Weird experience today.
Cub and I were driving home on our quiet residential street.
A guy with a crutch was in the street, waving it and signalling at me.
I drove past and into our driveway.
As the Cub was unloading our shopping, Crutch Guy came up the driveway, waving the crutch at me and trying to get me to give him some money for cab fare.
Cub sensibly abandoned me, the adult, to deal with Crazy Guy and scooted into the house.
Crazy Guy started talking about a friend he had who lived in a house just down the street 20 years ago when they went to high school together. Also showed me his wrist with a dressing on it, still waving the crutch around with his other hand.
Just needed a bit of money, he said, or else he’d have to walk through his pain. Still waving crutch, which made me worry I might be the one walking through pain.
I said “No, thanks, can’t help” and edged past him towards the door of the house. Zipped up the steps and heard him thanking me for my time, but did I realise how much pain he was in.
Cub had told Mrs P, who opened the door and promptly locked it behind me.
Cub tried out one of his new words to describe Crazy Guy. I automatically said “Don’t use that word, Cub.” “But he is a [new word], Dad!” “Doesn’t matter - you don’t know what he’s going through in his life. Something stressful, by the looks of it.” (But not enough to make me reach for my wallet while he’s waving a metal crutch around!)
Meanwhile, Mrs P kept peeking out the window for a while. Crazy Guy stayed in our driveway for a while, talking to himself, then finally left.
Starting to think that Beckdawrek has the right idea, living way out in the country to reduce access by ambient crazy guys.
(Except for the occasional wandering nude guy, of course.)