I would like stories about crazy people

One of the things I liked best about moving from the suburbs into Boston was all the fun people I would talk to on the street.

I know it’s mean to call them crazy people, but I can’t think of a generalization for the stories I would like to hear.

Besides, when i am an old lady,I am going to wear a red plastic fire hat and wear wellingtons and a flowered dress, while pulling a red wagon full of rocks i painted and sell for two bits apiece. This is really my goal, and one of the reasons I stopped smoking was to increse my chances of living long enough to carry out this dream.

Anyway-

You guys will never believe what this crazy old lady said to me when i was walking home last night. On Mass Ave-
this lady stopped me and said slowly and delieberately-
“Listen to me. Never…drink…turpentine.”
I must have made some sort of shocked face. I was…flabbergasted. Of all the people in the world she could have said that to.
“Don’t smile at me, young lady- this is serious. NEVER DRINK TURPENTINE.”
My pet rat is named Turpentine. And my friend wrote a song about drinking turpentine that he plays for me sometimes on my guitar.
I wonder if this lady was crazy because she was psychic and she is troubled by clairvoyant thoughts she cannot control.
Just a thought.

This isn’t the only time this has happened. I have very starnge conversations with strangers all the time, people that are, um- crazy people.
Maybe i shouldn’t talk to them, but…
I get some good stories out of it.

So does anybody else have exchanges with strangers like this?

When I lived in Michigan there was a man named Kim. The local legend behind Kim was that he had been caught in a drug raid sitting in front of a table full of acid and had tried to ingest it rather than get caught with it. Whatever the truth was, he often lived in his own world. He would hang out at the local park all day smoking generic cigarettes and talking to whoever would approach him. He was full of paranoid tales on conspiracy and would switch between delusions in mid-sentence. A typical conversation with Kim would be like this:

me: Hey Kim
Kim: We have to keep this area clear so when the big cheese gets here there will be no delay, no delay, no delay, somehow they are beaming signals at me again. They got these new disks now called CDs, they sound better but it makes it too easy for them, like when they ride 4 to a car and all arrive at the same time, just in time for the show to start, but no one will be there to see it, because they are not looking for that kind of answer, you see?
me: Sure, see ya later Kim

The local punk rockers who hung out at the park adopted Kim as kinda their mascot and brought him to there parties and stuff and let him hang around with them. One local band even named their debut album “Kim Never Forgets”.

I don’t know if this is crazy, but I just saw something that made me smile.
There’s this homelss guy who hangs out alot in front of my building. He really looks a wreck, and always seems absolutely miserable. He grumbles alot, and sneers at people who he can’t get a cigarette from. But today, I saw as he was walking down the street, that he somehow got himself a brand new radio. He had it up to the side of his head, music just a-blasting and he was singing and dancing up a storm with this huge grin on his face.
I thought it was great - kind of Christmasy if you get right down and think about it. I mean, how hauty do I feel moaning that I don’t have a DVD player for my TV in my nice warm apartment, when a simple little radio has made this guy’s day?

Ok, bleeding heart babbling over. Go back to your business.

I guess this isn’t really crazy, just odd…
I was in Georgetown (Washington, D.C.) one day and had a guy ask me for money. I sort of did the “no, man” brush-off and he followed me down the street screaming that he was going to projectile vomit on me.
Like regular vomiting wasn’t bad enough.

We have a bum in Oakland who looks almost exactly like Tom Hanks in the publicity shots I’ve seen from his new movie. He smells even worse. Over the years I’ve seen him wandering around the lake, occasionally he will drop his pants and waggle his waggly parts at random women. About a year ago I was in the grocery store and could hear him from several aisles down. He was walking around the store moaning “OUUUCH” and then slapping his neck repeatedly. It went on for a good 5 or 10 minutes “ouch” slap, “ouch” slap, then finally “Damn Vampires!”

Turpentine, why wait until you’re old? :slight_smile:

No offence ‘Turp, but I’d bet a San Francisco crazy can beat a Boston crazy any day of the week with one arm (and one of his invisible companion Jesus’ arms) tied behind his back. In fact that’s a great idea! The Psych-O-lympics! Events include Power Screaming, The Excrement Toss, Random Public Masturbation and Signaling the Mothership.

