Small-town tales
As usual, Friday after work I went out for drinks with some friends. One of my closest friends here is moving to India this week, so there was a larger and more varied group than usual -- including some older people who are friends of the family. During a lull in the conversation, my friend said a quiet aside to an older lady, saying "I'm sorry about your cleaning lady."
I, of course, being the subtle, non-confrontational person that I am, asked what there was to be sorry about. My friend proceeds to tell me the following story, which has been in the local news, though I missed it entirely. The following took place in a very small village in France, just over the Rhein from us.
The older lady has had the same cleaning lady for many, many years. The cleaning lady is a very nice woman who's about five feet tall, weighs about 90 pounds. The cleaning lady has had a fairly difficult life, and has a son she's raised. The son has always been quiet and mostly not got in much trouble. Recently, however, he got somehow involved with drugs and the local drug dealer in the village. They got into a fight one night and both were using knives. The cleaning lady's son was injured badly enough to be in the hospital. In the meantime, apparently the son (and his mother, possibly) had put the drug dealer, bleeding and unconscious, into their car/trunk (details are sketchy and I opted not to pry too much during a casual social occasion -- or more than I already had). The drug dealer may or may not have already been dead, but was left there for two or three days.
A few days later, the son is released from the hospital and sometime later arrested for the murder of the drug dealer. Then we learn that, while the son was being treated, apparently his mother chopped up the body of the now-dead drug dealer and put it into many small plastic bags, and then drove them over the border (ie, into CH) and distributed them all over the place. The son was arrested when the body parts started to be found and he eventually confessed that his mother had done it.
Trippy.
I, of course, being the subtle, non-confrontational person that I am, asked what there was to be sorry about. My friend proceeds to tell me the following story, which has been in the local news, though I missed it entirely. The following took place in a very small village in France, just over the Rhein from us.
The older lady has had the same cleaning lady for many, many years. The cleaning lady is a very nice woman who's about five feet tall, weighs about 90 pounds. The cleaning lady has had a fairly difficult life, and has a son she's raised. The son has always been quiet and mostly not got in much trouble. Recently, however, he got somehow involved with drugs and the local drug dealer in the village. They got into a fight one night and both were using knives. The cleaning lady's son was injured badly enough to be in the hospital. In the meantime, apparently the son (and his mother, possibly) had put the drug dealer, bleeding and unconscious, into their car/trunk (details are sketchy and I opted not to pry too much during a casual social occasion -- or more than I already had). The drug dealer may or may not have already been dead, but was left there for two or three days.
A few days later, the son is released from the hospital and sometime later arrested for the murder of the drug dealer. Then we learn that, while the son was being treated, apparently his mother chopped up the body of the now-dead drug dealer and put it into many small plastic bags, and then drove them over the border (ie, into CH) and distributed them all over the place. The son was arrested when the body parts started to be found and he eventually confessed that his mother had done it.
Trippy.
posted by Swizzies at 17:25
8 Comments:
Trippy? I'll say. My.
Wow! And coming from a place where the crime rate is so low to start with...well, at least Switzerland's.
Eeek.
Wow, you just never know with people! While reading that it made me ask myself how far I would go for my own kids - I guess you'd never really know until you found yourself in that situation.
Trippy is an understatement! I think this goes in the "Twilight Zone" folder, complete with theme music.
My, my. Parents do the darnedest things...
P.S. How come your blog doesn't have RSS Feed? I totally missed that you've added three entries since Fasching.
Um, because I don't know what RSS Feed is?
Also, I'm totally insulted to discover that you don't surf by here DAILY to see if I might have put up my predictable-as-Italian-trains bi-fortnightly post. ;-)
Hanging my head in shame... :-(
RSS Feed is another way of bookmarking blogs (or websites or new feeds or whatever you find on the Internets that interests you) and having a live feed that shows you whether a new entry/article has been posted without having to actually click on the blog. I use RSS Feed on all of my blog links now.
Truth be told, though, I do it out of convenience and not because I'm tech-savvy or anything.
Does it scare you that I rooted for that mother chopping up the drug dealer into little pieces? It does? Then I didn't really.
I just know from experience that motherhood is temporary insanity.
-- Phoebe
(by experience I didn't mean I've chopped anyone up. I meant I've experienced that mother grizzly bear protective instinct)
What's interesting, Pheebs, is that the other mothers who were there during this story also had the reaction you did. I was surprised but not upset by it. I guess you can't know from grizzly bear reactions until you have an offspring of your own.
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