Freezing cold twilight. I was waiting for the bus. I was alone. A guy was also in the area, and he was in the process of painting a sign up on the wall of a new Thai restaurant. As I approached the busstop, I saw him take notice of me, and watch me. I rolled my eyes internally. I am a “crazy magnet” – David and I have talked about this before, and my absolute impatience with crazies who try to involve themselves in my life. I am mean, blunt, and dead-eyed. This is from my long experience – since I was a little kid – of having the crazies be attracted to me. My visits to New York as a child always involved bums – walking right up TO ME – personally – even though I was with my aunt and her friends … and trying to talk to me, or – in one case – showing me his penis. Hey, thanks, you fucking lunatic! I’m 10 years old! Thanks for scarring me for life, douchebag. So. I am not forgiving or kind to such people, because for some reason – they are drawn to me, and I have to draw the line. David laughs at me when this happens when we’re together. One dude recently, when we were out together, dropped his cane near us – and he was obviously a drunk, and he dropped his cane – looked up at us – and I just knew we would never be rid of the guy if I let it go any further. I looked away, and kept talking to David – as David (nicer man that he is) picked up the drunk’s cane and handed it back to him. David was howling later – because as he handed the guy his cane, he could feel (as you can) that the guy wanted to join us … he was looking for his “in” – and my blatant unfriendliness turned him off. You gotta be brutal with these people, especially in a city like this – where they are EVERYWHERE. It may sound cold, and it is. But crazies love me. They gravitate towards me, and if I didn’t keep my barrier up – they’d never leave me alone.
So, as I walked to the busstop I saw the crazy guy immediately decide that I was his new best friend. He started dancing on the sidewalk … grinning at me, hoping I would be amused. I was like: GodDAMMIT, crazy. No. I’m just waiting for the goddamn bus. Don’t involve me in your bullshit.
You get accosted by enough crazies, you lose your compassion. Let somebody else be compassionate. I’m no Mother Teresa. I’m just trying to catch the bus.
He started talking to me, as I stood there. He was a lean hard muscular guy, with a handsome brutal face – big obviously once-broken nose – and a huge smile. He didn’t seem harmful, but you know. I don’t walk around looking for conversation. I’m minding my own business.
His monologue to me went as follows:
“What are the chances of us meeting ever again? There’s no chance! Because I’m never here! I’m just here to paint the wall … so it’s really weird, don’t you think? That you and me would meet like this? You’re probably married, right? No, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me. Let me keep my dreams, okay? What’s your name? You can even LIE to me … just give me a name … anything! What’s your name?”
I tried to stave him off, and I was openly annoyed.
“Why?” I said. “Why do you want my name? I’m just waiting for the bus.”
“Come on! You can give me a name … even if it’s not real. I can tell by your eyes that you’re a good person. Pretty green eyes.”
The guy had Tourette’s of the emotions.
And to be honest, I could tell by HIS eyes that he was not a bad person. Just a bit insistent, and … I just get sick of the crazies, that’s all. But as he kept rambling like that, I found it hard to be as mean as I wanted to be. I did say at one point, “What do you WANT from me?” and he recoiled physically – holding out his hands at me – like: “I mean no harm … I mean no harm …”
“I’m just waiting for the bus,” I said, exhausted … not just from this encounter but from ALL encounters with people who accost me, for no reason. It happens all the time. And more than once they have said it’s because of my eyes. Well, I can’t help my eyes!! My EYES may be nice (although I think that is debatable), but I am NOT.
But he kept talking. “What do you think my name is? Come on, guess. You can guess – I’d love to hear what you think …”
Something in me caved – and I realized that he seemed vaguely familiar. Who does he remind me of? That kind of chatter, friendly chatter … not picking up on ‘stay away’ cues … but continuing on?
So I finally answered him. “Is your name Rocky Balboa?”
He burst out laughing and then began to dance around me, boxing, throwing punches at me, playfully. The guy was a nut. But he obviously liked my name for him.
“I’m Rocky Balboa!” he said.
