Near-Death of a Landlady, Screaming Fuck Man, and other short story titles

2004-10-31 - 1:07 a.m.

Actually, what an eventful day! Wow.

I woke up early and went to the gym (first time in a while...I did back and shoulders...those regions are now a big "Ow."), then walked all the way to Pookie's house to return some DVDs that he'd loaned to me.

It was a warm walk, and when I got to Pookie's, my shirt was soaked through with damp and sweat, so he offered to toss it in the dryer (I'll be trading up on the laundry thing when I move). While we were waiting for my shirt to dry, Pookie's landlady (and my ex-landlady from when Pookie and I were an item) came by, really rattled and covered in dirt. She's a really nice woman, in her late 50s, I think, sort of Southern Ontario Aristocratic (in all the good ways), though I believe she's actually originally from the US.

While riding her bike, she had almost been hit by a car that had cut in front of her by taking a right turn from a left turn lane. She was okay, she'd just taken a spill and was a little bruised. She might have a sprained knee from the fall. She was really upset, and there the three of us were, Pookie in his bathrobe, me without my shirt, and she just released inches from death or injury.

We talked a little, until she felt better. Pookie gave some motherly advice, she commented on how much weight I've lossed and that I look like Jesus (sigh), and then she went back upstairs to take it easy.

After that, I picked up the crutch I used for my costume, then went to buy the airplane ticket that I can't believe I bought, which took 3 hours. I didn't mention it in my earlier entry, but one of the kind of funny, kind of tragic things was that about two hours into the wait, it started pouring down rain, and then suddenly there was a steady thumping against the front glass windows. Abby (the friendly travel agent) smiled a bit sadly and apologized, "That's just our homeless guy."

She explained that he usually stood across the street at Starbucks, but that when it rained (or he was moved away) he often came to the travel centre. His main quirk was that he would stand on the sidewalk and sporadically scream "Fuck!" in a spine-wrenching torturous scream. He was blind, or at least he carried a blind person's cane which he would occasionally bang against the window, hence the thumping.

I heard him scream, bent over with seeming pain. It was like listening to someone be ripped apart.

"He does this all the time? Is he okay?" I asked.

She gave me an understanding look. "The first few weeks I worked here, it freaked me out." She tried to get the ticket web-page to work again. "Sometimes he's okay and lucid, but other times he just needs to shout 'Fuck' all the time. I'm pretty sure it's missed medication or something."

We chatted a bit more, agreeing that it was too bad that people like the screaming fuck man were treated so poorly.

"It's because of the shaky woman," Abby said. "Ever since people found out she wasn't really shaky, they doubt everyone."

"I don't think it matters if he's blind or not," I said. I was thinking of a "blind" guy back in Halifax who was always passing out notes asking for money, but who could see just fine and would swear at you if he saw you giving him attitude. He got treated hideously by people, and he was certainly odious, but he also came through my check-out once in a while when I worked at the grocery store, and he was usually polite to most people. He was just unbalanced, and maybe sad, but not something I thought should be despised. "I figure everyone should be treated like a basic human being."

"Me too," Abby smiled.

Eventually the screaming fuck man's pounding on the window got to be a little rough. Abby went up to talk with him, and through the open door, I heard him say in a perfectly clear, lucid voice "Oh, sorry!" It was in that tone of honest surprise when someone realizes they've been absentmindedly indulging in a minor but irritating tic in public.

Hm. Got a little prose-y there. But, these are the kinds of stories I'm finding or hearing about every day. I'd heard some people talking about the fraudulent shaky lady a week or so ago, but I hadn't known the reference, so I'd almost forgotten about it.

Then there was the Hallowe'en party where me and the only other Dungeons and Dragons guy there (other than the host) watched in amazement as he kept drawing the most...odd...people in the room towards him. And getting hit on. We also talked about roleplaying and I described to him the plot of Dawn of the Dead, which was airing on the TV mutely.

Then I won that prize (I got a plaque). Ran into my old, original editing teacher at the party who was dressed as a Vulcan-Romulan love-child ("Did you notice that my skin is a little too green for a Vulcan?" and "Enterprise is the only show I get upset at missing.") and very, very drunk.

I came home, and watched what's perhaps the greatest thing of all: My VCR automatically set its clock for daylight savings without any prompting from me.

Cheers,

The Magus

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