Communal Craziness

I've never been comfortable with the idea of mental illness. Its because we know so little about it. We don't understand how it happens and we don't know how to fix it. It is even hard to recognize at times. We have drugs that take some of the edge off but it can never cure you and you will be dependent on them infinitely. The only things we know for sure is that mental illness can be caused by chemical imbalances in the brain or certain traumatic experiences can flip a switch and cause you to never be right ever again. Mental illness is also troubling because there is no reasoning with a head sick person. It is for the same reason that I don't too much care for small children and wild animals. You just assume try to convince a two year old that sticking figurines up his nose is not a good idea or persuade a charging lion why eating you would be bad for his G.I. track. We don't do a great job of handling our crazies. Millions deal with depression with a lot of them feeling trapped with no where to turn. And every year here in American twice as many of us are killed by suicide as are killed by homicide.

And to add to the confusion, there are varying degrees of crazy. Not every one is a eat your own shit kinda crazy or kill a bitch for the hell of it kinda crazy. I would say that type is in the minority. Although if you want to gain any type of notoriety as a crazy individual it would be best if you killed and ate a few people. I would like to think that most crazy people are the, 'I like to talk to people that ain't here' kind, or the harmless, 'I am not on drugs and I see stuff around me that other people cant see.' I've encountered a few of them in downtown Atlanta and I just walk fast and pretend not to see them all the while not taking my eyes off of them. I don't feel very secure observing them in their natural habitat. But wrapping my mind around someone being sick in the head is hard to do not only for me but for our society. We don't know what to do with them and basically put it out of our minds until we must deal with a psychotic one.
I mean there are certain normal levels of crazy that we all put up with because we have to because there are so many people that have milder levels of psychosis. Like the jealous boy/girlfriend that thinks you are always try to get with another when you even so much as look in the direction of someone of the opposite sex. They even get suspicious when you are ordering food at the drive through and the person taking your order is of the opposite sex and sounds a bit flirtatious. Crazy is that dude driving by your house at 2am or hiding in them shrubs in all black try to keep a tab on your comings and goings. For what reason? Who knows?!?! But that craziness makes sense to them and thus makes them a crazy fucker. And that dude who wants to fight because you accidentally stepped on his new S dots or because he thought you looked at him a little bit long? Crazy I say! That heffa who gets enraged in traffic because the car in front of her didn't speed up through the intersection to beat the yellow light and drives on the shoulder in traffic jams because she is entitled not to get stuck like everyone else? Crazy y'all! And we all know the jackass who likes to harass people in the service industry just because they can because they know that in theory they are always right and it makes them feel powerful. They're crazy to me. I haven't bumped into any of the 'I see dead people' types but I've encountered plenty of the previously described garden variety, mildly crazy types. And I feel that on the whole they are vastly more dangerous and are responsible for a disproportionate amount of the angst, anxiety, distrust and general bs that runs rampant in our world.

As you can see my definition of crazy may be a bit looser than the conventional one, if in fact the one most commonly stated is a true definition of crazy. I often hear it described as 'doing something over and over and expecting different results.' That understanding may be accurate but doesn't hold up for the jokers I encounter. I rarely have time to monitor the behavioral patterns of an individual in order to accurately label them crazy. I usually make a decision on a one time observation of an unusual or disturbing occurrence. And that is usually sufficient for me to determine who I should and should not spend valuable amounts of time around. This was made very clear the other day when I encountered the crazy triumvirate. It was a crazy trifecta. It was a mentally challenged triple threat. See what had happened was....

In the first inane encounter I witnessed a definite office no no, a moment of oral diarrhea, and blatant ethnic insensitivity. See I have this supervisor at work who is notorious for her outburst of hysterical laughter and spurting out the first thing that comes to her mind. Its actually fun to be around people like that and she keeps things light. But the problem is that you cant always be like that in the work place because it is offensive to some people. Not to mention that it is somewhat of a distraction to hear her outburst of in the middle of the work day in an office space that is otherwise dead silent. But she doesn't report to a whole lot of people so she can get away with it. Well this day I speak of, she was in her cube with a few other people going over some documents and I was at my desk in an adjacent cube minding my own business and wasting my own precious time, when I hear her yell out "ha haaaaaa, you look like a ninja." And the others in the rest of the cube erupted in laughter. I immediately knew what was going on because earlier in the day I had seen the only Asian fella in our department, and I noticed that he was wearing all black. At the time I remember thinking that It was odd to see someone wear black on black in the office when that attire is usually reserved for funerals or nights out on the town. But it absolutely never crossed my mind that this man of Vietnamese descent even remotely looked like an actual ninja. But my super not only thought he looked like a ninja but thought it appropriate to shout it out to everyone in the office and point and roll around in hysterics. The first thing I thought was damn that's fucked up, then I thought yeah but its actually really funny too. And the next question that came to mind was 'Is this woman crazy'? Yes I concluded.