I said, still keeping up that barrier – because honestly, the guy was pushy – can’t give these people an inch, not if you’re me with my eyes … they’ll never ever leave you alone then – so I said, “You remind me of Rocky Balboa. And …” I suddenly realized something, and it had to do with his smile, and his ultimate friendliness – however annoying it was – and so I added, “It’s a compliment. Rocky Balboa is a great character.”
He put his cold hand over his nose, self-consciously – “Is it because of my nose?”
“No, no, it’s not because of your nose.”
“So come on. Come on. What’s your name. Do you live around here? Are you married? Don’t answer that. You think we could ever see each other again?”
Now that I had clocked him as Rocky Balboa, I could not see him as anything else. And I thought of Rocky, and someone being mean to Rocky … Nope. Maybe YOU could be mean to Rocky Balboa, but I do not have the heart for it. I can’t do it. The guy obviously had a good heart. He was using himself in a comedic way … and yes, he was invading my space – but not too much. At one point – he stepped about 3 feet away from me and said, “Okay – look. I ain’t getting too close. Are you comfortable with me being over here?”
I succumbed completely. “Yes. Just stay right there. I’m comfortable now.”
“Good, good. So come on – gimme a name.”
James Joyce floated thru my mind. “Molly,” I replied.
He knew I was lying and gave me a shrewd yet pleased look. “Molly, huh?”
“Yeah. Molly.”
“You know, I know that’s not your name … but I really like it. I’m horrible with names … but I will remember that name. I’ll remember you, Molly. That’s a nice name.”
“It is a nice name.”
“I’m never lonely, do you know that?”
It came out of nowhere. But I can see that a guy like that, a guy like Rocky Balboa, would never be lonely – because he talks to himself and he amuses himself. He is, ultimately, a positive human being, with a humanist approach to his fellow man.
I AM lonely. So I said, “You’re really lucky.”
“Yeah! You know? I just talk to people, and I do my stuff – and I’m just not lonely. Hey, you wanna see what i’m working on? This is a new restaurant – you know, some Chinese food or shit – and I have to paint over that old sign – and put up a new one … I guess it’ll look good, I don’t know … The weird thing is – I’ll probably never see you again. I am NEVER here … this is the first time … you live around here, Molly?”
The bus was coming. He stood back even further from me – to give me my space (again) – his jeans covered in paint, his hands cold and red, his nose big and beautiful and crooked … and he said, “I hope you have a nice day, Molly. You’ve got some pretty eyes.”
I was totally disarmed. This never happens. It doesn’t even happen with my boyfriends, let alone total crazy strangers. But he was Rocky Balboa.
I said, “Nice to meet you.”
And weirdly, I meant it.
I got on the bus, paid my fare, and sat down. As the bus pulled away, I saw Rocky Balboa, alone on the twilit sidewalk, grinning up at me, and dancing around like a crazy person, throwing punches at an imaginary punching bag. It was his way of saying good-bye.
I smiled the rest of the ride.
I still maintain that the crazies of the world must be kept at bay, since they seem to have an unnatural attraction to me.
But if you meet Rocky Balboa on a deserted freezing sidewalk, it will be YOUR loss if you don’t give him the time of day.
I have a crush on that crazy man.
i probably would have offered a quick hand-job.
..sorry..i had to top beth!..thats an amazing story..and i KNOW how the crazies are drawn to u…we spent years in Chicago dodging them together!!
James Joyce floated thru my mind. “Molly,” I replied
Good thing you didn’t say “Adrian”
I’ve had similar problems. Maybe redheads look friendly? I think it’s great that you were able to enjoy him, though… while still being careful to keep a distance.
I always get hurt or offended looks from strangers when I’m not as receptive to their lunacy as they would like or had expected. Often makes me think of the line in ‘As Good As It Gets’: “Sell crazy someplace else, we’re all stocked up here.”
It’s not that I don’t get it. I’m just all stocked up.
skeeba
What a wild story. I was reminded of some SEPTA experiences my friends and I have had in Philly.
If I’m remembering my liner notes correctly, Sting said in reference to a song on his first solo album that quoting Shakespeare helped him deal with a drunk fellow. I’d say Stallone and Joyce rank right up there as well.
Mere – YES!!!
Beth – I know! He was kinda sweet – like Rocky was sweet to Adrian when he was bugging her at the pet shop.
