Every town has certified crazy people...we have more than average...but one in particular...we deal with every week. He lives in my area...a bonus for me! Let me tell you his short story. But first, some background in my certified training with the truly crazy people.
I always communicate well with crazy people...takes one to know one. God bless crazy people. They make my day. The ones I deal with don't know they are crazy, and by golly, to communicate with them, we have to go to their level. They have no family and I think they call us for company. Anyhoo, here's how I deal with them, depending on their needs... I suggest tin foil hats when they are hearing radio waves through their televisions. I take my government spy machine (police radio) and beep all over the house to get rid of interference in the walls, and my favorite...to get rid of bugs (hearing devices planted by the feds)...my Taser. See, you take the cartridge off and make the clackity sound and wave it around the room...kills government bugs everytime. The funny thing is...the feds are always the enemy for crazy people...never the local police...who knows why they find that to hang on to. I might focus on Big Brother when I get to crazy land, too.
The work I do makes a difference. It works for a couple weeks and then we are usually back. And they truly appreciate my work. I'm often requested. In fact, everyone wonders why I can put the crazy people at ease for so long and prevent them from calling every day. Well, I am a great communicator...what can I say.
Other things that qualify me are my certifiable disorders...like... I sometimes have Tourettes Sydrome which is followed by a nervous tick and several "f" bombs. I have been deemed CRAZAY...(nuts, freakish, insane) by my co-workers. Occasionally, I show my Multiple Personalities...like today... I was Gladys...
Depicted above with my super fantastic artwork is an exact likeness of Steve (pat myself on the back)...only he's fatter and I couldn't draw in the smell... He is from Poland and I met him 18 years ago in the police lobby. We are pretty certain he is at least 200 years old. He told us back then to just call him "Steve Martin" because his given name is "too complicated". He's been famous 'Steve Martin' ever since. He has lived at the same address since he landed here (pretty certain it was out of a spaceship).
We all know him well, and we always bring the rookies there for training purposes...if Steve calls the police, the training officers jump the call so the rookies can get experience working with crazy and difficult people. And we almost always send two officers because he is somewhat dangerous when he is angry and touchy touchy with the girls to the point it is usually a mad pursuit. And inside his house..well, today we won't go there. Over the years, his insanity has gotten worse and more evident from our police calls. Still, he is not crazy enough to do Adult Protection on. So, there he lives...torturing the entire neighborhood...and the popo.
Awhile back, he noticed I was one of them that responded a lot to his address. He never reads our name tags but always asks who we are. I couldn't resist but to give myself a name too (afterall, it's fun to be someone new)...Gladys. So I am known as Gladys...Beautiful Cop Lady. He added on the last part.
Last night, the call came....at 0030. He reported a suspicious car going back and forth down the street with no lights. He sleeps in his living room right next to the street, so any glint of light, spotlight, shadow, and headlights wakes him up as it catches his window. Back up to 1130-0000...I was looking for a car that dogged me down his street and was probably a dope deal I had stumbled across...so the suspicious car was me. I was blacked out at the time.
I am one of the wiser ones and try not to go to his door, but stay on the street. That way, he can't corner you for hours on end. He won't come out on the street in the winter because he always answers the door half naked with his Fat Bastard belly hanging out, boxers, and socks. I didn't get another officer last night...it was one of those nights of no back up. But it was OK, I stood on the sidewalk. Steve's house was dark and his door shut. I stood there for about 30 seconds and he came out. See..predictable. Oh, and he came outside in the outfit shown above. It was a beautiful site. Did I mention he does not shower? He is a site to see...a combination between Col. Sanders, Einstein, and Harry Potter. His Coke bottle bottom glasses are a clue that he must be about blind. That, and the fact that he refers to me as "Gladys...Beautiful Cop Lady."
He was telling me about the suspicious car. I tried telling him the truth that it was me. He had none of that...
"Now, Gladys....it is just like Chicago..17th of January, 1917...same thing [he knocks on his wooden pillar] car goes by...fast and faster...and nothing...don't stop by to visit. [knocks again on his pillar, clicks his teeth]Yep, Chicago, the 17th of January, 1917. Problem. You fix. " So, instead of arguing with him, I said, "You're right, Steve. I will get right on it and hunt them down like the dogs they are...for you. Because you are such a good neighbor and report crime immediately. Now, go inside and get your beauty sleep."
Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Steve patted his belly, jiggled it a little, and said, "I knew you liked that...sweetheart. Come inside, I show you where my neighbors are watching me through the floor. " In my mind...I could only think of Mike Myers touching his stomach and saying..."My belly, my belly, my belly!" Yeah, that did it for me...my mind started wandering...I could hear 70s
'chicky chicky pow pow" porn music in the background, followed by Lionel Richie, and "let's get it on...." I was fantasizing, oh yeah...NOT...egads! The places my brain goes..yikes! Poke my eyes out!
OK! Time to go! I generously declined his offer and told him I was busy and had to catch the suspicious car before they got away. I was sweating...in my mind I had run mach 7 away from him and jumped in a Chlorox bath. He said, "Gladys, I thank you from the bottom of my heart [pats his hairy heart]." After I left, I must admit...we all love Steve Martin, pure entertainment,...he is the yellow in our sunshine...or something.