. A few seconds later I heard him tear back down the street and into his driveway, and then start screaming at my house. As per usual, I immediately received a text message from my neighbor on the other side asking if I was ok because she could hear D yelling even inside her house. I also noticed I had a couple missed messages from my brother who was giving me a play-by-play on D. Apparently he didn’t feel comfortable leaving me, so he parked his car down the street and hid and watched, and saw everything, and almost got taken out by D as he swerved back around. I was feeling extra helpless as this crazy person screamed at my house, while I apparently had no recourse until he decided to open his door to the police to be served.

A friend of mine works at a law firm and she suggested their process server give it a try - maybe he’d open the door for someone not in a cop uniform. I figured it was worth a try, so she came by to pick up the paperwork. As I got it ready for her, I realized that the there was a sheet stapled on top that said if the defendant tried to contact me in any way before our court date, I should call the police. Well shit, missed that important memo.

I was also informed, by someone high up in our city office, that next time something happened I needed to “Call the cops and sound really scared. You have to sound like you’re truly in danger and scared, or they won’t make it a priority.” Shit like this infuriates me. The only way I can get those whose motto is “to protect and serve,” who are paid with my tax dollars, to come and “protect and serve” me is by dramatizing and over-acting? Why? Why do I, as a woman, have to pretend to be terrified for someone to come do their effing job?

A couple mornings later I went to walk Mischa. As is my custom now, instead of walking in front of his house, I cross the street. As I did so, I heard someone yelling at me. I knew it was D so I didn’t even glance his direction and kept walking, until I rounded the corner, and then couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder. When I got back to my house, D had posted a sign in his window that said, “See me by the fence at noon.” Feeling very silly, but wanting to be finished with it all, I decided to call my substation, per the paperwork’s instructions. However, the substation told me they couldn’t do anything until D was served (are we seeing a pattern here?), so I would have to call 911. Feeling even sillier calling an emergency number for a non-emergency, I went ahead and did so and answered one thousand and one questions. After hanging up, I was immediately called back, “The lieutenant says he can’t do anything. You have to go file a report at the substation.” Since i was on vacation from work, I actually had the time, so I decided to keep jumping through all the ridiculous hoops.

I got to the substation and handed the woman behind the glass my paperwork as I stood in a freezing cold breezeway. She asked a thousand more questions - of which she had all the answers in her freaking hands in the documents I’d already given her - and then told me to wait. Finally a police officer came down the hall - unmasked, might I add - and said all he could do was try to serve the papers again. He followed me back to my street and parked a few houses down. I watched from my porch as he walked up D’s driveway, and noticed another cop coming from the other direction. The woman who lives on the other side of D came out on her porch to see what was going on. I’ve never spoken to this woman, just waved, but D has told me before that he hates her, and he’s always having noise wars with her. Anyway, this woman who has no idea why the police are going to D’s house, is simply excited at the thought of him getting in trouble for something - so much so that she is literally clapping her hands and giving thumbs-ups to the police officers. It warmed my heart to see her so happy.

Within a few seconds the cop was walking back towards his car, so I went to the sidewalk and met him, “So he didn’t answer again?” “No, he answered. He’s served. He’s crazy. I told him not to talk to you, not to come near you, and not to put any notes in his windows anymore.” As he said that, I saw a hand reach in the window and take down the most recent note. Praise be.

By the end of the night though, there was another note in the window, but it was too dark for me to read it. In the morning that note had been exchanged for the court documents he was served. Within a few hours those papers were taken down too; that was a week ago. Since then it has been radio silence.

New court date is next Thursday. I guess we’ll see what happens, but for the love of all that is holy, hopefully this will truly be the end of it. Please?