Heres a good example, once my friend Louis and I were loitering outside a coffee shop when we were set upon by a total nutter. We were there with a mumbling, gaunt, haggard guy with long, greasy hair and manic eyes.

So anyway, after Willy Nelson left the crazy guy shows up.

Totally unprevoked he just just starts screaming at Louis:

"DON’T YOU THINK FOR A MOMENT THAT I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOUR DOING! I SAW WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT!! I KNOW ALL ABOUT YOUR PLANS!!"

My blood runs cold and we run into the coffee shop, locking the door behind us. The guy starts pacing around the outside of the shop, tapping on the picture window and screaming at full volume:

"I KNOW WHAT YOUR PUTTING IN MY MEDICINE!!!"

Eventually two cops show up to try to talk him down. It even looked like they were succeeding too until the creepy guy lunges at the lady cop. Her partner (who had to be upwards of two hundred pounds and all of it shoulders) just tackled him like a ragdoll and stuffed him into some plastic fastener restraints like he was folding an origami bird. Scary.

Another time I was having lunch with my friend Bob at a Burger King. They were giving away little Buzz Lightyear Kid’s Meal toys that made electronic rocketship noises and we were playing around zapping one another.

This kooky old lady shows upwearing a “hat” made from red foil (the stuff you see wrapped around flower pots) and starts noisily rummaging around in the trash bin next to us.

Bob, just bieng playful, points the Buzz toy at her and “Zaps” her.

Her eyes go wide and she lets out a horrified gasp! She drops whatever it was she was holding and reels backward, backing away terrified from us and into the street where she is almost clobbered by a car.

Poor Bob really felt awful about that.

While I’ve not encountered any San Francisco crazies, I did run into the same three Boston crazies, over and over, taking the T to work when I lived there. They were mostly harmless, but strange nonetheless.

Crazy Man #1: Would guess the bra sizes of women boarding the train. Loudly. As in, “Oh, here comes a 34B, she’s gotta be at least a C, 36 C, you’re, what, a 34A?” Oh, and he always wore a Space Camp coverall.

Crazy Man #2: On the T, stops are announced followed by a “beep-beep” sound to let you know the doors are opening. CM #2 would announce the stops along with the recording, e.g., “This is Wollaston” and of course, repeated the “beep-beep”. He was often there when I got on and didn’t leave the train before I did. I wonder if he thought it was his duty.

Crazy Lady #3: Insisted on standing in the center of the car and held the bar on either side of the aisle. In effect it looked like she was straddling the aisle…and her, uh, personal odor was less than savory. Her entire midsection would sway with the stops, sometimes knocking people in front of or behind her. She’d scream at anyone who tried to get past her - “I GOTTA HOLD OOOONNNN! I’M GONNA FAAAALLLLLL!”

Back in Chicago, there’s the “Al Gore is Dead” guy. He walks around the Loop with sandwich boards that detail how Al Gore is, in fact, dead and he has been replaced with a look-alike in a vast conspiracy. There are even pictures posted to support his contention. I, myself, am quite convinced. There’s also Jesus (Christ, that is) - a guy who walks around in a robe and carrying a crucifix. He never says anything to anyone, just walks around. I saw an article on him once. Seems like a normal person other than that - he said he just wants to remind people of Jesus’ sacrifice. Well, everyone has their cross to bear. ::ducking hurled vegetables::

You want stories? I got stories!

I spent six years working on the psych ward at a state school for the mentally retarded. I have stories for days.

  1. One female client we had was just mean as a snake. One day, she’s sitting on the dorm when the unit director walks through and glances at her.
    CLIENT: What are YOU looking at, (name deleted)?
    UNIT DIR: Well, I was just looking at how good you look today, (name)
    CLIENT: Oh, bullshit! I’m the ugliest mother fucker back here.

  2. When coming to work one day in May (plot point), I saw one of the clients outside dancing on top of the trash compactor wearing nothing but his undies and a sombrero. I brought him in and found in his room a Christmas tree decorated with aluminum cans and underwear.

