Gang Stalking – For want of .11 cents an old man goes hungry.

Okay, I’m warning you again, nothing about gang stalking. I let you know this because some of you don’t want to read about anything else but gang stalking.

I stood in line to pay for what I bought and an old man  stood ahead of me in line. He had a loaf of bread which looked like it had seen better days. It was his turn in line to pay. The cashier rang up the bread and told him it’s  .99 cents. He said, “I thought it was only .88 cents. I have only .88 cents.” The cashier said, ” No the price changed yesterday. It’s now .99 cents.” He said, “But I have only .88 cents.” The cashier sent the girl who puts things in the bags to check the price. I said to the old man, “It’s okay, I’ll give you the .11 cents.”  He looked at me as if I’d said a dirty word. He said,  “NO! I won’t take it.” I said, “But it’s only .11 cents. It won’t make much difference in my life.” He stood up straight with all the strength he had and said in a very clear voice, “NO!, I won’t take it.” He quickly ran out of the store without the bread.

I can understand pride. I have pride, but there are times when all of us help. This old man  probably had nothing else to eat at home, if he had a home, but still his pride wouldn’t take .11 cents from me.  I have pride, but if I needed .11 cents to keep me alive, I’d take the .11 cents.

The old man is probably on Social Security and ran out of money. The way elderly people in this country have to live is a shame. We should be learning from their wisdom and not abusing them as we do. Every time I think of the old man going hungry it makes me want to cry.

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Gang Stalking – Targets, be careful drinking that glass of wine.

English: Greyhound bus stopping at a rest area (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A Glass of Wine Awaits (Photo credit: evita2005)

I was passing the store I hate on my way home and  remembered I needed  bread.  I didn’t really want to go into the store, but it was either take a very long walk, or do without bread.  I decided to go into the store. I told myself I’d go in and get the hell out of the store very quickly.

I walked into the store, quickly walked to the bread section, grabbed the bread, turned around and almost ran into the store manager.  I was in the store less than two minutes, and  he was following me around the store.   I walked right up to him, held up the bread and said, “I just got this bread and I’m going to the cashier and pay for it.”  His eyes got really big and he gave me a look that said, “Oops, I’m caught.”  He had a shopping cart with him to look as if he was doing something. He had nothing in the cart and was doing absolutely nothing but following me around the store in the two short minutes I was in it.

I continued to the cashier, paid for the bread and left.

It’s sickening to go somewhere and be treated like a thief.   This is not the only store this happens in.  Any store I enter, right away,  everybody who works in the store is on the lookout to catch me stealing something.

We targets are the worse of the worse.  There isn’t anything we won’t steal, damage, drink, etc.

That”s another thing that bothers me, drinks.  I buy a beverage in some stores that looks like a beer bottle.  It’s a health drink and I’ve drunk it since I was a little girl. No alcohol in the drink whatsoever.  My mother used to drink it with a raw egg in it. I don’t, though.  But the bottle is brown and has the look of  beer, the drink is brown in coloring.  But there’s no alcohol in the drink and it’s not charged as alcohol in the store.  But what do I see in the complex where I live?  The guy next to me, the alcoholic, keeps a beer can on the table he has out in front of his apartment. The woman downstairs in apartment 107, has a beer bottle sitting out in front of her apartment.  A lot of the idiots who live here walk around carrying empty beer bottles. I’m supposed to be an alcoholic. I don’t even drink!  But the perps are told that I am and they’re to push that angle,  because it makes me look bad. If there’s one thing I’m not is an alcoholic.  I’m not perfect and  have my idiosyncrasies, but being an alcoholic is not one of them.

I remember when  traveling by Greyhound bus to Nevada, I stopped in the terminal, got a water bottle out of the dispenser, turned around and heard one of the workers say, “She probably has alcohol in that bottle.”  The man who was standing next to him said, “No, she doesn’t.  I saw her take that water bottle out of the dispenser.”  That’s the day I found out that they were telling everyone I’m an alcoholic. And I’ve had other incidence where someone made some remark about my drinking. I ignore the idiots because I know I’m not a drunk, but it gets tiring sometimes.  That’s the kind of lie told about all of us.  All they have to do is see you drink a glass of wine at Thanksgiving dinner and you’re an alcoholic.

We targets all have terrible reputations.  Anything that’s bad we are.   We don’t have to do anything.  We can be the most angelic human beings on this earth and everybody will hear a different story about all of us.  That we are all bad, bad, bad.

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Gang Stalking – PostaDay 2011 – When did it become a crime to own a bat?

Today, I went grocery shopping. On my way home, I had a loaf of bread sticking out of my bag. I didn’t give any thought to the bread sticking out of the bag.

I got home and began to get ready for bed. It takes me a while to prepare for bed. I have to surround myself with things that protect me. I was home about two hours, when someone knocked on my door. I asked, ” Who is it?”  It was the apartment manager.  So I opened the door. She asked me if I had a bat. I said, “what! Do I have a bat?” No. She continued to ask me if I had a bat, all the time bending down to look into my eyes. She’s 5′ ll” , and I’m shorter. But, anyway, she kept looking into my eyes. I guess she was looking for a sign that perhaps I had a bat, and told I’m so violent, she was  looking to see if I was showing any signs of violence. She asked me several times if I had a bat. I kept replying no. And I asked her, “Who said I was carrying a bat?” She wouldn’t tell me. She finally left.

I remembered that I had a loaf of bread sticking out of my bag. Someone with poor eyesight thought I was carrying a bat. And, anyway, what if I had a bat? What business is it of theirs? Were they going to call the police on me because I had a bat? There’s no law against me having a bat. It really makes me angry I have to put up with b.s. like this. Every little thing I do gets reported to the apartment manager. I can’t even carry a loaf of bread home. It’s reported as me having a bat. And, again, what business is it of theirs if I do have a bat? There’s no law that says I can’t have a bat.  It’s none of their  f–king business.  Next time she knocks on my door, I’m not opening it.  She can call the police if she likes.  I’m sick of her spying on me all the time.  I’ve decided to buy myself a bat for protection.  Now tell me I can’t have a bat!

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