How to get rid of a Rash

**Rated R for violence and language.

Since I know you are all wondering what happened to poor Randall, I won't keep you in suspense. He almost got his ass kicked the other day. No, not by me. Although I felt like it. He pretty much hung out here all day Tuesday. He would leave and I would think that was the last of him. But NO. A few minutes later, I would notice the Dodge Caravan in its hiding place. Oh, and he told Mary (the homeowner) that the spot he parked in was the only parking space available, which is exactly what I knew he was going to say, but was a complete lie. He also had a ridiculous excuse for why the boxes were stacked up in front of the sliding glass doors. He has an answer for everything. Bullshitters always do. And Mary believes his BS. She had even gone in to look at the room, and told me that she initially agreed with me that he might be planning to stay there, but of course he explained her suspicions away.

The last time The Rash drove up and came walking toward the townhouse on Tuesday, I couldn't take it anymore. I asked him what the hell he was doing here and when he was going to go away. Anyway, he locked himself in his living quarters, and while the locksmith was changing the locks on the front doors, I called my husband and told him that he needed to come physically remove Randall. That probably was not a good idea on my part.

The locksmith picked the sliding glass door lock, giving my husband access to Randall. :) (Looking back, I'm actually a little surprised that the locksmith was so helpful. But he did mention to me that he was scared of my husband, and wouldn't want to be Randall.) As it turned out, the only reason Randall is not in a body cast is because he was cowering behind his boxes, and my husband was probably just happy to see him so afraid. I guess he figured that was enough to keep him away from here from now on. In the meantime, Randall called the police. Yep, we hadn't even moved in yet, and the cops were already here.

No one was arrested, because technically no one had done anything wrong. I got Mary on the phone. She talked to the police officer and told him that we were renting from her, and that Randall had access to that room.

Never mind that "access" doesn't mean he can just hang out there all day.

After the police left, I spoke with her and told her that she needed to tell Randall to leave, and to leave NOW. She told me she would. She even agreed with me that there was no reason for him to still be there. So she called his cell phone and talked to him for 15 minutes, but never really made him leave. He smoothed it all over with her. Again. Then, after she hung up, he told me he was not leaving until he had finished. He was putting locks on the sliding glass doors so he could get in from the back, since he knew he wouldn't be able to come through the garage. He wouldn't leave, and told me that if the locksmith changed his locks, he was just going to change them back. He was inside the room, so I suppose he was just going to sit in there and wait, and then put his own lock back on. I knew it wouldn't matter anyway, because even if we did change the locks, we would have given Mary a key, and she would have given a copy to The Rash.

By this point, we had pretty much decided that we were going to have to move in here, and then start looking immediately for somewhere else to go. What fun.

To make a long story even longer, yesterday I was given a tour of "the room" by Mary. She thought she could prove to me that it was only being used for storage. She brought The Rash with her. He needed to "get some things". (Of course he did. He was here all day doing nothing for 3 days, and now suddenly he needed to get some things. Whatever.) Anyway, I requested that she not bring him in during my "tour". So he waited in her car.

He has a table set up in there, with desk items on it, like it's an office. He even has his printer there, so he can hook his laptop up to it. The cushions, blanket and pillow are shoved into a corner, even though she had insisted to me that they were not in there. As I already knew, the boxes are stacked from floor to ceiling, and literally have to be pushed out of the way when entering through the sliding glass doors. It would have made much more sense to stack them out of the way, as he has to enter through those doors. They are clearly there to block the view from the outside. But she is really so brainwashed by this guy that she can't see this.

I asked Mary if she has actually seen the place that he is supposedly living now. She says she has, but she didn't sound very convincing to me. And considering that he has no job, who is paying for it anyway? Oh, that's right. She gives him "money to live".

She has now offered to move all of the "storage items" to a warehouse, if we will pay a little more rent. She said she can't do that for a month, so we can take some time to decide if that's what we would prefer.

I will say that we have not seen The Rash or his van lurking anywhere. Come to think of it, so far, today is officially my first Rash-free day since we got the keys to this place.

Of course, it's still early.