30DC: 'The Gee Street Jesus'

Finding a letter from the Gee Street Jesus is sort of like finding a fly in your soup.  This one was tucked under my car's windshield wiper, written with the stub of a golf pencil on brown shipping paper:

plez do refrain from making such a raqet

Three minutes before I pulled the note free, I had stopped making noise.  All noise.  This happened while I was haggling over the cost of an old boom box at a pawn shop.  I couldn't speak; I made all the motions but not so much as a squeak came out of me.  Stomping my feet on the ground?  Nothing.  Knocking on a table?  Nothing.  Pounding on the service bell?  Nada.  Inconvenient as hell, is what I'm getting at.  The guy behind the counter says I should check my car.

My best guess is that I had been playing my radio loud on the way in.  Not that it wasn't inconsiderate of me, but it was three days before I could make sounds again, and before anything I touched would start making sound.  You would be surprised how important it is for other people to hear your car.  After nearly rear-ending one guy and nearly plowing into a jogger who hadn't heard me approach, I had to drive like I was being tailed by the entire police department and my high school driving instructor was breathing down my neck daring me to fail.

This naturally made me curious re: the identity and manifesto of the Gee Street Jesus.  She turned out to be a woman, maybe thirty-something, who had caught a bad case of the crazies working on her phD which coincided with the development of heroic powers.  Maybe one caused the other, maybe she just had the bad luck to go crazy after getting empowered or go empowered after getting crazy.  She camps out on Grammar Street (thus the name) and doles out gifts or punishments to those who behave or misbehave on her watch.  Some people like her, some people wish hot flaming death on her.

Me... well, this will be an interesting story to tell my grandkids one day.  Once smitten, twice shy.