Part 2 of "the stalker" now begins.
We left off at the office, where the creepy, weird dude from marketing overheard some of us jokingly mock his WARLOCKERY.
And like I said yesterday, this is where things get really f'ed up.
That very next Monday, I received a letter, at the office. It had no return address and was obviously written on a typewriter. Lol. The letter admitted to being from a friend of the creepy dude. We'll just call him the Warlock from now on. Mentioning many details of what went on that night at his house, it told me that I was out of line for mocking him, and that many bad curses would come my way.
It's worth noting that yeah, many bad things have happened since then: I moved to Florida, I bought a sweet car, I make a shitload of money, I have a hot fiance, I've gone on a bunch of vacations, my family and friends are awesome, and life is totally terrible. So yeah, I'm totally cursed.
Anyway, after reading that I would soon become cursed, I got to the next alarming paragraph. In order to avoid said curses, I would have to return the socks that the Warlock gave me for Christmas - get this - unwashed! Holy lol!
The letter specified that the socks be unwashed, and left on his porch.
What the fuck Warlock, I thought you were just gay, I didn't know you were a weird motherfucker too. Sniffin' some 24 year old dude's dirty socks is weird as hell.
Not surprisingly, I was kinda weirded out by this. Of course the letter told me not to tell anybody about what happened, so naturally I went to my manager, and after laughing about how weird this was, he told me to takeit to the owner of the company (I worked for a smaller company, and the owner was really nice).
First, I decided to take it to the post office, explain to them the alarming nature of the letter, and see if they could tell me where it was sent from, or any info they had. They couldn't.
"Holy shit that's fuckin' weird; do you still have the socks?" The owner asked after reading the letter.
After telling that me he'd talk with the Warlock, and that I shouldn't worry about it; he joking suggested that it would just be easier if I could just kick his ass. As I was walking out of his office, he stopped me, "just give him the fucking socks too", he said.
Laughing at the absurdity of this situation, I pointed down to my shoes, as I lifted up the cuffs of my trousers. "Ah, just fuckin' do it tomorrow; leave 'em on his desk, fuckin' weirdo", the owner chuckled.
Assuming the owner talked with him, I just ignored the Warlock, and the weird stuff stopped happening. I went on to leave the company in 5 months, and life continued.
But goddamn if that isn't weird as shit.