Later that day as I made my way to my car for lunch, I opened the door to the 7th deck of the parking garage where I was met by the most pleasant, perfectly in tune musical note that I had heard in some time. I played in the band in high school and immediately recognized it as a french horn. It was loud but because I was surrounded by concrete I couldn't even begin to place the direction from which the sound had come. I waited for more music to come because it sounded exactly like the opening note from the song Unforgiven by Metallica. I thought someone may have had their car door or windows open. I looked around in vain. I heard nothing else and saw no one around. I carefully moved towards my car in confusion. Where in the hell had that noise come from. I inspected the cars as I passed them for signs of the mysterious noise and as I got closer to my car I heard it again. It wasn't the same note and not quite as crisp and clear, but it was louder and I was very close to the source. As I swiveled my head around, a man in a car, across from where mines own was parked, was holding an instrument in his lap and he was looking directly at me. The instrument was a french horn and another single note rang out. I thought to myself 'what the hell' but more importantly I kept it moving. This guy was sitting in his car in a parking garage at work, presumably on his lunch break, playing a damn french horn. Who does that? And why was he looking at me like I had the problem? And why was he not playing music or songs but just random intermittent notes as he starred down passerbys? My immediate determination, in which I place a great deal of confidence, was that this individual was most likely crazy.
The third incident this day was less conspicuous than the others but was significantly more threatening than the previous two. Sometime after lunch the 24 oz's of mountain dew that I had taken in during lunch decided that it no longer wished to reside in my bladder. I conceded to its demands and made my way to the restroom. Now I think I speak for most males when I say that time spent in the public bathroom can be somewhat trying. There is a sense of vulnerability when your most private of areas are exposed in close proximity to other males with exposed private areas doing some of the most private of acts. There is a certain level of respect and decorum that must be maintained to ensure a peaceful pee and poop environment. I rarely see a restroom with two urinals. There is usually one or three or more. This means that either you pee alone at a urinal while others wait, or two people can occupy a three urinal wall with the middle urinal hopefully observed as a buffer or dummy urinal. This urinal is to be used sparingly, and only used when it so happens that 3 individuals actually have to use the urinal at the exact same time. It is completely unethical for two individuals to be using directly adjacent urinals when 3 are available. And if you find yourself about to use the middle urinal while two individuals are busy at the flanking urinals its only appropriate that you approach slowly while making your presence very noticeable. It is not fair to rush up behind a man with his junk out or sneak up to a man with his junk out and expect things to be all good. That is NOT all good and proper protocol must be strictly adhered to. Now that we all have a basic understanding of the ground rules let me explain what had happened this day. So as I make my way to the pisser I chose the one furthest to the left of the 3. And as I cautiously unsheathe my sword another fella enters the restroom. Immediately something is wrong. Although I have my back to him I notice that his pace is uncomfortably fast and he is whistling and singing too. This is very bad etiquette. He is way to excited to be using the bathroom. The way I see it is that you should treat your visits to the bathroom sort of like a funeral. Be quiet, tread carefully, keep your eyes diverted and try to stifle your sounds as best as possible. So this man races to the urinal and to my horror he chooses the urinal right next to mine when the one to the far right is very open, available and accepting urine. He's violated one of the most widely know and universally observed rules of peeing engagement. My whole body is now tense. Although I am in mid pee streamage I want to abort my mission. Dude continues to sing and is now looking in my direction. I keep my eyes straight down. And to make matters worse he asks "how's it going". I don't remember exactly what I said but I think I muttered a 'good' but nothing could have been further from the truth. I have a hard time remembering because due to this mans bold acts of aggression, he had triggered my fight or flight response. But I was literally exposed and I could do nothing but freeze and ride it out. As I am winding down, to add angst to anxiety, dude lets a very audible one rip without so much as and excuse me or my bad or any such acknowledgement. I quickly finish, do the abbreviated weasel shake and back away as I zip and flush. I wash up and escape with out further incident. But that was one of the worst encounters I've had in all my days. The guy had to be insane.
