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Transcript for Episode 01: Harsh Advice from the Thief Next Door

Randy’s anxiety peaks when he discovers the new tenant next door has a criminal record for breaking & entering, narcotics trafficking, assault, and auto theft.

Warning/NSFW: The content of this podcast is intended for a mature audience only. At times this content contains highly offensive language, sexual situations, violence, illicit drug use, criminal activity, and all around bad actors. If you have sensitive ears, this may not be a good fit for you.

Privacy: Names have been altered to protect the privacy of brands, individuals, musical acts, and establishments.

PODCAST SETTING LOCATION: Based in East Vancouver / SUBJECT: Musician with Agoraphobia


Randy Darling is about to record his first story for a podcast. He requests the back room of the coffee shop for him to record. He begins by introducing himself and setting the scene of the story which takes place in a rundown apartment building located in East Vancouver where lived in when he was 19.

The wild cast of characters included Ola, who the neighbors said had a criminal record that included assault, car theft, narcotics and B & E burglary. The narrator is narrating a story about his neighbor Ola, a thief who he believes is likely to break into his apartment and steal his belongings. He is filled with anxiety every time he sees Ola.

However, months go by and nothing happens, leading him to believe that Ola does not want to steal from people so close to him. Then, one day, a man called Andy X comes running down the hallway and starts pounding on Ola’s door, leading the narrator to believe that Ola has been stealing from other people. 

Ola shuts Andy X and closes the door in his face.

A few months later, the narrator and his roommate Dan come into some money and throw a party. The party quickly gets out of hand. Randy, Mark, and Dan share a bottle of tequila and rye whiskey with their neighbors.

One of the neighbors, Keri, had recently lost her daughter to social services and began to share her grief. Suddenly, the mysterious neighbor, Ola, walked in the door and everyone was afraid of him. Ola declined a pull from Randy’s “unique, one-of-a-kind handcrafted water bong” and began drinking his bottle of rye whiskey.

As he drank, he began to loosen up and pointed out each of the items of value in the house. It became apparent that he had either a photographic memory or had already done an inventory of their humble abode.

Ola was relishing the fact that everyone was intimidated by him.

He began to lecture them about their music, telling them it was nothing special and that they were wasting their time and money on it. He said they were surrounded by losers and going nowhere. Ola saw himself as the winner of the losers, soon to lift off to a better place.

When Randy has enough of Ola’s insults he leaves to go outside for some fresh air.

Randy walks the streets until the sun comes up letting everything Ola said sink in. Then he returns to the apartment to see the aftermath of the party.


eandy enters the coffee shop located in East Vancouver…

June: Will it be the regular today, Darling?

Randy: Yeah, thanks. Is the back room clear? I just want to record something before I forget it.

June: Yeah, go ahead. The boss is late as usual.

Randy: Thank you.

Randy walks to the back of the coffee shop, opens the back room door, and starts introducing his story…

Hello. My name is Randy Darling and this is my very first story I’m going to do in podcast form. This is one that takes in place East Vancouver, in a run down apartment building that I lived in when I was 19 years old. We were surrounded by what you might call a wild cast of characters, a few of which you’ll meet today if you take this in, sit back and get some good headphones and enjoy.

Randy begins the story…

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Ola was a bad person.

At least that’s what everyone told me.

The neighbors said he had a criminal record that included assault, car theft and narcotics dealing, but that his real passion was B & E thievery. In other words, breaking into people’s houses and stealing their stuff.

Not good.

Well, not good for me, because Ola lived right next door.

I didn’t have much stuff, but what I did have was precious. Like my Fender Telecaster guitar and my vinyl record collection.

Every time I saw Ola in the hallway or outside the building coming and going, I felt a jolt of anxiety course through my body. I could visualize him breaking into our apartment and rifling through my things.

I could imagine him stealing my guitar, my amplifier, all my records, my leather jacket, and my unique, one of a kind handcrafted water bong.

I figured it was just a matter of time before I was the next target.

But as the weeks and months went by, nothing. Not a bump in the night or a crack in the day.

I thought maybe he didn’t want to steal from people living so close to him. Or perhaps he didn’t think anyone in the building had anything worth stealing.

But then it happened. A wannabe pimp in 4A who called himself Andy X came running down the hallway and started pounding on Ola’s door, demanding his belongings be returned.

I heard Ola open the door, a barrage of heated words from Mr. X and then Ola’s distinctive snarl,

Ola: “Look man. You better back off or I’m going to fix ya. And by the way, you look like a clown wearing that backward baseball cap and cheap, cold chains. You ain’t right, you ain’t cool, and you’ve never been to Oakland.”



A few months later, my roommate Dan and I came into a little money. So we had a party. We packed our little one bedroom apartment with our colorful neighbors and it quickly got out of hand.

