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Last summer two guys came in the back door of a house I was in a 2am. One guy had a green vest, camo pants with a big knife strapped to the side and a wool mask on his face with eyeholes cut-out. The other was in jeans and a t-shirt with stockings pulled down over his face. Both were wearing surgical gloves.
The three of us had our wrist zip-tied, and were then the zip-ties were zip-tied together, thus connecting all of us. The camo-pants guys spoke (other guy never said a word) in an eastern-european accent, telling us to tell him where 'Greg' was and no one would get hurt. The real problem here is none of us knows a 'Greg'.
After about 15 minutes of this bizarre Tarantino-esque questioning, possibly realizing we had no fucking idea what they were talking about, the two guys told us not to move for two hours and left.
Waited 10 minutes. Called the cops who didn't give a shit, or at least acted like that was the case. Never heard another word about it.
Scared the living shit out of me. Happened in an upscale area of rural Sonoma county (out in the vineyards) - Les Claypool from Primus lives next-door. Still find myself wondering who the fuck 'Greg' is and if they ever found him.
True story. Honestly.
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