But see I know the face of crazy. I looked directly into its eyes. And even if you've never seen it before you will recognize it when you see it. I had experience with these types at an early age. I remember an incident in the 4th grade that would change my perspective forever. I've never told this story before but I feel it necessary now to get you to fully understand my expertise. And the only ones that can attest to the truthfulness of my account were the other 9 yr. olds that beared witness that fall morning. We were all on the basketball courts on a few acre playing area at my elementary school. Lots of kids were there early when parents had to be to work before school started so a good many of us were left to our own devices. Four of us were playing a very popular game but I cant remember the name of it. I think is was called 4 corners but anywho you would draw a big square and divide it into 4 equally sized squares. You would need a bouncy ball of the kick ball variety and each person would stand in their own square. And the object of the game was to bounce the ball in the persons square next to yours in such a manner as they would not be able to bounce the ball inside the next square moving in a clockwise or counterclockwise fashion as predetermined by the participants. And the object of the game was to get everyone else out and be the last person left in the square. Well there were 3 boys and 1 girl playing the game. But the girl wasn't an ordinary girl. She was Lashonda Mays. She was just as fast and athletic as the dudes and because we were 9 she was probably just a strong. She had no hesitation in competing with the dudes and held her own most of the time. Well this morning I guess I felt it appropriate to test her manhood and I used a dirty tactic in the game to get her out and she strongly objected. Even though she sat out she verbally called me out and dared me to do it again. Basically stating that if I tried that bullshit again she was going to take care of me. Now when we started the new game everyone was curious to see if I was going to back down and heed her advise or if I would try her again to establish my dominace and prove to her that I wasn't never ever scared but risk the business end of her wrath. Well I tried her again in the exact same manner in which I had tried her before. I noted that she was now out of the game once again and once again she objected to my shady tactics. And without hesitation she made good on her threat and threw a full loaded haymaker right at my face. I wasn't at all expecting it and it made solid contact with my chin and turned my face 90 degrees from where it had been starring directly at her fist. It was like it was all in slow motion but the sound of my battered jaw bone was the first shock. And the eruption of laughter from the playground was the next. And as I stood there she stood directly in front of me waiting for a throw down. And it was in that moment that I was first exposed to the face and eyes of crazy. It was unmistakable. And I had not the will nor desire to tangle with it. I'm not sure if I ever really lived it down but time made memories fade and time healed old wounds or so I thought. About 12 years later I would come face to face with my past. I was in search of cheeseburger and fries about 2am one morning and my hunger led me to the neighborhood whataburger. I ordered my food and pulled up to the window. I gathered my fastfood dues and stuck them out my window and when that sliding glass of the establishment disclosed the attendant, all those same emotions of anxiety and shame came rushing back. Apparently I had not yet run far enough from my past. She had found me. She was Lashonda Mays. And she was back. Back for more revenge? Probably not. It looked like she had replaced wielding mean right hooks with wielding burgers but that was of no comfort to me. She took my money and closed the sliding door. I recoiled into my car in disbelief and those feelings of anxiety and shame were replaced with aggression and spite. This was my opportunity to defend the honor of 9 yr old me. She may have still looked like a man but I was much bigger. I was much stronger now and she wouldn't have a chance of defending herself adequately. I don't think she recognized me but I did her. No way I could have forgotten the face of crazy. Momentarily she returned with my food and strawberry drank. That's why I loved whataburger cuz it was the only place in town that you could get great fries with a strawberry soda on the side. But this was my moment of truth. What was I to say? What was I to do? Time was running out. She initiated the battle with a "thank you for coming." And I retaliated with a bitter "no, thank you" and gentle yank of the bag. I sped off in disgusted indignation. She kept working in blissful ignorance.
In my expert opinion I am certifiably crazy. But aren't we all just a little bit off?