Crazy Man

Nothing snaps me back to reality like dealing with a fresh dose of "crazy." Yesterday, a concerned son (and by concerned I mean someone who reported his father might attempt suicide but refused to bring a key over so we could check on his welfare) called for our help. We get there and knock on the door for ten minutes before he finally opened up. I asked, "Can we come in?"

His response, "Not without a warrant, cop!" His black hair was plastered to his head and his glasses looked like Michael Douglas a la "Falling Down." In fact, the best way I can describe this guy is that he looked just like the crazy scientist in "Repo Man." And he was even crazier.

"Hey, guy, we just want to come in and make sure everybody is okay inside the apartment. Your son called and said you were having problems."

"Are you in the military?" He asks. He is sweating profusely.

"No."

"Aha!" He exclaims. Do you want to help the soldiers with body armor?"

"Of course," I reply. "Look, I don't want to disturb you any further. I don't want to search your home or anything like that, I just want to make sure everyone's safe."

"I'm going to China. I want to be a communist!" He giggles nervously.

"I strongly suggest it," I reply. "You should get your passport immediately."

To make a long story short, the guy's apartment is full of nonsensical clutter. Magazines, Twinkies wrappers, party balloons, dirty clothing, strange stains, etc. Things that really don't make sense together, like a toilet plunger balanced atop a lamp. He would have been the perfect candidate for that Saturday Night Live commercial advertising a car perfectly designed for crazy people. I remember the commentator saying, "The trunk is spacious, easily holding 144 Mason jars filled with urine." Just what every nut needs.