Crazy Eyes: Part Deux

What's an Easter weekend without a run in with my neighbor, Crazy eyes?

I pulled into the parkade behind a small size SUV. Little did I know that SUV's towing capacity was 150 lbs of crazy. Out popped my least favorite neighbor and the lunacy began.

Let's back it up a little. 

I was out surfing in the mid-afternoon and had come back and just removed my board from the car and gathered my wetsuit etc. Crazy eyes had sat in his car waiting, watching for the precise moment to exit his vehicle and pounce like a jungle beast driven mad by... non-prescription drugs, plastic surgery and failed dreams.

As I picked up my gear and quickly made my way towards the entrance to the elevators I heard his door open and the immediate cry of, "Hey! How was the ocean?"

"Good", I answered, "a little windy but decent enough."

"Polite? Was it polite?" Crazy eyes asked.

Let's stop right there. Crazy eyes had either mispronounced something, used a word he didn't know the meaning of or anthropomorphised the Pacific and assigned it rather pleasing and subtle properties. Alas, Crazy eyes was no Margret Atwood. No, he was at the end of the day simply insane, the Easter Bunny left chocolate eggs in place of his anti-psychotics.

"Urrr..." I was at a loss for words so I simply repeated myself. "Ah... a little windy?" swinging upwards at the end of the sentence in a plea for him to understand.

"Polite?" repeated my bat shit crazy nemesis as we entered the elevator together. It like he refused to give way to sanity. This man was a in immovable rock.

"Sure, yeah." I conceded looking down and noticing that his otherwise summery and normal wardrobe became muddled with his choice in massively over-sized and sockless footwear in the form of old British Knight runners.

Left horribly confused when Crazy eyes got off on the first floor only one thing seemed certain. From this day forth, the Pacific Ocean shall now be referred to as the Polite Ocean.