You've read about them in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, and if you are like me, then you probably thought the author was fudging the truth about some of his characters found in Savannah, Georgia. How could there possibly be this many wack-jobs walking the streets in such a small town? I now completely believe the writings of John Berendt and the tales of his Savannah crazies. I would like to highlight the two that I've had encounters with in the last 24 hours.
Ecounter #1
My co-worker, Jenny, and I were headed to get ourselves some grub, when we came across an entire litter of kittens trying to cross the road. Since we both wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing we had let them continue this death wish(Mother Teresa move over), we stopped the car to try and save them. They were trying to cross the street because their mother was on the other side. As soon as we approached, they all darted in between the slats of a white picket fence and into the overgrown grass and up a palm tree that was close by. I'm a dog whisperer, and I don't speak kitten, but apparently the man we met next did speak cat. He approached us and introduced himself as "The Governor" and asked what we were doing. We explained, but he cut us off after seeing the cats. He told us he had run a shelter for 20 years in New Mexico, and he knew what to do and was going to teach us. He then started making these weird sounds and unfortunately, writing cannot do it justice. He sort of squated and squealed, "Mew, mew, beep, beep, beep." After doing this several times, he said, "Now see, the kittens are in what is called an inducive state, and they are reacting to me as a mother." He then turned to us and said, "I speak 20 languages including Coon-ass." "Mew, mew, beep, beep, beep," he continued. As we kept trying to get out of this weird situation, we attempted to interrupt, but he wanted to then analyze Jenny's personality. We left him climbing the fence to get the cats while they were in their inducive (what the heck?) state.
Encounter #2
You all have probably heard me talk about this lady. She is most certainly crazy, and she sits in one of the squares and yells at people. My first experience with her was when I was walking through the square and she kept yelling, "Move on slut! Keep on slut!" Yes it was startling at first, but highly entertaining to be yelled out in the middle of the afternoon by a crazy person on a Wednesday. I've had sightings of her since then, usually from afar, and she was mumbling mostly. Then she took up residence at the gas station within view of my balcony. This was like my own live dinner theater. I could sit and watch her yell at people while enjoying my meal. I didn't know my apartment had this ammenity. My landlord could have probably charged at least $50.00 more if he knew how much pleasure I would get out of this sight. Then today, I'm walking through her old square, and there she was on her favorite bench. I hadn't been confronted by her in awhile, but as we passed, she didn't let me down. "Hello ladies? What ya doin ladies? Ladies, ladies, ladies," she spoke as she rocked back and forth. Then as we came back from getting coffee, she was holding a tape recorder and talking about her love of pineapples and what she liked to do with pineapples. I wonder how I can get a copy of that tape?
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crazy. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Six Flags over Crazy Town
I should have known. I should have known that the woman I was going to meet was slightly off her rocker. The fact she made me think her boyfriend had been killed in Katrina should have been a red flag when we first spoke on the phone(Red Flag #1). I was desperate for appointments, desperate to meet my quota for the day. The red flags just passed by me looking a shade of light pink.
I arrived at this independent counselor's office thinking that maybe I had caught her on a bad day when I had made the appointment. Independent counselors are paid by parents to help their kids get into prestigious schools. Usually these people have years of counseling experience, loads of connections and know-how, but this lady just had a load of full blown crazy person.
A woman in her early 60's answered the door looking a bit disheveled. She was in a baggy sweater and some sort of stirrup leggings that looked a bit weathered. Her hair was all mashed to one side that suggested that I had just woken her up from a nap. From underneath her sweater ran a long white cord. My first thought was that it was a bit of her worn sweater that was unraveling. In short, she looked like a mess.
As we walked back to take a seat, she noticed the cord and apologized for the wire hanging out of her sweater. She explained, as normal as possible, that she was getting electro-shock therapy in her back (Red Flag #2). I smiled calmly as if that was a treatment I too was going through and understood her pain. I sat down in the chair next to her and proceeded to retrieve the materials that I had brought to talk up the college.
I went into my normal, well-versed presentation about the school, starting with our locations. She quickly interrupted me, and I was hoping that maybe she would at least ask some pointed questions and shed her crazy person first impression. "Us women in the North hate when you Southern women say yes ma'am to us," she remarked. "Because of slavery," she continued (Red Flag #3).
Slavery? Was she kidding? "Well, I'm not sure about slavery, but we are taught in the 'South' that it is polite to say ma'am to those you are unfamiliar with or who are your elders. It is not about slavery, it is manners," I retorted.
"No, I'm quite sure it is about slavery. We here in the North...we hate slavery," she stated as plain as day.