Marisa – totally. I’m stocked up too with my own crazy. Maybe they sense that. I’m the kind of person too whom cab drivers unload their entire life stories to – it has happened to me numerous times. Usually those are fascinating conversations – and I know rather rare … I was having a conversation once with a cab driver from Iran – he had lived in the US for decades … he was telling me his story of the Revolution – and I made some casual reference to Mossadeq – the prime minister of Iran ousted via CIA coup in 1953 – I just happen to know about it, whatever, books I’ve read – and he looked at me thru the rear view mirror and tears flooded his eyes. !!! Not like he knew Mossadeq but that some random chick in a black dress in the back of his cab would know that name.
So I know I walk into these things, as well.
Mitchell – hahahaha to your first comment!!
I know. You and I walking down the street, minding our own business – and people shouting pornographic things at me out of car windows. I’m just minding my own business. It gets REALLY old after a while. I’m over it.
So some poor rickety drunk drops his cane and tries to bond with me and David, and I’m like: take that shit someplace else, brother. I ain’t buyin’.
Kate – yeah, even his response to the name Molly was perfect. It had magical connotations or something.
JFH – actually, that would have been better.
I usually get low-grade grifters with delusions of adequacy.
I’m reminded of one of my best friends who was also a Crazy Magnet.
We were standing on the corner in Chicago waiting for a cab, and a homeless guy came up to her and started to harass her. It wasn’t friendly and cool like Rocky, it was weird and uncomfortable. Kelly (blond and a bit spacey) had enough of this guy. He kept on, kept pushing and kept making weird sounds with his lips. Smacking sounds at her.
Finally he said:
“I’m sorry….I don’t mean to bother you….”
and she looked him straight in the eye and said very menacingly:
“Then DON’T!”
And he left.
We still laugh about that.
I would have stood there talking to Rocky all day. But I too, am a crazy Magnet. Although usually I ended up having sex with them.
Pathetic.
Gorgeous story, Sheila. Really.
How much do I adore that my friends have crushes on him, and are contemplating giving him handjobs and having sex with him.
No wonder we’re friends!!!
Ken – “delusions of adequacy” – hahahahahaha Sometimes I think I suffer from that myself!
Mitchell- HAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!!!!
And I would have WATCHED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Beth…how did you know that i liked to be watched while honing my skills???!!! btw…whats up with Alex and I immediately bedding this man??? whores!!!
I am full of Catholic guilt and shame, and you two are all about personal satisfaction? I dunno……
hahahahahahaha I love you guys.
The whole thing is brilliant.
This piece made my week, Sheila.
I am a whore.
I am.
I make no apologies.
I think I have a crush on you,too, Alex.
I’m always late on these posts. Anyway, someone send me a picture of Mitchell. I want to know who to approach in an off-putting crazy manner so I can get a free handjob.
So. I am not forgiving or kind to such people, because for some reason – they are drawn to me,
Gawd, there’s a post in there.
I grew up down the hill from a State Hospital, it was a perfect free-market solution; I draw crazies, and there were zillions of them around. Like, hundreds. Everywhere. And they all found me
And I chuckled at the “low grade grifters with delusions of adequacy”. There’s a big supermarket in my neighborhood, and the parking lot draws phalanxes of them. I got the same guy, telling the same sob story, four different times in a year. Finally, I was just like “dude – remember me? Your daughter is still sick and stuck in Wisconsin? Really?”
It’s not done wonders for my sense of compassion.
Matt – it’s so funny you posted a comment when you did – I spent over an hour on your site last night reading the conversation between you and Keith about Tarantino and Grindhouse – fascinating!! I read the whole thing!
Jonathan – hahahahahaha
Okay, you asked! Here’s a picture of Mitchell. Or is it the Unabomber? We’re still not clear.
no fair! Jonathan has the visual advantage!! oh what the heck..ask Jonathan and ye shall receive!
Comments made to one another tonight while watching “Rambo”
“It appears that Sylvester Stallone has cast the entire nation of Thailand.” “Holy shit, his head just came off.” “Hey, look! That’s Ken Howard! The white shadow!” “I can’t believe Stallone is, what, 63 years old? He’s incredible.” “Rambo is…