  3. Whenever a client would threaten to harm himself, we would place him on one-on-one supervision for a couple of days. Some of the smarter ones knew this and would occassionaly make a threat of this sort for attention. One who regularly did this was with his one-on-one staff, and I noticed something white sticking out from under the cuff of his shirt sleeve. I asked him to roll up his shirt, and saw that he had packing tape thickly wrapped around his arm from wrist to elbow.
    ME: What is that for?
    HIM: I’m gonna cut off my blood and kill myself.
    ME: Next time, just tape your ass shut, and when you fart, your head will blow off.
    HIM: Nawww, I’m not crazy.

4)CLIENT: (in a whisper) (Staff name) stole my knees.
ME: What is she doing with your knees?
CLIENT: She’s wearing them.
ME: Well, where are her knees?
CLIENT: She swallowed them.

A small sample there. More upon request.

About 10 years ago while I was sitting on a bench waiting for a bus a very dirty, very smelly man sat down next to me.

Him: Got a smoke for your pal Jesus?
Me: Sure, here.
Him: See that squirrel over there? Yesterday he ran up my pant leg and bit my sack. That’s not a nice thing to do to Jesus is it?
Me: That’s not a nice thing to do to anyone really.
Him: Yeah, that’s what I thought. Should I hit him with lightning?
Me: Hmmm…probably not.
Him: Okay. But if he does it again he is one dead f-ing squirrel. Do you need to be saved? I am Jesus, I can do that.
Me: No thank you.
Him: Okay. Have a nice day.

And he wandered off down the street. Other than the fact that he thought he was Jesus and a squirrel had run up his pants and the fact he was so obviously a street person he came off pretty normal. To this day when I think about him it cracks me up.

There is also an older woman in the city I live in that, no matter the weather, wears a little black leotard and fishnet stockings with old fashioned black granny boots. In the middle of winter I have seen her grocery shopping in this outfit. No coat, no boots, just her leotard and fishnets. Very odd.

When I was young there used to be a woman who rode the bus that in the middle of July would wear a wool knit cap and a winter coat. I can not begin to describe how badly this woman smelled. If she caught you looking at her she would scream obscenities at you until you got off the bus. (If she is still around perhaps she could lend the fishnet lady a coat.)
Jawofech

I will limit my discussion to the train crazies, we will not get into the walking down the street crazies.

Girlfriend and I are on the N train. She points across the way. “What is that man wearing?!” He was wearing three sweaters and a pair of jeans, with the crotch cut out.
Rush hour. The car that pulls up in front of us is empty. That was the first warning sign. The car is immaculate. Second warning sign. Magazine and newspapers are stacked neatly in one corner. Third warning.
Man swinging broom comes rushing at us from the other end of the car screaming, “Get outta my house! Get outta my house!” When we run through the connecting doors to the next car, everyone in that car laughs.

Man walks into a crowded 2 train. “I’m gonna shoot you all!” He announces. “That’s right. I’m gonna shoot you all with. . .” reaches into coat pocket, “my banana!”
Haven’t seen this guy on the “D” for a long while. I hope he’s alright. He looked like a buisnessman with a suit and a suitcase, but would greet everyone who came in with, “Looks like you need another fucking tax deduction! Fuck your wife, fuck your wife. You need another fucking tax deduction.”

I see crazies every now and then. Mostly on the bus or waiting for the bus. They usually come on by mumbling to themselves quietly. Then they gradually increase their volume until they can be heard plainly by all around them.

Worst one I ever had the pleasure of coming into contact with was this old lady who sat next to me at the bus stop. She was mumbling to herself and I left her to it. I didn’t pay attention to what she was saying, religious stuff mostly. Anyway, true to nature, she gradually increased her volume. It was when I plainly heard her say this sentence: “She used to go around cutting men’s penises off. Oh God. . .” that I decided it would be prudent to walk to the other side of the bus stop.

The most recent was a guy who just flat out started preaching. . .

