Tell me: Is there anything more amusing than a 1:30 AM crazy?

I was sitting at my desk, playing some Freecell and hoping to see some good ol' fashioned footage of Hurricane-related destruction on the TV.

And then it started.

Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!

Silence.

Knockknockknockknockknockknock.

Silence.

Boom boom boom! Boom boom boom!

Silence.

It was coming from out in the hall, and sounded like it was on the floor below mine. And it went on and on and on.

I kept giving the noise one more minute to subside before I was gonna get up and say something. It never did subside, though, so after about fifteen minutes, my alterego, Action Dan, took over.

I stood up with purpose, kicking my wheeled office chair back as I stormed to my door.

"Jesus! What the hell is going on down there?"

"I'm locked out of my goddamned apartment and my goddamned mother won't answer the goddamned door!"

I looked over the railing. It was the guy who I always sorta suspected was crazy, the guy whose hellos, judging by his wide, staring eyes and creepy smile, always seemed to be fueled by alcohol or peyote.

He was buck naked.

He tried to cover himself with his arms. I ducked my head back, so I didn't have to look at his 50-year-old ass.

"Well, Christ, man! Some of us are trying to sleep!" Now, this was a slight lie, because I wasn't actually trying to sleep, but it sounded more reasonable than, "Well, Christ! Some of us are trying to play cards on the computer!"

At that point, I heard the woman across the hall from me open her door slightly.

"Yeah, well some of us are trying to get into our fucking apartments, nosy asshole! Fuck you, Jack!"

He called me Jack.

'Jack' threw me. It was more than Action Dan could handle, so I went back into my apartment, closed the door, and resumed my Freecelling. Crazy naked guy resumed his pounding, too.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

Silence.

Boomboomboomboomboomboomboom.

Silence.

Bam! Pause. Bam! Pause. Bam! Pause. Bam! Pause. Bam!

Silence.

Now, I'm not a call-the-cops sort of guy, but after another ten minutes or so of crazed, naked pounding, I was seriously considering it. The biggest obstacle was figuring out what to say to the guy, because I figured at the very least I had to give him a heads up.

"You called the wrong guy Jack, buddy!" rang a little hollow. "Man, I hope you find a key soon!" didn't quite cut it either.

That was when the cops arrived anyway. My neighbor, God bless her, apparently did the dirty for me. Figuring my work there was done, I lit a cigarette, put my ear to the door, and listened to the fireworks.

"What's going on here?" the cop, in his most coply voice, asked the naked dude.

"Hi, officer. I, uh, went to the bathroom and on my way, I thought I heard something in the hall. I went out to check on it or whatever, and I guess the door closed."

"And you went to check out the noise in the hall naked?"

"Yeah."

"So who else is here? Why are you banging on the door?"

"My mother's in there. She's not answering the goddamned door. She's probably...I dunno. She's got every fucking thing wrong with her possible."

The cop sounded the slightest bit disbelieving. "Have you been drinking tonight, sir?"

"No! Well, yeah. But I just woke up, so not that much."

"And you live here?"

"Yeah, for sure."

"OK. What's the address here?"

"It's, uh, 387 South Swan."

"No, it's not."

"It's, uh, 387 Washington. Washington."

"No, it's not."

OK, so this part took me a little by surprise, seeing as how the dude did live there and all. You'd think, even fucked up and naked, he'd be able to remember his address. I'd never seen his mom before, though, and every time he seemed to be in a fight, I assumed it was with some sort of jealous lover. The last time something like that happened, someone had thrown a few armloads of clothes out the door, where they sat for the better part of a day.

"How long have you lived here?"

"Uh, two, two-and-a-half years."

"And is there some sort of super or manager who could attest to that?"

At that point, the neighbor who called the cops peeked out her door and peered over the railing.

"Yeah," she said, "the owner lives next door. I'll call him."

Five minutes later, I saw the grey-haired outline of the building's owner, clad in a bathrobe and carrying spare keys. He saw the dude and startyed laughing.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry Mr. McLaughlin. I feel really bad about all this. I was going to the bathroom and I heard..."

"Yeah, OK, listen. It's fine. Don't worry about it. We all get locked out of our apartments. Next time, don't be naked."

After a few more pleasantries between the cop, the owner, and the guy who I imagine was still stark naked, the guy got into his apartment. The cop and the owner went upstairs to talk to my neighbor. They told her everything was copacetic, but, man, was she pissed. She told them exactly what had happened -- the pounding, the swearing, the etc. -- and they sounded surprised given the fact that the dude was contrite when they arrived.

I wanted to see how it was gonna end, but, after an evening of conflict and the embarassment of others, I felt satisfied, and I went to bed.

And then I farted.