Well then, I thought, I best be getting on the phone and calling down to my plantation and tell the the slave hand to let go our cotton pickers. I sat there stunned. First had this woman ever been down to the South? Secondly, last I checked I'm sure she was never alive during slavery...call me crazy (oh wait...no that is her name!). How was I supposed to reply to this woman? I had to maintain some sort of cool because the last thing I needed was some loony calling up my boss and saying something about how I endorse slavery. Calmly I informed her that I live in a predominantly African American city and that in no way do we condone "slavery." This whole time I can't believe I was having to explain this.
"Moving on...At our school we have three different types of scholarships," I awkwardly transitioned.
"My dad was a very famous doctor who saw very famous patients including (insert a bunch of supposed celeb names either just from Chicago or too old for me to know)," she interrupted yet again (Red Flag #4)
Yet another completely unrelated comment from the resident kook. Now you must realize that in no way was I ignoring all of these red flags. In my head I was trying desperately to organize an escape route. Maybe if I gave her electro-shock cord a tug she been instantly rendered incapacitated, and I could bolt for the door? Maybe I could pretend to get an emergency phone call...art school emergency...the artists are refusing to be creative. Nothing seemed to be feasible.
"Oh," I weakly replied. What else was I to say? I tried to turn it back to business, but I knew it was a lost cause.
"He received letters from many of the famous people. There was one that I read when he died from a very hunky male movie star, and I think this man was in love with my father. One day a couple years later I saw this man on a sitcom, and I threw up," she continued as if I wasn't even in the room. (Red Flags #5)
"Well that is a strong reaction," I commented. Now this is getting ridiculous. At what point could I just walk out of the room, and she would think it was normal. Maybe I could blame it on being southern.
"You would have that reaction too if you thought of your father having sex with another man!" she snapped in a bit of a raised voice (Red Flag #6).
This was not talk of college or art or scholarships, this was nothing that would ever make sense no matter how much I tried to bring it back to the topic at hand. Yes folks we were not in Kansas anymore, and I needed to get the first train back from crazy town.
I arrived at this independent counselor's office thinking that maybe I had caught her on a bad day when I had made the appointment. Independent counselors are paid by parents to help their kids get into prestigious schools. Usually these people have years of counseling experience, loads of connections and know-how, but this lady just had a load of full blown crazy person.
A woman in her early 60's answered the door looking a bit disheveled. She was in a baggy sweater and some sort of stirrup leggings that looked a bit weathered. Her hair was all mashed to one side that suggested that I had just woken her up from a nap. From underneath her sweater ran a long white cord. My first thought was that it was a bit of her worn sweater that was unraveling. In short, she looked like a mess.
As we walked back to take a seat, she noticed the cord and apologized for the wire hanging out of her sweater. She explained, as normal as possible, that she was getting electro-shock therapy in her back (Red Flag #2). I smiled calmly as if that was a treatment I too was going through and understood her pain. I sat down in the chair next to her and proceeded to retrieve the materials that I had brought to talk up the college.
I went into my normal, well-versed presentation about the school, starting with our locations. She quickly interrupted me, and I was hoping that maybe she would at least ask some pointed questions and shed her crazy person first impression. "Us women in the North hate when you Southern women say yes ma'am to us," she remarked. "Because of slavery," she continued (Red Flag #3).
Slavery? Was she kidding? "Well, I'm not sure about slavery, but we are taught in the 'South' that it is polite to say ma'am to those you are unfamiliar with or who are your elders. It is not about slavery, it is manners," I retorted.
"No, I'm quite sure it is about slavery. We here in the North...we hate slavery," she stated as plain as day.
Well then, I thought, I best be getting on the phone and calling down to my plantation and tell the the slave hand to let go our cotton pickers. I sat there stunned. First had this woman ever been down to the South? Secondly, last I checked I'm sure she was never alive during slavery...call me crazy (oh wait...no that is her name!). How was I supposed to reply to this woman? I had to maintain some sort of cool because the last thing I needed was some loony calling up my boss and saying something about how I endorse slavery. Calmly I informed her that I live in a predominantly African American city and that in no way do we condone "slavery." This whole time I can't believe I was having to explain this.
"Moving on...At our school we have three different types of scholarships," I awkwardly transitioned.
