One of the reasons I started this site was because I’m full of weird ghost and murder gossip and I have no outlet for it. I’m walking around all day constantly reminding myself not to say HEY DID YOU KNOW THIS ROCK CAME FROM A CEMETERY or A MUSICIAN WAS ACTUALLY MURDERED IN THIS PARK DID U HEAR to passerby in the city. I’m a power extrovert and I want to talk to everyone I see. I’m pretty good at small talk but where I really excel is in the uncomfortable overshare. Something inappropriate is constantly in my throat trying to claw its way out. The weirder the story, and the less I know someone, the more likely it is to happen. This is why my Facebook followers know all about my menstrual cycle AND my plans for a home funeral.
This is a pretty regular thing and the place it happens *most frequently* is at the Office Depot on Arguello and Geary. Specifically in the parking garage there, because DID YOU KNOW A GUY WAS NEARLY BEHEADED BY A KNIFE WIELDING PSYCHO RIGHT THERE? WHERE YOU PARKED YOUR COMICALLY OVERSIZED CART??
Do you locals remember this story? Because I fuckin do, and now that I’m an Office Depot Rewards Member for the number of times I’ve had to pick up cardstock or printer ink or organizing tools that I’ll never use, I’m in there alllll the time. I drive past it MINIMUM once a day and every damn time I think about this story.
The murder happened in 2009 - some poor guy who was just minding his business was attacked and killed AND ALMOST BEHEADED by an assailant who was out of his damn mind. A man and his grandson actually apprehended the dude and held him until the cops got there. The public defender that represented the defendant said he was the most psychotic client she’d ever had. And that’s probably saying A LOT. All of that happened in this mundane ass parking garage for a big box office supply store. It’s so wrong!
It doesn’t help that this garage is creepy enough without knowing a brutal, senseless crime happened there. The building is old, and it seems to be constantly under some kind of construction. It’s always mostly empty and it’s dark. It feels echo-y in there and I move my ass as fast as possible to the world’s slowest possible elevator out. God help me if there’s someone there waiting because then it’s all-systems-go on NOT TALKING ABOUT IT IN THE ELEVATOR. Can you imagine how fucking skeeved out you would be if you got in this old, rickety-ass, gum and probably Hep-C covered elevator and some bitch blurted out about a beheading? While this contraption takes 5 full minutes to creep its way to Floor One so you can buy some toner AND treat yourself to stale overstock gummy bears in individually wrapped kid portions?
RIGHT. You cannot. This is why you’re reading my creep memoirs instead.