On the first day of crazy, there was insanity, an asiaaaan in a dance crew:
This middle-aged asian guy walks up and asks me the time, and then launches into the most ridiculous story about how he was in a dance crew in the 1980s at the start of rap, and how he is getting back into it. I did not know whether he was looking to impress me or recruit me for his new group. Unfortunately, he recently had a pacemaker put in, which apparently has two unjoined parts that must touch at all times - which he illustrated by jamming his index fingers together over and over.
He told me that because of his pacemaker, he could not do anything other than floor moves, but that he "do thing that women like." I was not brave enough to ask what that thing might be - also, I was having a hard enough time keeping a straight face as it was. I kept thinking, "So this is what happens to those poor Asian 80's actors (think Long Duk Dong ala Sixteen Candles). Luckily, before he got the nerve to ask me to join his hip hop troupe, I was able to escape.
On the second day of crazy, there was insanity, drunk friendly lout:
"HEY GIRL!" In my mind, being hailed that way by complete strangers is usually associated with crazy or stupid. An arm was thrown across my shoulder, and I was hit by the smell of the inside of a toilet in a singles bar at new years. Mmmm, Eau'd cheap booze and desperation.
As I turned to look into the yellow eyes of the grizzly, smelly dude accosting me, I sighed, suspecting that we were going to be new best friends at least until my bus came. In a rambling, incoherent narrative, Mr. Inebriate explains how he took the bus to Lebanon to buy some wine - a precious substance, which apparently cannot be found in the bustling town of Enfield (pop. 4582)?? He passed out in the middle of the ride and woke up in Vermont - where the cruel bus driver forced him to hike across the state border into Hanover, where once again, he passed out, this time on a park bench. Unlike the bus, where being drunk and unresponsive is okay, Hanover is the home of prestigious Dartmouth College, where it's only okay for the students to be drunk and unresponsive. So, New Lush Friend was hassled by the police, who dragged him off to jail. There, he narrowly avoided prison rape (amongst the hardened criminals of Hanover, NH) and was sent to the hospital.
Most of his storytelling was spent describing the indignities he suffered at the hands of my institution's medical staff, which mostly seemed comprised of repeatedly asking him if he was intoxicated. "INTOXICATED? INTOXICATED!!" He bellowed, as if this was the single most ridiculous idea he had ever encountered, never mind the fact that the fumes rising off of him were beginning to strip the facade we stood in front of. He also threw in some advice about getting diseases - mostly, that I shouldn't, but if I did, I shouldn't mess with them, heck, I shouldn't EVEN TOUCH THEM. Every few minutes he would remind me that his buddy Rick, who I repeatedly denied any knowledge of, was dead. Apparently poor Rick dared to touch his disease, which certainly begs a few questions I don't think I need to pose here.
Of course we were traveling on the same bus, and my buddy promised to stick close and sit RIGHT next to me so we could continue our scintillating conversation. I may have, at this point, had some kind of contact drunk going on, but I was unable to devise a way to get rid of him. I figured if he tried to follow me home like some kind of soused puppy, I would throw myself on the mercy of the bus driver. Luckily, he bid me a pleasant good day, merely reminding me to "beat my boyfriend with a stick to keep him in line."
I can only hold my breath in anticipation of the batshit insane personages who will harass me tomorrow, but first, I think I need a bath and or flea dip...
