We saw a serial killer! I'm sure of it! Alan and I were at Frontera waiting for a table when this skinny white dude came up to the hostess desk. He had lank, greasy hair, generic Red-Wing-ish work boots, uniform pants, wallet on a chain - I realize that none of these things equate to Serial Killer. Greasy hair by itself doesn't do it, but something about the overall package and, not to sound too hippie about it, his seriously bad vibe - this guy was Serial Killer personified. I know someday I'll see him on the evening news in a mug shot, something about him was screaming 'disturbed psychopath' that loudly.

In addition to the appearance, there was his bizarre behavior. He was asking for a table for one (again, not in itself enough to mean Serial Killer) when the young guy doing the book held up a finger and turned away. He turned his head into the crook of his arm, facing away from Serial Killer toward the wall. About to sneeze, the little guy was sneezing in the politest possible way, given the public setting. Well, Serial Killer recoiled, literally jerked his upper body away with this horrified look on his face like Restaurant Guy had offered him a tray of fetus sushi. Totally excessive reaction - I don't want to be sneezed on either, but the guy had turned away and covered his nose and mouth, what more do you want, and the days of bubonic plague are pretty well past us (not that you'd have thought that from Serial Killer's reaction).

Next, because the restaurant was very crowded (25 minute wait by this point), Restaurant Guy asked Serial Killer if he'd like to sit in the bar, again causing a reaction totally inappropriately extreme. I understand that some people are more religious than others, and that there are secular reasons, some quite strong, for which someone might not want to sit at the bar. But you'd have thought Restaurant Guy asked him if he'd be having his dead grandmother's entrails as an appetizer, the way Serial Killer reacted. What's wrong with, "No, thank you"?!? So since he was determined to wait, Restaurant Guy needed Serial Killer's name for the list. I don't know what Serial Killer expected, that's pretty routine in restaurants, but the look on his face was as though he'd been asked to divulge top-secret information to his worst enemy. You could literally see the battle waging within him, torn between his desire for anonymity and his desire for cheese dip. After dithering for a moment, he finally muttered, "Hyatt" [I think] but I'm positive it was an alias.

During lunch, Alan and I joked about Serial Killer and outlined his lifestyle. For example, he's a religious zealot for whom offshoot Southern Baptists were too moderate, so he's formed his own religion with three followers. His sermons are mostly rants on the godlessness of everything from jigsaw puzzles and carousel ponies to the color teal. His first murder, after small furry animals, was his mom. He has her head in a jar of pickled eggs, only he hadn't quite finished the eggs so there are one or two bobbing around Mom. He drives the requisite serial killer van (American made, white conversion van, religious bumper stickers, patriotic plates). Alan promised me that when we left, I could cruise the parking lot for Serial Killer's ride.

When we were in line to pay the check, Serial Killer was sitting alone at a table in our line of sight. His eyes were rolling wildly around, looking at everyone with hatred and suspicion. He was eating tortilla chips and SOUP. I'm sure Frontera's soup is very good as all their food is, but really: who goes to a Mexican restaurant and orders SOUP?!? We pay and head to the parking lot. We're not even off the sidewalk before I see it! A white conversion van! While it had windows, they were tinted about 10 shades too dark to see in. We cruised by and sure enough, a Georgia wildlife license tag and a WWJD bumper sticker. I was really hoping for something more reactionary than a WWJD bumper sticker, but I guess it's important to maintain a low profile, being a Serial Killer and all. I took down the license number, so when the Rockdale Strangler or the Conyers Slasher starts making headlines, I'm going to turn him in. I'll just tell The Law, "I can't tell you how I know, you wouldn't believe me anyway, but run this tag and you'll have your perp."

Spending my Sunday keeping you all safe from psychopaths,
Helly

MONTOYA DELENDA EST!