"My dad was a very famous doctor who saw very famous patients including (insert a bunch of supposed celeb names either just from Chicago or too old for me to know)," she interrupted yet again (Red Flag #4)
Yet another completely unrelated comment from the resident kook. Now you must realize that in no way was I ignoring all of these red flags. In my head I was trying desperately to organize an escape route. Maybe if I gave her electro-shock cord a tug she been instantly rendered incapacitated, and I could bolt for the door? Maybe I could pretend to get an emergency phone call...art school emergency...the artists are refusing to be creative. Nothing seemed to be feasible.
"Oh," I weakly replied. What else was I to say? I tried to turn it back to business, but I knew it was a lost cause.
"He received letters from many of the famous people. There was one that I read when he died from a very hunky male movie star, and I think this man was in love with my father. One day a couple years later I saw this man on a sitcom, and I threw up," she continued as if I wasn't even in the room. (Red Flags #5)
"Well that is a strong reaction," I commented. Now this is getting ridiculous. At what point could I just walk out of the room, and she would think it was normal. Maybe I could blame it on being southern.
"You would have that reaction too if you thought of your father having sex with another man!" she snapped in a bit of a raised voice (Red Flag #6).
This was not talk of college or art or scholarships, this was nothing that would ever make sense no matter how much I tried to bring it back to the topic at hand. Yes folks we were not in Kansas anymore, and I needed to get the first train back from crazy town.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Corporate Accounts, Brooke Speaking...Just a Moment
Sometimes I think I'm wearing a shirt that says, "All weirdos please approach and be weird!"
I was in the midst of a conversation with Brittany as I walked into the building that houses Starbucks Regional Headquarters (my temp job from the land of boredom). I noticed an older man, about 60, kind of check me out which of course made me feel weird....down there. I didn't really think much of it because who doesn't get checked out at least daily by old Greek men?
I bet you are wondering, "Hmmm...how does she know he was Greek? Was he too wearing a novelty t-shirt maybe stating his love for Feta?" I found out because as mentioned above he decided to approach and be weird.
The following is a transcript of the conversation:
Creepy Old Greek (COG): Excuse me....(in heavy Greek accent)
Brooke (BG): Britt hold on for a sec (to the phone)...yes? (to COG)
COG: I have woman upstairs interviewing for receptionist. Her name is Becky. Are you Becky?
BG: Um..no (look of confusion).
COG: I need receptionist. Answer phones. You answer phones? You a receptionist? You want job?
BG: I'm sorry (thoughts that this man might have escaped from the local mental institution/nursing home run through head). I just actually accepted a job, but thank you.
COG: Yes...I thought that was you (Exit stage Left).
BG: Right...
Brittany: "What just happened?"
BG: "I just got offered a job to be a creepy old guy's receptionist."
After I returned upstairs to tell my co-workers (the one that talks to me) about how weird that was. She looks quite a bit like me (lucky gal), and stopped me mid-sentence. She asked if he offered me a job. She then revealed that he asks her about every other day if she wants to be his receptionist.
So yes, I'm on to the COG and his ploy to recruit a plethora of blonde receptionists to be at his beck and call, and I quickly went back downstairs and gave him Carrington's number.
JK!!!!
I was in the midst of a conversation with Brittany as I walked into the building that houses Starbucks Regional Headquarters (my temp job from the land of boredom). I noticed an older man, about 60, kind of check me out which of course made me feel weird....down there. I didn't really think much of it because who doesn't get checked out at least daily by old Greek men?
I bet you are wondering, "Hmmm...how does she know he was Greek? Was he too wearing a novelty t-shirt maybe stating his love for Feta?" I found out because as mentioned above he decided to approach and be weird.
The following is a transcript of the conversation:
Creepy Old Greek (COG): Excuse me....(in heavy Greek accent)
Brooke (BG): Britt hold on for a sec (to the phone)...yes? (to COG)
COG: I have woman upstairs interviewing for receptionist. Her name is Becky. Are you Becky?
BG: Um..no (look of confusion).
COG: I need receptionist. Answer phones. You answer phones? You a receptionist? You want job?
BG: I'm sorry (thoughts that this man might have escaped from the local mental institution/nursing home run through head). I just actually accepted a job, but thank you.
COG: Yes...I thought that was you (Exit stage Left).
BG: Right...
Brittany: "What just happened?"
BG: "I just got offered a job to be a creepy old guy's receptionist."
After I returned upstairs to tell my co-workers (the one that talks to me) about how weird that was. She looks quite a bit like me (lucky gal), and stopped me mid-sentence. She asked if he offered me a job. She then revealed that he asks her about every other day if she wants to be his receptionist.
So yes, I'm on to the COG and his ploy to recruit a plethora of blonde receptionists to be at his beck and call, and I quickly went back downstairs and gave him Carrington's number.
JK!!!!
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