It seemed like every tenant in the building showed up. Mark and I had a 40 of tequila and a 40 of rye that we shared with our thirsty neighbors. Our friend Jack from the pizza place across the street arrived with a fresh bag of pot to stuff in my bong.

It was a stone groove.

One of the neighbors was a young single mother named Keri, who had recently lost her daughter to social services due to her deep devotion to China White. After a few stiff drinks and some smoke, she started spilling her grief.

Just when we thought she couldn’t make a bigger scene, she fell to the ground into another one of her seizures. Dan and I stopped what we were doing and made sure she didn’t bang her head or bite her tongue. This wasn’t the first time Keri had seized in our presence.

Just as I was getting up off the floor from tending to her, Ola walked in the door.

The room got dark and the room got cold. Everyone was afraid of him. He stood about 5’7″, had a deep scar on his left cheek, brooding eyebrows, dirty blonde hair, a green bomber jacket, faded ripped jeans and dirty 1950s Converse style runners.

He sauntered his way into our kitchen for a glass and some ice for his drink. Then he sat in the corner where he had a full view of our tiny apartment.

I tried to keep it cool and offered him a pull off my freshly replenished bong. He declined, saying, he never touched the stuff. He gave me the creeps as he looked around the room assessing his future robbery.

Over the next hour or so, he continued to drink his bottle of rye whiskey on ice, and as he did, the screws in the back of his tongue began to loosen.

Apparently our dangerous and brooding neighbor was a real chatterbox when under the influence. He pointed out my guitar and he told me what I paid for it. Then my amp, then our stereo, then Mark’s four track Tascam recorder. And he was right. Damn close at the worst. Either Ola had a photographic memory, or he had already done an inventory on our humble abode.

Either way, he was no ordinary thief.

To make us even more uncomfortable, he told us how much he could get if he pawned our stuff at his buddy’s shop in East Vancouver, you could tell he was relishing the fact that Dan and I were wide eyed and intimidated.

Now I was certain. Ola didn’t want to party. He was just there to case out the place and play on our fears.

I decided the only smart move was to stroke his ego so he would see us as friends. At least friends enough not to rob us.

But before I had a chance, he started in on us.

Ola: “Why are you guys wasting all your time and money on this shit? You’re never going to make it. When was the last time you ever made any money with your music?”


Dan and I looked at each other with a stunned expression. This low life street urchin was giving us our fathers’ lectures verbatim. What. A. Prick. It is one thing to be a petty thief and a thug, but it’s another thing entirely to sit on our back alley acquired lounger, and piss all over our parade.

And then he went on.

Ola: “If your music was anything special, you would have been discovered by now. But here you are, dreaming of stardom and getting stoned in squalor. Look around, man. You’re surrounded by losers and you’re going nowhere.”

Randy: It was clear that Ola saw himself as the winner of the losers. Only a tourist in our nefarious neighborhood, soon to lift off en route to a better place. Just when I thought his onslaught was over, he continued…

Ola: “You need to wake the fuck up and get real, man. Stop wasting all your time on a fantasy and make a realistic plan.”


At that point, I’d had enough, and went outside for some fresh air.


As I walked down the street that night, my head was swimming. Maybe it was my sativa brain being flushed by the cold night air, or maybe it was Ola’s stinging words on a loop in the back of my head.

Whatever it was, it sucked, and it sucked real bad. I had a seasoned criminal in my home, charming my guests with his winning personality.

And he wasn’t just coming to pillage. He was coming to destroy, to vandalize and molest everything I believed in. I was still walking the streets when the sun came up.



When I got back to the apartment, I didn’t know what to expect. When I got in, it was clear that devastation had visited our humble domain. There were empty bottles and butted cigarettes all over the floor. My roommates Dan and Mark were passed out cold in the bedroom.

When I cracked open the door to the bathroom, I could smell something foul, and I could see some feet hanging over the tub.

And there was Ola, passed out and soiled in his own filth.

Very undignified. Even for the harbinger of destruction. And if this wasn’t weird enough, I noticed that not a single possession of ours was missing. How could this be?

It was in that moment I knew what I had to do.

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You can hear the backroom door of the coffee shop open, then Randy’s footsteps as he walks to the front of the coffee shop approaching June at the front counter…

Randy: Thanks for the coffee, June. Have a good one.

June: You too, Darling.

The bell rings on the entrance door as Randy leaves. You can hear street noises of East Vancouver. Cars, buses, people talking, and Randy’s footsteps as he walks away…

Sound fades away to silence.

Ending notice from young women with a strong Australian accent: You’ve been listening to the Randy Darling podcast. To get the backstory on young and old Randy, June, the coffee shop, locations and answers to frequently asked questions, visit


Character of:
voiced by:
Randy Darling

by Allan Isaacson & Andrea Irving

Character of:
voiced by:
Allan Isaacson
Montana Black

Character of:
voiced by:
Andrea Irving
Margot Robbie



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