midget

Remember, they're not midgets. They're people of reduced stature!

When I was younger, we always went shopping at a grocery store named Food Town. My mother is about 4'9" and there was a midget who worked at Food Town as a bagger. He'd follow my family around, and we'd make fun of my mom saying it was her boyfriend. It wasn't very nice of us, but we were teenagers.
The bagger was in his early 30's and a bit disproportionate. Some midgets are in proportion and just look like little people; this guy looked more like a miniature gorilla. As I said, he'd follow my mother around creepy-like as we would buy our groceries. He'd smile at her while he bagged our groceries. We'd laugh hysterically and make fun of her.
This went on for a couple years. He never said much to any of us, so it was a perpetual joke. Then my brother turned 16 and started hanging out with his friends more. They'd go up to Food Town for soda, or whatever it is guys go to the store for. (I didn't understand guys at 14, and I don't now.)
The midget bagger went up to my brother Sam and started talking all this dirty shit- about me. Not my mother... but me. My brother was extremely grossed out by it all and didn't say much about it to my family. After vocalizing his sick thoughts, something must have snapped.
The guy started calling my mom's house constantly, hanging up whenever my family would answer the phone, or just breathe into the phone if I did. It was pretty creepy, but tolerable until the phone calls ranged into twenty times a day and he started driving past my mom's house, staring. This was before the stalking laws were around, so we had no idea what to do. More often then once, my mom thought she saw some one running through our yard at night. Once it reached this level, my mom called the store he worked at complaining to the manager, who was not surprised. Apparently he'd had complaints from other teenager's parents. He was transferred to another store.
The phone calls continued, as did the constant driving past the house. I wasn't allowed to leave the house alone, as though it were my fault. It was hard to sleep at night, wondering if some one were creeping through the yard, looking through the windows.

And one day it all stopped, as quickly as it began.
Urban legend says my brother saw him at a gas station in the middle of the ghetto and the midget had a talking to with a monkey wrench. I'm not sure if I believe that, but I never saw or heard from the guy again.