One time I was with some friends, hanging out near Tompkins Square Park in NYC. Tompkins is full of crazies.
One time, this drunken street guy comes up to me, and starts singing a song to me with my name in it. I don’t remember what song it was, but it was so weird… He couldn’t have known my name, and it certainly was just a coincidence, but damn was it creepy.
When I worked in a drug store, there was a loon that worked in the laundromat next door, and she would come in every day.
One day she screamed at me that I was “having sex with all the little Jewish boys.” (I wasn’t)
Another day she was going on about her neighbor that would “shrink down her children, and they would come in under the door and pinch her breasts during the night.” (pretty sure they weren’t)
Sure I’ll think of more later…
Rose

Ooh crazy people make me smile. :slight_smile:

There was the town looney when I lived in Tallahassee, he was a classic. He called himself King Love, and dressed in a purple velvetlike cape and a crown and everything, and wandered the streets of Collegetown. He’ always carry signs promoting love and peace, etc. Supposedly he was actually quite rich, and lived in a good part of town. I remember once a radio station did a big contest to find him a wife. I wonder whatever happened to him…anyone from Tally know?

There was the old lady next to me on the bus when I went to Florida. She was great. The bus was way overbooked, and people were waiting for 2, 3 buses at a time because they were all full. So we finally get a bus, she sits down, plops her ice chest, duffel bag, all sorts of crap on the seat next to her. It was obvious she was gonna have to give it up, because they were trying to cram as many people as possibl in. She sent away seven people before someone finally threw her stuff on the floor an sat down. And then the whole way there she kept pulling out random food from her ice chest. Bananas, pudding, fried chicken feet. And she reeked. Like she hadn’t bathed in days. Ahh, the people you meet on a $69 round trip ticket.

I used to know a kid in high school that would make weird animal noises in the middle of class. We’d be taking a test, and he’d bust in with chipmunk noises. It was bizarre. He had this fetish with his calculator too…it was one of those expensive graphing ones, and he was never without it. He used to compete with the other no-lifers about whose calculator was better. He also had this SPAM obsesion. Always drawing it, or talking about it, or trying to get people to eat it. He called me Spamela. When I moved, he gave me a can of spam as a going away present. Come to think of it, I still have it. I don’t think spam ever goes bad.

My best friend in the world went “crazy”, deciding he was the Son of God & a messiah etc. with super powers.

Long story, very long. Like, I could speak for over an hour on the subject, & tell you about the first symptoms & how he gradually spiralled into a fantasy world of his own construction before being incarcerated in an asylum where he remains to this day, 10 years later.

Making funny ha-ha of the mentally ill is cold blooded and ignorant.

Pam, you beat me to posting about king love, so here’s a link to all you folks who wanna see a Tallahassee crazy. He may have gone unnoticed in any other city, but we’re all normal here, so he stood out (yeah right!).

Here’s a link to a website devoted to the late Kamal Youssef, better known as King Love.

http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Bistro/8438/kinglove.html

And yes pam, Derrick is pretty far off center, but not so bad as Gaea’s ex carter, who once fondled Derricks balls at a party after he passed out. If you’d seen the shocked expression on his face as he instantly popped awake.

And for a crazy story, some lady calls me on my cellphone as I’m heading home from work.

Me: Hello?
Her: Hey, can I speak to Dianne.
Me: I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.
Her: Oh, can you tell me the right number?
Me: (stammering) Um… I don’t… know…
Her: I’m trying to reach Dianne… I’m from Century 21, and I need to speak to her immediately.
Me: Look, she’s not here.
Her: I understand, what is her number?
Me: Lady, I don’t know who she is. I’m a dude on my carphone going home from work.
Her: Oh, ok. I thought this was Dianne’s number. If you see her, tell her to call century 21 immediately.
Me: No problem (Click)

NEVER BEFORE HAD ANYONE ASKED ME FOR THE RIGHT NUMBER AFTER CALLING THE WRONG NUMBER.

Like I said, we’re normal in Tallahassee.

He died last year, I think he had a heart attack or stroke or something. His family came to Tally from Egypt – turns out he was basically broke and they had all kinda disowned him because they thought he was a nutbag. Too bad… we kinda miss him around here. He lived in a flophouse off Monroe Street.

To think that if I remain untreated I might end up like that.

Actually, many crazy people are the nicest of all. Some don’t adopt the hatred that normal people feel.

I’m with Turpentine on this one, except I want to be a cat lady and mill about wearing a catsuit and big welding goggles, hitting people with a big flounder.