Dysfunctional Communication

I was the last one to find out I was stalking women at the Wheat Ridge Wreck Center.

It came as a big surprise to me.

But that's how dysfunctional communication works.

If I have something to say to you, you're the last person I'm going to say it to.

It's much easier to say it say it through someone else who will pass the message along to another person and by the time it gets to you it might not even be true. And if it isn't true, then no skin off my nose since I never said it anyway.

So, the police officer told me that Rich Swanson, the supervisor, told the police chief. The police chief then told the police officer. But before all of this happened, the women I wasn't stalking had to tell someone. So, they apparently told other employees who told the managers who told Rich Swanson.

Or that's what I have now heard.

But I could be wrong.

Maybe Rick Swanson never said what he said. Who knows?

And even if he did say what he said, he can just deny it now.

Rick Swanson apparently talked to everyone in Wheat Ridge about me except for me. I only met the guy once. I recall it was the week after my mother had passed away and someone had broken into my truck in the parking lot of the Wreck Center and stolen my CD player and the CD with my mother's last words on it. All I wanted was to ask Mr. Swanson if his security cameras might have caught the thieves on tape.

"I'd talk to the police if it were me," he said.

Gee, no kidding. I never would have thought of that. What a caring and sensitive fellow this Mr. Swanson is.

I guess his solution to every problem is to call the police.

I had to hear from the police what he said behind my back and could never say to my face.

"You're stalking these women, aren't you?" the police officer said.

"I am?" I said.

"Yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means you're following them around, seeing what they are up to."

"Oh, I didn't know that. Do you have any evidence?"

"Evidence?"

"Yes, like proof? Do you have dates, times photos?"

"Well, Rich Swanson and the employees here have been watching your every move on the security cameras and they think you have drawings in your bag of women. Can I look in your bag?"

"Don't you need a warrant? Don't you need probably cause? Have you ever heard of something called a Fourth Amendment?"

"Well, if you don't want to show me what's in the bag, that's fine. But I'll have to arrest you."

So, I showed her the drawings. It turns out they were of Rush Limbaugh and President Obama, not of employees at the Wreck Center. I guess what happened was the employees at the Wreck Center saw me on the cameras drawing while I worked out. Based upon this, they were confident I would be arrested, or that's what I have heard.

When the police officer saw the drawings of Rush Limbaugh and the President and realized how wrong she was, her face turned bright red.

But she's not going to tell you that.

And she's not going to tell you this. She's not going to tell you the difference between the real stalker and the token stalker.

These days every women needs a token stalker for social proof. It's the latest fad.

These days a woman can hardly be taken seriously unless she can say she's being stalked. She must have a nice outfit, the right hair and makeup, a boyfriend, maybe a husband and, of course, a token stalker.

But not a real stalker.

A token stalker is different than a real stalker who actually stalks her. That's too scary. Instead a woman only wants a guy like me to be under suspicion of stalking her. After all, if some guy is stalking her, it must mean she is desirable. Right?

The fact that accusations of stalking have hurt me and my family is not significant to these people.

Since this has happened, my book sales have declined and I've had five speaking engagements canceled. I've met women who agree to go out with me and then change their minds. My social life is non-existent and I have concluded that my only hope for a better life is to move out of Colorado within a year.


I'd leave now but I have an obligation to take a class for PTSD at the veteran's hospital.

I was hoping to mediate with the Wreck Center management, Mayor and Police Chief and come up with a solution that would be best for everyone involved.

But it's too late for that.

I'm willing to admit I drew cartoons that made fun of employees. I was more than happy to make amends and set things right. Now I draw cartoons of them to defend myself. I feel I have no other options.

When I emailed the Mayor about the stalking accusations, he avoided it. He would not even use the word stalker.

I found the Mayor's email on his website where he boasts that he is a leader who knows how to get things done and that he believes in open communication, the kind of communication that I and the police officer shared:

"It just seems odd to me," the officer said, "that an old guy like you dates younger women."

"I'm sure it's odd to you and to everyone in Wheat Ridge," I said. "But I don't just walk up to women younger than I am and risk public rejection and humiliation unless they give me plenty of non-verbal signs. And the younger women I date are highly educated, often sophisticated and non-discriminatory types. I've never once forced a younger woman to go out with me."

The truth is the Mayor isn't interested in open communication.

When I tried to inform him that the Wreck Center employees had invaded my private notebook and stolen my cartoons and ipod, this was his reply:

Sean,

Well...I have now asked you to respectfully stop.

Thanks

No, thank you Mayor.

By the way, if you read this and see the Mayor, please tell him I think he's a hypocrite who has moral convictions galore which he cannot live up to. Tell him I don't think he's a leader, but a self-serving schmoozer. Tell him I don't respect him, not that it matters.

I'd tell him this to his face but he is too much of a coward to meet with me.